A/N: A quick, third installment that is ... much more spicy than the previous two. A very late Valentine's gift! Enjoy!
They were about three months into dating before Hinata Hyuuga began to notice something about her boyfriend, Sasuke Uchiha.
"I can think of eight off the top of my head. Should I write them down?"
He's a lists kind of guy.
Which isn't a complaint. Absolutely not. If anything, Hinata appreciates the dash of organization in her usually overwhelming, hectic life. She likes to think she's a pretty organized person — physically, that is. She keeps things tidy and kept to their place, and if she sees something out of place, it usually bothers her enough to fix it. But in terms of mental order, Hinata is the kind to forget something, to have something on the tip of her tongue, to be a bit forgetful when entering a new room. Not to say she's ditzy, but merely forgetful at times.
Sasuke, with his list-making enjoyment, is her perfect opposite.
He made lists for all kinds of things; important things, miniscule things; things so far into the future that anyone (mainly,Hinata) would have forgotten about such things if it weren't for the perfect jotting on a slim piece of lined paper. He made a list of the kinds of kitchen utensils she'd need after moving into her little apartment after separating from her clan, and he made a list of all the stops he'd take her to on their first date. Small things that Hinata noticed but simply passed off as something anyone would do. Date things. New home stuff. Anyone would make lists about that.
But the more she got to know him — the more time they spent unwinding together after missions or grabbing a bite to eat before missions or stocked up on mission supplies between missions — the more Hinata understood that Sasuke Uchiha did not simply do the occasional list.
He practically breathed them.
A trait Hinata, truthfully, found cute. Sweet. Endearing.
Today, however . . . .
Well, today starts off normal. A few days of rest with no missions in the immediate future is, by itself, abnormal, but everything else doesn't stand out as strange. She starts it with the sun, her ninja habit of waking at dawn not dying on a day of rest; but Hinata takes time to shower, dry off, dress, meditate, and enjoy a simple breakfast. She calls Sasuke on the line phone, finds he's also granted a mission-less handful of days, and they meet for lunch before walking the village together. It is nice being with Sasuke. Even in the frigid cold of February, she feels warm next to him. The skin of her face is a bit numb from the chill by the time they make it back to her apartment, and by then, the sun is already climbing down to the horizon for an early, late-winter set. Sasuke urges her to warm up with a bath, which she enjoys with ease, and by the time she's out, snow is hitting the pane of her window and the reporter on the radio is calling for at least fifteen centimeters by the morning. Sasuke is already jotting down a list of things to do around the house to deal with the dropping temperatures — let water drip from the faucets, lay a towel over the crack under the front door, etc — which Hinata scans over as she prepares dinner for two. They eat, then check off the list one-by-one, then huddle in the den under the kotatsu, the music of the radio every so often interrupted by an update on the weather.
Hinata bends over a book, constantly pulling her hair behind her ears to keep it out of the way. Sasuke leaves for a moment, then returns with a hair tie, a comb, and a few pins, which makes her smile as he settles behind her. With her focus momentarily off the page, Hinata checks the time, finds that it's nearly nine o'clock, and taps Sasuke's knee. He ought to leave, she believes, before it gets too late and the snow starts to pile up.
His answer is his mouth on her neck — first a kiss, then a teasing bite, then a lick — and a coaxing Should I? close to the apex of her neck that leaves Hinata's stomach tightly knotted and warm. Her hand, previously tapping his right knee, now grips it. She can feel her jumping pulse in her palm, pressed hard into the fabric of his pants. Her Don't you want to go home? is pitched, which contrasts sharply with his low And leave you alone? By then, his hand has tugged the collar of her shirt as far to the side as it can go, and his mouth explores her shoulder, breezing the skin, barely touching it. Her nails trail into the texture of his pants, almost rough like denim. An ad for roof work melts into a soft, whispery song, which lulls into her belly, her gut, twisting her up, winding her. Her breaths get a bit shallow. It feels nice. His mouth feels nice. His body behind her feels nice, and the way his breath fans over her, sparking, feels nice. Suddenly, Hinata feels almost detached from her body — only to be anchored back in when Sasuke turns her head at just the right angle to attach his mouth to hers. Her pleased hum seems to vibrate between both of them. It grinds into his teeth as he bites at her lip, then prods her open, tongue slipping in to taste her. Her entire mouth feels sensitive — one swipe, and it goes straight to her stomach, pooling. It steals her breath away, and all she can do is follow his lead, humming some, then moaning.
When his hand slides down to her hip, she repositions herself, maneuvering so her back is against the kotatsu and her front is against him. Sasuke pushes into her mouth, moving her back, sucking her mouth before separating, panting, heating up, then going back in, pushing her a little more until her spine is arched over the table and he's practically on top of her. Finally, he fully separates from her, chest ebbing with his fast breaths as he stares down at her. His mouth is red. So are his ears and the edges of his cheeks. He's looking at her like it is the hardest thing to stop, to not pin her to the low table. Hinata is gulping air, shaking with adrenaline. Fast and deep. Trembling. A little surprised, and excited to the bone.
This hasn't happened before. Not exactly.
They've kissed. Fuck, they've kissed plenty! And he's touched her some, and she's touched him some. Sort of like now — only — somehow, it's different right now. A sort of coaxing between them. Like they know there's a possibility it won't just stop here. Other times, they knew where to end.
Now, it's murky and unsure.
The radio switches to a new song. Neither of them realize. Sasuke's staring at her mouth, then finds her gaze.
"Hinata," he breathes out on the end of a shallow exhale. Her toes curl, and her thighs press together in a jolt of arousal. "How far can I go?"
And, at first, Hinata just settles there. Admires the hunger in her boyfriend's gaze and the line of his pale neck, the way his face is casted in a warm glow from the dim light of a far-off lamp. Fascinates herself with how small she is to him, how his thighs surround hers, how his large hand fits against the top of the kotatsu, securing his body just enough to not crush her. She focuses on the heated tension between her legs, the jumpiness in her chest, and the scalding want behind her eyes. Slowly, in a trickle, Sasuke's words find her, touch her, and she blinks and pinkens.
How . . . far?
Right . . . . Right. Because, just now, things had suddenly become very intimate. An intimacy Hinata is not opposed to, per se, but rather unused of; a matter that they have not really addressed in their new relationship. Three months feels a lot shorter when half of it is spent out on duty, after all. And Sasuke is being gentlemanly. Stopping to ask. Keeping himself from jumping on her like a dog.
. . . Would he do that? Was he the kind to give into whims like that?
