Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

A Question of Priorities	By : randomsome1 Category: Naruto > Het - Male/Female Views: 5541 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Stories told around campfires always said a forest went dead silent around a large predator. Sakura'd found this wasn't true: there was always plenty of sound around them as they traveled. Birds sang in the distance; leaves rustled and insects chirped; out of the corner of her eye she saw the occasional squirrel. Sometime past noon they even darted past a startled pair of deer. Gaara even made noise—at first to monitor how quickly the chakra inhibitor wore off but mostly when she asked him questions, which kept their trip from being too uncomfortably quiet.

Naruto knew where to meet them, Gaara told her, and would be (hopefully) keeping out of trouble until then. Yes, they'd have to travel for a day or so to get there. It seemed the surrounding area, an uninhabited stretch of Leaf's territory near Sand's border, hadn't just drawn enough attention from Leaf to warrant sending her team out to examine it: Sand had learned from a captured S-class missing-nin that there might more missing-nins here, and that their ties were worth looking into. Gaara'd been on his way to a trade meeting when his group was attacked near the border; the information he'd gotten from his entourage's murderers had pointed him in this direction. Yes, he'd ignored anything resembling border protocol; no, he didn't care--and was pretty sure she didn't either. He'd crossed Naruto's tracks, found the blond wounded and fighting off the darts' effects, and at his friend's demands he had come after her.

Sakura tried to not think about how Gaara'd gotten his information from his attackers, even though she suspected she'd seen his methods firsthand: Rip the first to bits, then promise the second a fast death if they just answered his questions, then check his answers against a third, or fourth . . .

The speed at which both of her attackers had died seemed to indicate that Gaara had all the information he wanted.

The speed at which she hadn't died, though, seemed to indicate the missing-nins'd had further plans for her.

She'd been quietly mulling that idea over for a few moments before they stopped at a small stream, and was so lost in her own thoughts it took a bit to notice that the area immediately around them was strangely, markedly quiet.

Sakura stretched upwards, taking a few deep breaths as Gaara looked at the water, then at the grassy patch where they'd come to a halt, then at her. He'd set a hell of a pace, and she felt no small amount of pride that she'd been able to keep up with him.

"We should wash," he said suddenly. Sakura nodded agreement—then glanced around them in confusion. Now? Together? In the middle of enemy territory and in broad daylight? In that tiny thing—a stream so small she could hop over it without a problem, and a pool that wasn't very much bigger?

Gaara didn't like to waste time, it seemed.

"I've ringed the area with traps." A faint, knowing smile flickered across his face—he'd seen her look around and guessed at her thoughts. "Nothing'll disturb us."

"Right," she replied. The tension and want of earlier had faded with distance and conversation, leaving her facing any number of second thoughts. Maybe he could make her a sandy privacy wall. Maybe she could go further downstream, find a better spot.

Or maybe he could get naked right there in front of her.

As a promised lover, Gaara seemed to have no problem with unselfconsciously stripping down to his skin and wading in to wash. The water barely came up to his hips, and Sakura turned her head to prevent herself from getting any more than a fleeting glimpse. "I'll wait."

"Why?"

Because she was nervous. Because his blase, startlingly practical attitude towards sex was completely outside of her understanding. Because his bare skin didn't seem to mesh very well with her sense of modesty.

Sakura shook her head and kicked off her sandals. This was stupid. He'd saved her life; he'd proven himself safe. And even if she got the awful nagging feeling that he only offered to "help" her because of some unspoken territorial contest between him, Naruto, and Lee, it wasn't like she had to have sex with him. He'd just be like another teammate; a strange, hormonal, unstable and unbelievably lethal teammate, one that happened to kiss like their lives depended on it.

Borderline-satisfied with this idea, she looked up—and almost swallowed her tongue. His side profile was to her, the water covering him to the waist and sunlight streaming down on him, and he'd apparently been hiding a lot under the loose-fitting clothes he favored. Like the clean straight line of his shoulders, or the way the muscles in his arm moved as he trailed his fingers through the water, or the way his musculature stood out and and flexed along his ribs, down to his stomach and over his hip, cutting a completely fascinating line—

She wondered what the front looked like. Screw that—she wondered what it felt like. She'd seen plenty of well-built guys before, sure, but this? Looking and knowing that all she had to do was say the word and he'd let her touch him, would touch her, would kiss her again until . . .

Self-consciousness made her cheeks burn. Now there was no way she could follow him in.

"Are you coming or what?"

He sank down, leaving only his head above water. That much less naked Sand-nin to look at helped her get her mental feet under herself again, and she forced a smile. "Maybe. How's the water?"

"Nh."

Figured—completely unhelpful.

One thought came clear out of the cacophony of pros and cons flying around in her head: If she went into the water with him, he'd probably kiss her again.

It'd never been so hard for her to take her clothes off