Hinata's breath catches. Somehow, the idea of Sasuke becoming unable to hold back makes even her skin feel all too sensitive.
"O-Oh." She feels hot. Her face is probably red. Can he see how turned on she is just by looking at her? How embarrassing — but, at the same time, she wants him to see. To realize she's like this because of him. Her elbows settle against the flat top of the kotatsu, and Hinata thinks, then asks, "What, um, are the stages?"
His stare kind of, sort of, morphs. A little less heated (though still boiling). A little more perplexed (though not surprised). "Stages?" he repeats.
"Well," she starts, stops, swallows, "when you say 'how far', you mean stages, right? Which stage can you reach. Which stages are off limits." Hinata gives a pause for him to speak, to give some indication on whether she's on the right path or not. Instead, he remains still and quiet, merely observing her, the cascade of his gaze traveling back to her puffy lips. Distracting. Not helping. "I don't, um, know what stages there are, so . . . I can't tell you how far."
Sasuke considers this, hand subconsciously lifting to brush her lower lip. His thumb pad is a little rough, but the texture brings static to her mind, to the depths of her ears.
"Stages," he says, again, then blinks. "You don't know?"
Well, if she had to, she could guess. Being a kunoichi came with certain training that focused on . . . womanly charms, as Kurenai would put it. She's not completely uneducated on the subject of sex. But sex in terms of a kunoichi lifestyle and sex in terms of with one's boyfriend, in a dimly-lit den, halfway snowed-in — one goes about it differently. It's not the same. You don't approach the topics in similar manners. Stages for a kunoichi would be identify target, manipulate with flattery and touch, coerce into leaking information.
Stages for a girlfriend would be . . . different.
Obviously.
And maybe, if Hinata sat and thought some, she'd be able to come up with some pretty good stages between an eager girlfriend and an excited boyfriend. But her head isn't exactly clear and sharp, and there's a wonderful sensation between her legs that is all but controlling her focus.
"Sasuke," she whispers; pleading, almost. "Help me out here."
She watches the knot in his throat bob. His eyes glisten in a sort of awe, then the hunger returns. He pulls his hand from her mouth, forces it onto his knee, then says something that, were they different people in different circumstances, could possibly ruin this smoky mood between them:
"I can think of eight off the top of my head. Should I write them down?"
And Hinata, who likes that part of him — adores it, longs for it, dreams about it on her best nights — moans about it in her sheets as she thinks about him making a list of all her most sensitive spots, tracing them with the feather of a quill on the paper of her skin, slowly and steadily — brims with a new force. Swells with a kind of arousal that is almost shattering. Gasps as he pulls away, leans far into the kotatsu, and wonders if, somehow, they've already reached one of the stages.
Stage #1: Skinship
He is only gone for a moment. He fetches a notepad and pencil from the kitchen, sits down next to her at the kotatsu, and begins to write. He is elegant with his writership; then again, Sasuke is elegant with everything. The mere act of him bowing down to his knees, settling on the carpet, makes breath catch in her chest. His arm hangs at a delicate angle as he quickly goes down the paper, numbering every section like it were an official list that he has memorized. Maybe it is. Hinata feels so beyond herself that she could actually believe that.
When he's done, he looks at her, kisses her quickly on the mouth, then gently presses the list into her palms. Foggy-headed, she looks down upon it, reads, and turns red with every passing number.
"O-Oh!"
Sasuke leans in close, overlooking his own writing from around her shoulder. "I decided to exclude some of the basics," he says, "since we've already reached such stages."
Yes, well, that makes sense — because all of these stages seem . . . a little more advanced than what they have been doing thus far. Stages that, now that she's read them, seem plainly obvious, and yet strikingly embarrassing on paper. And that, by itself, brings her some shame. To be embarrassed by something like this, in front of her boyfriend, isn't something she can admit easily.
Steeling her nerves, Hinata gives the list another look over. The further down it goes, the more intimate things become. Which makes sense. Stages are meant to be linear, she supposes. Over the lip of the paper, Hinata examines Sasuke's expression in her peripheral. He's gotten close again, her shoulder practically buried into his chest. His breaths are shallow again. He's getting excited. Hinata feels her nipples swell.
"Well?" A simple word that hits the deep parts of her ears. Hinata nearly groans. God, how is he so beautiful?
"Um." Her thighs massage together, which blooms a nice feeling into her gut. She does it again, a hot, light gasp on her tongue. "F-Five, maybe?"
Sasuke's head snaps to the list, checking his own work. His eyes are wide, and the whites of his eyes look a tad peach against the color of his face.
"Five," he says, in a sort of heavy way. Like it exhausts him. "Fuck, Hinata — five. That's high, isn't it?"
Is it? She merely picked what she'd be okay doing on this snowy, late evening. Another time — different circumstances, perhaps, with a bit more preparation — she would be more than ready to knock every single one of these stages out of the ballpark. But if five is too high — oh dear. Am I coming off as easy?
"Should I change it—"
"No," is his immediate answer. "It's — no. It isn't bad."
Hinata tries to relax, fails, and instead smiles at him. The cool, smooth-tongued Sasuke she knows has undone some, unwrapped into something a little more antsy and quick. From her spot next to him, she gets a good look at his crimson ear. It stands out from his dark hair. Round and cute. Hinata leans in, kisses the lobe, and when he jolts, she bites the shell gently and traces it with her tongue. Her sharp canine nips, as if piercing him, and she can feel him squirm, feel the jut of his chest after a sharp intake and a shaky, breathy outtake. His hand finds the floor, then her knee — going up her thigh, the soft fabric of her loose pants. Every centimeter goes straight to her clit, and by the time he grabs onto her hip, she's panting into him, writhing.
"Skinship," she moans, "right?"
His smirk is brief, but dashing. He kisses her, deep and slow, then says, "You're bursting, Hinata."
That's a nice word to use, she thinks. Bursting. Something from within welling up, bringing her to something explosive. Her wrists press into the hem of her top, and with a bit of pressure, she's able to move it up, exposing the canvas of her stomach, her tight waist. Instantly, Sasuke's hand flutters against that skin. Her insides spasm. She coils, sucking in a river of oxygen. He's soothing at the peaks of her hip bones, ticklish at her sides, then sensual as he slides up to her ribs. He's watching her face closely when his fingertips find the elastic band of her sports bra — not the most flattering piece of underwear she owns, but — well — had she known this is where their night would have taken them, she would have made a few different choices. Her mouth cranes to apologize (silly, of course, but she's still trying to get over that habit), and Sasuke, mistaking the motion as some sort of plea, presses her back into the kotatsu once more and molds his mouth to hers. A pleased, electric sound gets caught between their teeth. Hinata doesn't know who it comes from. She's distracted by his tongue finding hers and the delicate burn in her lungs. She can feel her heavy pulse in her neck. It lurches for a moment when his palm massages her left breast over her bra, the underside of a finger finding her hard nipple and teasing it with small circles. Hinata curles, arches off the kotatsu, mouth wide in a quiet gasp. It's not so much that the sensation is overwhelming, but rather the idea that Sasuke is the one touching her, watching her every expression, drinking in her pleasure, is what turns her on the most.
He hikes her shirt up, exposing her chest completely. Hinata feels the air around her face smolder with the heat of her blush.
"That's—" she swallows. "This—"
"This is the second," he muses, working her straps down her arms, giving him enough leeway to pull the bra down so he can maneuver his mouth onto her left nipple.
Skull against the top of the kotatsu, Hinata jerks when she feels the hot wet of his mouth on her, nipping lightly before his tongue prods her areola. She gasps his name, startled and burning. Sasuke pulls away to let out a staggering breath, and she only gets a small glimpse of his agonized face before he turns his mouth to her other breast, circling and nipping and teasing while his hand massages her damp, exposed nipple. Her body moves with his touches as if he's taken control of it. Every swipe, every rub, every exploring tongue or finger sends sparks straight to her gut, growing and growing, until it's almost too much to just ignore. Hinata pleads for him — for something — as she tries to slither back. Her back gets completely onto the kotatsu top, holding her weight; Sasuke settles between her legs, not allowing her the luxury of rubbing her thighs together to find some finality in the heat swelling there, licking at her clit. When she tries to slide away more, he sneers deep in his throat, hand catching her arm to pin it down, and he shifts the weight of his hips onto her to totally lock her under him. Then, without mercy, he goes back to nipping at her sensitive, pink nipple, lapping at it before molding it between his lips.
It's too much. Way, way too much. It feels good, but she just wants to come. Hinata squeezes her legs around him, but when that does nothing, she lands them on the carpet to piston her hips up, grinding into him. Her loose, thin-cottoned pants provide no coverage for her clit against the front button of his slacks, and when she rolls, a melting pleasure shocks her, and she gasps, hollows, and does it again — again — over and over, bucking and trembling.
"Shit, Hinata." Suddenly, Sasuke's forehead is against her clavicle, and his breath is hard against her warm skin. "Keep doing that."
He sounds rough and pitched. He must be feeling it, too. When she grinds into him again, she's more aware of his erection. Caught right between her legs, exposed to every jut of her hips. Her unpinned hand circles around to the spot between his shoulder blades, and this time, when she rubs against him, she feels the twitching pleasure in his spine, slowly traveling from base to tail. The only noise he makes is the roughness of every panting breath, but his body tells the story of his arousal. If she wanted to, she could activate her dōjutsu and pinpoint every pulsing chakra point, coiled with desire. She could. Maybe she should. Would he mind?
Her chakra cradles behind her eyes, prepared, when he suddenly settles back on his knees, towering over her. Breath comes easier to her, but the lack of weight on top, holding her down, unnerves her. She uses her elbows to leverage her torso up, watching as his hand travels to the front of his pants, working at the very button she was pleasuring herself with.
His eyes wane down at her, dark, untouched suddenly by the distant light of the lamp. He's looking at her like he wants to ruin her in the best way possible. Instead, he loosens his pants, works his hand beneath his strained underwear, and touches himself. Hinata can make out the rosy head of his cock peeking out from his underwear, enclosed by his fingers. She thinks it's glistening.
"Third," he groans, barely.
She forgets what he means for a while. The list is far from her mind at this point. "Uh-huh?"
"Pants, Hinata."
Slowly, she remembers, and she burns as she sits up, working them off with adrenaline-shook hands. Again, her underwear isn't very flattering, nor does it match, but that concern is a feather's touch against the hurricane of her desire. And Sasuke doesn't seem to mind or notice either way, for he's against her once more, mouth on hers, coaxing her head back so that she's lying on the kotatsu once more. Legs forced apart, she cradles him, his cock slick against her damp underwear. She can feel the heat of the head against her clit, and when he moves up to kiss the side of her nose, then her jaw, it pushes forward, grinding into her, and she feels her body spill for him, hanging open for all of him to take and explore and touch. Hinata gasps into his hair. Her nerves feel electrocuted. Sweat clings to her back. It shines on the tops of his shoulders, glistening against his smooth skin.
Hinata wants to chase that feeling. She wants to feel hormones splashing through her system. Like before, she ruts up into him, and with the barrier of pants out of the way, his cock is almost fully touching her. The base moves against her opening as the head plays with her clit, rolling it back and forth with every swing of her hips. Her arms circle around him, and soon her legs do the same. His mouth is buried into her shoulder, and he groans when she clings to him, not letting a millimeter of space between their bodies.
"Oh God," she whispers. Her soft moans are pushed into something louder when he starts to move against her, thrusting, working his cock in the right angle to massage all her sensitive parts. "Ohgod."
He must realize she's close before even she can register what is happening to her own body. A hand suddenly lifts her chin, and all she sees is the ruby glint of sharingan taking her in, scanning every small iota of her jittery, edged expression. A blaze of red that leaves no shadows to lurk, no snake of darkness to obscure his entire view of her. He hovers, shifts, grinds faster into her. He's not breathing. She's curling, gasping, lighting up because of him, and he can see that. It destroys him. It makes it impossible to look away as she cranes, sputters, and cums without sense beneath his body. Her head falls back, eyes wide and starish, pulsing, glistening with whips of pleasure; Sasuke's thumb touches the corner of her lip as he turns her head a little, sharingan copying her shattered, glowing face into memory.
It's hard to wind down. Hinata doesn't think she can breathe until his dōjutsu spins into darkness and he settles back on his knees once more. She lays there for a moment, in tune with her buzzing body and the oozing heat of her orgasm. Have all of them felt that good before? She can't think beyond the last ten minutes.
Eventually, the ceiling becomes too dull to stare at. She lifts her chin, finds Sasuke's eye, then trails down to his erection, to the red head of his cock. It looks as if it could breathe on its own. If she reached out and touched it, would it pulse? Would it beat?
"Sasuke," she says in the back of her throat, "you're bursting."
His eyes hood over, heavy with want. Hinata sits up as he leans in, meeting in the middle. She kisses him gently, then slowly, lips brushing his. The way his short exhales touch her teeth is beautiful. She coaxes his forehead to rest against hers, and then she looks down, prepared to find his cock with her hands to work him to his own high — but she finds that his own hand is already at it, ringed around the puffed glands on the underside, stroking back and forth with a pace that slowly picks up with his pants. All she can do is watch, salivating, watching that red tip disappear in his fist before reappearing — over and over again. His thighs tighten and strain. His breathing gets so shallow she can barely feel it on her skin.
Sasuke does not moan, but he whispers something light, almost sounding like her name, like a praise of something. When he cums, he pushes a little more into her, and Hinata boils as she watches it spread over her stomach. It's warm on the skin. It looks strange, but before she can examine it more, Sasuke drops his head to her shoulder, gasping. She can smell the cedar conditioner in his hair, and her body feels like it's awoken once more, trembling and ready.
And they're like that for a while.
Hinata listens to the croaks of his breaths slowly smoothing out. His body starts to sag, then he leans back, finding balance in himself once more, and seems to consider something now that his mind is clear.
"Shit."
"Wh-What?"
Quickly, he pulls on his underwear and pants, messing with the button for a moment before forgetting it and standing.
"I wasn't trying —" His voice echoes from the kitchen. "I didn't —" There is a rustle, and then he's back with tissues and a tight, uneasy expression. "I just reached Number Six. You didn't want to go past Five."
Ahh. The list. Right. That pesky thing.
Her attention settles back to her stomach as Sasuke reaches next to her. Is she supposed to feel violated? Soiled?
Truthfully, Hinata only feels more excited.
"I like six," she says. "Can we do six more?"
He snorts and wipes her clean with the tissues, balling them up when done to later throw in the trash. Then, again, he stops and considers something, head knocking to the side a notch.
"That was Eight," he mutters.
"Aren't we, um . . . supposed to go in order?"
"No." He finds her eye. "Do you want to?"
Hinata thinks about the thrill of not knowing what could come up next. Of crossing off parts of that list sporadically. And she thinks about what that must do to that controlled, neutral Sasuke Uchiha who checks things off in a linear, one-by-one fashion. His lists are, after all, designed to be followed in such a manner. What would that do to him? What inside of him would crumble, break away, topple to expose something new and brazen beneath?
In a whisper, Hinata says, "We don't need to."
Sasuke's chest expands. He stands again. "I'll go home."
"You won't stay?"
Even if he's not looking at her, he can surely hear the smile in her voice. "I should go."
"And leave me alone?"
She's teasing him some, in her usual, Hinata manner. He throws the tissues away and stuffs himself into his boots and coat as she situates herself, pulling all articles of clothing into their rightful places before meeting him at the front. When he bends down to kiss her, she holds his jaw to keep him there — she has a feeling he will be quick if she doesn't. The offer of not following their new, secret list numerically has baited temptation in both of them, and he is trying to be gentlemanly. Which Hinata adores. Which Hinata worships. But a gentleman can kiss her for a right amount of time: which, right this moment, is much longer than a mere three seconds.
She makes it last for twelve, and then they both pull away, feeling every nerve in their lips on edge, hoping for more. Sasuke opens her door, his large body fitting into a crack to prevent any cold or snow coming in. He tells her he'll be fine going home, and she says that if he doesn't call her when he gets back, she'll assume the worst and go searching the streets herself.
When Sasuke's gone, Hinata goes to the bathroom, where she washes, brushes her teeth, and fixes the messy sweep of her hair. Looking at her reflection, all she saw was a red-faced, horny woman. The same person that Sasuke watched, copied into his memory. It's a little embarrassing, but it's also a thrilling thought.
A few minutes later, the landline rings, and Sasuke tells her from the other end, with a chill in his voice that could have only been caught there if he had taken no time to warm up inside and had rushed immediately to the phone upon getting home, that he's back home. Only then can Hinata finally relax.
Stage #7: Fingering
The stretch of off-days does not last for long. Just as another blizzard is barrelling for Konoha, Hinata is called on by the Hokage and his dear Hokage-in-Training at the Tower. Her team gathers in the spacious office, where they're given details on several missing nin from Ame who have been spotted around the thick forests surrounding Konoha. Team 8 is known for their superior tracking skills, so it's common for them to get such missions when the wanted nin are too tricky for genin but not dangerous enough for ANBU. They have twenty hours to prepare, and then they'll be sent out by the time the blizzard should be out of Konoha.
Hinata spends most of the day preparing, taking special care in finding all of her padded mission gear and flexible gloves. Temperatures following after blizzards tend to drop below freezing, and she's not pleased with the idea of freezing to death while on the search for missing nin. It takes most of her afternoon finding her gear and spreading out the padding throughout it equally. The blizzard is wild outside, hissing under her door and rattling against her windows. She packs her gear, lays it out for easy access when she wakes in the early morning, and then turns to her weapons when the phone rings. Carrying her bag of kunai out into the kitchen, she settles it on a small cabinet and pulls the headpiece of the landline from the wall, cradling it under her ear as she uses her hands to unzip the bag.
"Sasuke. Hello." She knows it's him just by the sound of the background noise on the other end. Kiba always has barking dogs, and Shino's calls hum with the subtle buzz of insects. Ino likes to keep a fan or heater on at all times, and Tenten is always moving around, shuffling and sorting about. Sasuke's calls are quiet. So quiet that she can't even hear the blizzard on his end of the line.
"You have a mission in the morning."
It's not a question. If Hinata had to go off a hunch (and her hunches are usually correct) she'd guess that Naruto probably updated him on her sudden mission. He wasn't a blabbermouth, per se, but whenever he knew something about her, he always told Sasuke. It was a Friend's Honor, as he likes to put it.
"Search and Capture, yes."
"Was it Kakashi or the idiot who gave it to your team?"
She smiles as she examines the blades of her kunai. Dull. She ought to sharpen them before the morning. "You know I can't say."
"Kakashi then." She hears him scoff. "Search and Capture during a blizzard. He knows any traces will be blown away. Dumbass."
"We can't exactly let them get away. They're supposedly within a twenty kilometer range of Konoha."
"And they'll be frozen to death by morning."
Hinata searches for the sharpener she always keeps with her kunai, doesn't find it, and scans the surrounding floor. "That's a possibility."
"That's practically a certain outcome."
"But there's a chance that — oh, one moment. Sorry. Where is —" Hinata stops herself, byakugan activating. It scans her small apartment, finds no sharpener in sight, and suddenly remembers that she had lent it to Kiba a few weeks ago and had never gotten it back. "Damn."
"What is it?" His voice is sharp and alert, cutting differently from his previous, slightly annoyed tone.
"Oh. Nothing awful," Hinata says quickly. "My kunai are dull, and I don't have a sharpener on me."
He's quiet for a moment. It's just silence in the background. Not a creak of the building or anything.
Then, after a while: "Give me fifteen."
Sasuke hangs up before she can wonder what he means. Staring at her gaping bag of kunai, Hinata slowly returns the piece back to the wall, and then she traverses to a window and watches the heavy blizzard sweep by and thinks, Surely he's not coming here. Surely.
In fourteen minutes, there's a knock at the door.
...
"Keep this for now," he says with the blizzard pounding against his back. Again, he's stuck in the narrow of her doorway, squeezing himself into the small opening to block the barreling snow and wind with his body. Piles of it slide down his shoulders, splattering on the welcome mat. Slowly, Hinata takes the sharpener from him. "I won't need it, so don't bring it in the morning. Just focus on the mission. You can return it when you're back."
And then he does a quarter turn, as if to go back in the storm without even a moment out of the cold. Jamming the sharpener (thankfully in its protective casing) under her arm, Hinata grabs his shoulder to stop him.
"Come in," she says.
Sasuke doesn't move. "I'm going home."
"It's a blizzard. Come in."
"I'm fine."
"No — Sasuke, really." Her breath catches, and Hinata, despite the cold climbing up her legs, turns warm. "Really. Come inside. Just for a bit. Please."
She's practically begging. And not just for his sake. Even if she'd rather he didn't go traveling in the middle of a blizzard, her desperation isn't entirely for his safety. Not even majorly. Somehow, it has turned overwhelmingly selfish. Sasuke enters one, long step at a time. The back of his heavy coat is crusted with snow and ice. His scarf is stiff. He carefully loosens the strings of his boots, slipping them off one-at-a-time. Then, he unwraps his scarf and shrugs off his coat, hanging them up at the front to prevent the snow from melting and ruining the floors. There's still ice stuck in the tangle of his hair, glistening in the artificial light of her home. Hinata thinks he's glowing. It's so striking that it needles into her knees, and she feels weak suddenly.
Tightening, she forces out a heavy breath and steps back. He follows her in.
"What is it?" he asks.
"Oh my gosh." She blushes and turns away. "I'm sorry — oh god. Give me a second."
All of the sudden, Hinata realizes she's extremely turned on. For what reason? Surely not because he pushed through a blizzard to get to her. Surely, it's not that silly a reason. Rather, she should be angry. Concerned. What if he's freezing? She should be starting a bath for him by now; instead, she's just standing here, embarrassed by her own spiked arousal. With a huff, she makes it to the kitchen, placing the sharpener there.
"You need to warm up," she says.
Sasuke hasn't moved from the entrance. "Hinata. What's wrong?"
There's a bit of gravel and ice stuck in his vocal cords. His voice is low and a little rough. It plays in her ears, melting. Another prick to her knees and a jolt to her heart. Hinata swallows and looks at him. She holds out her hands, inviting him, and he comes with a concentrated expression marring his face. Taking his hand, she rubs it between hers. His fingers are cold. His knuckles are rugged. She wants to slip every one of them in her mouth and suck on them until they're coated in saliva. She wants to feel them explore her mouth. She wants to struggle breathing as he watches her.
Cold. He's cold, she tries to remind herself. A bath, and a new set of clothes. That's what he needs.
Sasuke pulls his hand from hers, pressing it down on her shoulder.
He's frowning and annoyed. "You're ignoring me."
"Oh—"
"Tell me what's wrong."
He might not like it. He's probably not even in the mood. But Hinata feels so wound up and on edge that she can't help but take the chance and tell him.
"Your list."
His frown twists as he thinks. He looks around for any clue as to what list she could be referring to, finds nothing, and turns back to her. His gaze scans her face. He must see the want, the arousing red of her face. The narrow of his eye lifts some. "What about it?" he asks in a sort of hovering, hot way that tells her he's suddenly got her all figured out.
Embarrassing. But also relieving.
"Do you think —" Hinata swallows again, words tangled in saliva. "I mean — do you think —"
Sasuke molds his mouth to hers, sucking in the final words of her request. It sparks her so violently that all air in her lungs escapes, and her chest lurches when, moments later, she can't find the space away from his mouth to breathe. He lets her go and listens to her pant and thrum, and then he kisses her again, long and deep, until she's light-headed and on the brink of passing out again.
"Which one?" he asks against her swollen lip as she wheezes to breath. His hand is on the small of her back, keeping her close. "Do you remember?"
Of course she does. Hinata has the list memorized by now. Ever since that day, she's spent her nights reading — re-reading — fantasizing what it would be like to check off every single one of them.
Her stomach flutters, and she whispers, "The seventh one."
That hand travels from back to hip, slowly inching beneath her sweater. When the ends of his long fingers touch her bare skin, still cold, it shocks her, and she gasps into his mouth. His right leg swings back, carrying his body with him, and with that hand, he brings her with him. Another step. Another. They're out of the kitchen now. When his heel finds the rug of the den, he kisses her in quick nips. When they reach the sofa, he sits and pulls her with him, positioning her between his legs with her back against his chest. That frigid hand combs her hair to the side, kissing her shoulders, before he attaches his mouth to her neck. The noise that falls from her mouth is pitched and yearning. She leans into him. She jumps with every brush of teeth to her skin.
"You're aroused," he says into her jaw. "You weren't like this on the phone, were you?"
"N-No." Her hands land on his thighs, providing her some balance. SOme semblance of structure. "When you got here . . . . I was happy that you came."
He laughs when he bites hard on her shoulder. Hinata cranes and bristles with the lick of pain adding to her pleasure. Every sensation goes straight to her clit. It's hard to think of anything else but that.
"Happy?" he muses.
"And angry," she breathes. "It's a blizzard, Sasuke."
"I shouldn't have come?"
That's not what she's saying, and he knows that. "Do you think you can . . . touch me?"
He sighs into the crook of her shoulder as his hand slips, again, under her sweater. His rough palm scratched across her stomach makes every muscle beneath spasm.
"I'm still cold," he tells her. "Let me warm up."
To be honest, Hinata can't even register the lingering cold on his fingers. All she feels is the pressure of him and the pressure inside, meeting together on her skin. Her back is stuck to the front of his turtleneck. Her breaths are so shallow that the only thing she can hear is him — the quick intakes whenever her hips wriggle impatiently into his lap, the huffs of air when her fingers squeeze into the hard muscles of his legs. Her skin burns him as he traces her ribs and teases the swells of her breasts. Soon, they're both too eager to prolong it much longer. His nails scrape at the waist of her pants. Hinata quickls undoes the strings, lifting up just enough to roll them down to her ankles. When she feels the pad of his index touch her standing clit through her damp underwear, she gasps and snaps her head down, mesmerized by the clash of his white hand against the dark material.
"Open up," he tells her.
Brimmed and excited, Hinata hooks her legs over his knees, spread out for his access. Her gaze cannot not look away as his hand slips under her underwear. He grazes her lips, then uses the soft underside of his knuckle to rub circles directly into her clit. Hinata leaps, slamming into his body, the pleading end of an almost-silent moan springing from her throat. The view of his fingers working her, the separate hills of each digit stretching out the material of her navy underwear, brings her just as much ecstasy as the prominent attention to her clit. Hips moving with his strokes, she feels like it's impossible to stay still. Her hands search to hold onto anything for support, and her feet twist around in the air.
Sasuke speeds up the circling until she's arching into him, panting, almost there; then, his hand moves down, and his middle finger touches at her entrance. He waits until she finds her breath, and when she pulls in a river of oxygen, he slides in his finger. Hinata can feel herself squeezing around it. It's a strange feeling. An intrusion, but not uncomfortable or painful. When his palm massages her clit, the steam up pleasure starts up again, then ebbs away. He does it again, curling his finger some. This hits something deep within her, and Hinata falls back, breathless.
His pleased 'there it is' is quickly followed by a collection of encouraging kisses to her neck, then a whispered 'that's it. Relax.' She does so, head thrown back and eyes fluttering shut. She spreads a little more and squirms as he curls that finger again, then pulls it out just to push in again. By the third time, her hips lift a centimeter to meet his strokes, and she's once again building up and losing air.
Sasuke is whispering about how tight she is.
How she's squeezing his finger. How good she's doing.
His forehead is on her shoulder. She can feel his erection and the laboring of his hot breaths.
Every part of her body is tensing, untensing, tensing again. Sweat mixing with the fresh touches of snow in the air. He goes faster when he starts to hear her moans. When they start to shape his name, he goes back to biting and sucking and lapping at her skin. Her hips roll, lifting and turning. Her hands fist up. Her face is to the ceiling. She's begging him to not stop just as she comes, and she's glad he doesn't. He keeps plunging into her as she squeezes up and cums. Mouth hanging, eyes rolled back. Back pinning him deep into the sofa. Legs stretched out. She gasps with every stroke that leads her into a second, crackling orgasm before her body sags and loses all strength. Only then, finally, does Sasuke slow down, kiss her gently, and remove his hand from her underwear.
There's something domestic in the way he holds her as she calms, collects her breath, unwinds from the lingering aftermath of her orgasms. He lets her rest against him, and for a while, they simply stay like that.
Then: "Hinata."
"Mmm?"
"The kunai."
The fluttering wings of drowsiness in her mind flock away as she turns her head and finds the cased sharpener on her table, waiting. Right. Her mission. The dull kunai. The reason Sasuke came over in the first place. How silly of her to have forgotten that. Lifting off from him, Hinata bends over to yank up and retie her pants. She motions for Sasuke to wait, and then she dashes to her room, changes into a fresh set of underwear, and fixes up herself a bit in the mirror before going back out.
He's hovering by the entrance now, though he hasn't exactly moved to armor himself for the blizzard outside.
"You're not planning to leave," she says, "are you?"
Sasuke just looks at her.
Shaking her head, she pulls out one of the chairs by the table with her foot, sweeping a hand back to motion him to sit. He moves over in long strides, sits, and watches her bring over her kunai and pull the sharpener out of its casing. With ease and years of practice, Hinata works at the dulled edges of her kunai. The scrape of metal is a familiar song to all ninja, and when she sees Sasuke's shoulders relax, she smiles.
"You're staying the night," she tells him.
And Sasuke nods.
Stage #8: Oral
For their first Christmas as a couple, Hinata had unconsciously gifted Sasuke something that was more a gift to her than anyone else.
She hadn't really known how Sasuke viewed the holiday. Not only was the festive cheer far opposite of his demeanor, but it was also a time of family, of community. Sasuke's family wasn't around, and as for community . . . well, aside from the village shinobi and Konoha 12, not much of the community had really warmed up to him since his return. But upon asking him a few weeks ago if he had any desire to celebrate Christmas with her, his answer was a cool but absolute yes which delighted her beyond description. Likewise, when asked what he'd like for Christmas, he procured a list by the next day:
A watch
Stainless steel chopsticks
Pants
A new mission pouch
Pine oil
"Pants," Hinata read with wonder upon being first given the list. Everything else was strictly and loudly Sasuke. Productive or useful. Things he would use — that, eventually, he'd buy himself if she didn't get him anything on the list for Christmas. But, for some reason, that third option on the list stood out to her. "For missions?"
He shook his head. "Just to have."
When she thought about it, he really didn't wear much outside of his mission clothes. The occasional turtleneck or sweater, paired with heavy down coats on particularly freezing days. If he weren't wearing the firm-fabric, black pants he wore for missions, he would wear something alike to it. In fact, aside from maybe one set of navy sweats, Hinata did not think he had much variety beyond that.
So, as Christmas approached, Hinata spent her free time shopping, going in and out of shops. She found a fitting watch and three pairs of chopsticks with ease, but it took her a while to find a set of pants that would fit him, yet stand out from the normal, rough-fabric and dreary kind he owned. Jeans didn't seem right. Sweats, while a good option, either weren't his size or his style.
Only two days before Christmas did she find something. On the back wall of a store were a line of mens' corduroy pants. Some with a sort of shiny material that caught her eye when she passed by. The black ones looked glossy, while the maroon ones were more dull. When her thumb rubbed over the dark grey pair, the texture lit up against every nerve in her finger. The ridges against her nail. The soft yet tough fabric. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until a slight burn came to her lungs. No more persuasion needed, Hinata quickly bought the pair of dark grey and smiled sheepishly as the employee at the front folded it prettily in a box.
Christmas Eve, under the warmth of the kotatsu once more, she and Sasuke spent their time opening their gifts carefully. The radio was a low buzz of festive music in the background. It was cold outside, but clear, no snow or icy wind slamming into her window panes. Hinata was already rather pleased with everything. She'd unwrapped a set of matching mugs and a box of all types of tea from different villages. But when Sasuke had unboxed the corduroy pants and felt them in his palm, her subdued pleasure turned fiery and excited.
"I don't think you have something like this," she said. "I wanted to get you something a little different, but not too much."
He hummed, then mused, "Should I try them on?"
"Please! Oh, and if they're too small, I can . . . ."
Her mouth stopped working as he stood at loosened his belt, unwrapping it from the loops of his pants before unbuttoning the front. Hinata quickly looked away, burning and thrumming. The sound of material shifting and pilling and swiping against the lengths of his legs pooled heat into her gut. Eventually, she looked back and found him working at the button. The grey looked beautiful on him, highlighting the paleness of his skin.
"It fits," he told her, staring down at her.
Hinata wasn't breathing again.
And when she leaned over to grab the cuff oa a pant leg, rubbing her nail against the vertical ridges, Hinata knew at that moment that she'd made an awful mistake.
...
And she had been right.
Ever since then, whenever Sasuke would wear that pair of corduroy, Hinata has had a terrible time keeping her hands to herself. Her fingers would itch to feel that material, the texture; and sometimes, they'd win. She'd reach out without knowing and scrape her nails against his hips or down his thighs, and everytime, a wanting pressure would form behind her teeth, and she would have to actively stop herself from biting his waistline.
Sasuke must be aware of it, too.
Recently, he's been wearing them a lot more than usual. Whenever he comes over, it's almost guaranteed he'd be wearing them. At first, she thought he just li8ked them that much. But every so often, when she finds herself unconsciously reaching to feel the corduroy, she'll catch a satisfied, almost cocky glint in his eye. He has to be doing it on purpose. Testing her. Wondering how far she'll go.
It's the same today.
Granted another short break from the constant call of the shinobi life, they have spent most of the day out. It has warmed some, though there is still a bite in the air. Hinata had wanted to grab a few books from the library, so they had perused some, checked-out a few things, then grabbed something to eat before returning to her home. She warms tea for them, pours it into the matching mugs he gifted her, then joins him on the sofa, where they read what they've gotten from the library side-by-side.
Hinata does not realize that she's doing it again — tracing her fingers along the ridges of his thighs — until she feels him grab her hand. Pulled from the pages of her story, Hinata finds his gaze.
"You're doing it again," he says.
"I'm sorry."
"If you like them so much, you should buy some for yourself."
She swallows. "I like them because they're on you."
His expression is doubtful, but not angry. His hand stays on hers, pressing it to his knee. When her nails scratch the material, he says nothing about it. He lets her enjoy it.
And she does: absently, at first, then with a little more awareness. The inside of her mouth suddenly feels sore — or, perhaps, needy. Like that feeling of needing to bite down on something. To chew. To gnaw. Again, she's overwhelmed with the want to arch over and sink her teeth into his leg. Would he let her? Would he find her strange?
Book discarded, Hinata runs both hands around his knee. Her nails running against the ridges makes a strange sound; almost like a zipper slowly being pulled down. Sasuke is distracted from his readings, as well, now set on watching her hands.
His mouth finds hers, gentle, almost teasing. "What are you thinking?"
She exhales nervously, then whispers, "I want to be on the floor."
He kisses her again, nipping, then releases her hands. He's giving her permission to do whatever she pleases, so HInata sets her mind to it and slips off the sofa.
Knees now secured on the floor, she lets her nails run across the ridges, finding that the fabric is the most stretched and coaxing at his knees and thighs. It feels wonderful. It leaves her hands tingling. Her mouth yearning. That pressure is back between her teeth, so Hinata places both hands on his knees, postures her body between his legs, and leans in to bite into his right thigh.
Sasuke jerks, then huffs. She scrapes her teeth, breaking through the corduroy ridges. Her canine catches, which springs something nice into her gums, her mouth — seeping into her jaw, down her neck. The toughness of the fabric makes her bite more, and she has to remind herself to be careful, to not ruin it. Though she wants to, God, she wants to. Instead, she forces her mouth to the other thigh, biting and scraping, chin grazing the fabric.
When she starts working up to his waist, his hand catches in her hair. It doesn't tug or move her away. It winds into it, nested, fingers pressed into the back of her skull.
He's breathing rather hard now. A little fast. A little stimulated.
Lifting her face some, she says, "I like how it feels on my teeth."
He tries to laugh, but it comes out in a puff of hot air and a hiss of arousal. "I can tell."
"I'm going to keep going."
His fist twisting into her hair tells her he'd like nothing more than for her to do that. Her chest pushes into the sofa as she leans further in, trailing up his thigh with her mouth. When she finds the hill of his hip, she bites hard into that, trying to reach the skin beneath. Sasuke jolts again, trembles. She lifts his shirt up some so she can see the tension of his stomach, the way his muscles push against his skin whenever he flexes. Her teeth leave the corduroy to explore that small expanse of skin, and she's delighted by the wheezing of his breaths and the burn of his fingers as he holds her closer.
Her hands meet at the juncture of his thighs. They rub into his front, feel the hardness of his trapped erection beneath, and claw teasingly at the zipper. His hips lift to rub into her palms. Hinata smiles, works down the zipper, then pulls the sections back to reveal his boxers beneath. Black and tight against him, shaped by his erection.
She traces the head, feeling the heat from beneath. Sasuke shifts some. It must feel good. She does it again, watching his face this time, and warms up at the hooded, eager manner of his gaze. Her mouth suddenly feels dry. She shuts it, rolls her tongue around, hoping to wetten it with saliva. Peeling down his boxers, Hinata gets a good look at his cock. Isn't this the first time she's touched it directly? The vein running down the side of it, she thinks, might taste like his chakra. Spicy and electrical.
Slowing down, holding back before she jumps into something she's not very sure about, she says, "I don't really know how to do this."
He stares, then gazes, then studies her in a sort of stupor.
Sasuke looks so beyond himself. She's never seen him like this before.
"Oh," is all he says.
She smiles some, a little tickled to see he's lost his tongue momentarily. "Do you — I mean, how do I do it?"
"What are you trying to do —" His face folds a bit when both her hands grab at his base, squeezing some, but not moving, "exactly?"
He wants her to say it? Her tongue rolls around some more, and she says, quietly, "Blowjob."
As if another piece of his mind has been taken, Sasuke stares for a long time more. His cock is twitching between her palms. She really wants to start making him feel good, but she doesn't exactly know how.
"Is that okay?" she prompts.
He shivers, and finally, his heavy gaze breaks from her face. "Sure."
"How do I do it?"
He sneers, "I don't know."
Hinata supposes that makes sense. If he's never had one before, then how would he know what should and shouldn't be done? This is a first for both of them. Well, that's fine. If she takes a moment to think about it, she's sure she can understand the works of it. She should touch it first, find the parts he likes. But without lube, it can be painful for him, right? Hinata doesn't think she owns any lotion, so she'll have to think on her feet. Collecting saliva on her tongue, she leans in and runs it along the underside of his cock. She coats as much of it as she can, enjoying the jump of muscle and heat beneath her tongue; then, she collects some more, turns her head, and coats the sides next. She tastes that vein, massages it with the flat of her tongue, then moves on to his head. Taking in a deep breath, Hinata opens her mouth wide, fits the tip in her mouth, then twirls her tongue over every centimeter of it, lubing it, wetting it. Something hoarse groans deep in Sasuke's throat when she attacks the glands, which springs heat in her veins.
With his cock coated, Hinata adds a hand to the base, pumping him slowly. He's so firm in her palm. His skin is burning.
Pulling her mouth away, Hinata looks up at him again. That pinched expression of ecstasy tells her she's done at least something right.
"Good?" she asks.
He pushes his bangs from his face, panting. Definitely good.
Perhaps she's supposed to swallow him next. Is she really supposed to deepthroat him on her first try? Hinata's not afraid to try, so she dives in again, mouth open, hot breath fanning over his cock's sensitive head. When her mouth wraps around his dick this time, she suddenly becomes aware of her teeth and how they're just barely grazing the underside. She has to be careful not to bite. Hinata sinks down a little more, taking more of him in. His hot cock stretches onto her tongue. She can only get a bit more in before it starts to feel uncomfortable, so Hinata stops there, not sure what to do. Just having it in can't be all that pleasurable. She's supposed to move somehow, right? Do something.
Lifting her head again, Hinata gulps a breath, then asks, "Do I need to suck?"
Sasuke's face is almost heavenly. Almost ethereal. Burned in the light of dawn, boiling and mystified. His entire torso moves with each stampeding breath — up and down — up — down. He hardly looks himself. As if she's taken some part of him.
His hand comes down to the side of her face, thumb tugging up her lip, revealing a wink of teeth.
"Yes," he murmurs. "Do that."
Almost a plea. As close to a plea as Sasuke Uchiha probably has ever gotten. And she is the one who has gotten him here with just her mouth on his cock.
So Hinata goes in again, taking him in as much as she can, one hand enveloping what's not in her mouth and pumping. Her tongue presses into the heat, and as she sucks, she slowly lifts her head until she reaches just the head. She's making rather loud and . . . nasty sounds. It's hard to breathe with his dick in her mouth, so she has to through her nose — and with a pumping heart and jumping nerves, even that can be hard. Hinata lifts her mouth, gasps, pants, then goes back in, sucking more, pumping more. When she feels his thighs shake the most when she's concentrating on his head, she turns all her focus there, sometimes sucking, sometimes lapping, something lifting her mouth to let her palms massage it. His breathing is getting louder, and sometimes it croaks with a noise deep from his throat.
Hinata wants to make him cum. She grabs his thighs, feels the rough corduroy, and swallows him up once more. His feet kick out. His hand grabs her hair, then the edge of the sofa. He starts to wheeze, desperate. He sounds close. She hopes he is. She wants to watch it worm through his body.
Panting, Hinata pulls her mouth away from the last time, pumping him fast and rough with her hand. His body is dancing, head thrown back, legs jumping, abdominal muscles flexing and curling. Suddenly, his arm flings over his face, and he comes with a breathy moan, trembling and falling. Her eyes are too stuck on his hidden face to watch, but she feels it hit her chest, spraying out, warm. That feeling that Hinata is starting to realize she loves — when he cums on her skin
"Fuck," he huffs, breathless.
Hinata then enjoys the look of aftermath on his body. The sloping thighs and ebbing breaths. The relaxed mouth slightly ajar. Knees swung to the side and hair a sticky mess against his sweaty skin. The slow crawl into exhaustion. Hinata wipes herself clean with a tissue, then sits next to him on the sofa once more.
She pulls his arm from his face and is pleased to find his sharingan activated, dully spinning as he looks at her.
"Okay?" she asks.
His hands slips under her chin, bringing her down so he can kiss her.
Then, still a bit breathless, he says, "When I get my energy back, I'm fucking your brains out."
So . . .
Hinata, buzzing, sits there and waits.
Aftermath
The shifting brightness of sunlight through her apartment's bedroom window is what wakes her first, followed by the scratch of something on paper. Hinata stirs against her pillow, hair stuck to her face, tangled under her skull. It will take her a while to comb out all the knots and nets. Not exactly something she's looking forward to.
Usually, she tries to tie it back before bed to prevent exactly this.
Sasuke hadn't allowed that last night.
Sasuke hadn't, really, allowed a lot of things last night except for her to beg and moan and wither beneath him.
Thinking about it wakes her fully, and Hinata lets the sheets slide down her body as she sits up, rubs the sleep from her eyes, then turns slightly in her bed to see Sasuke sitting on the edge, partially facing her. On his knee lies paper on the back of a notebook.
He scribbles at it, and he doesn't look up until she speaks.
"What's that?"
Sasuke enjoys how the sun breathes against her skin, washing her in a glow. A small smile warms his mouth as he leans in to kiss the side of her face.
"A list."
...
He wants to take her out for something, so he lets her shower and helps comb out her hair as it dries out. It's pretty warm outside, so they leave their heavy coats at her place and enjoy the early sun and the soft breeze. They walk down a street they don't traverse often, where the trees are slowly regrowig their leaves. The neighborhood is new and quiet. The nearby park is quiet, children still sleeping in at home.
Sasuke has himself to her left so his hand can hold hers with ease.
As they pass houses, Hinata lets her nosy mind wander, inspecting the tall windows and side gardens. They look quaint and nice. How she would love to have her own garden one day. Would she grow vegetables or flowers?
She fancies herself with the idea for a while as they continue on, then slows and pauses when a For Sale sign comes into view.
Sasuke stops with her, and together, they look at the home.
"It's nice." Hinata grins at him. "I'd like a house like that — one day. Not very big. Lots of windows for the sun to come in."
She's ready to continue on after her silly musings, but Sasuke stays for a beat longer. Staring. Considering. Making a mental note — a list — that will take careful planning and deciding for the next several months.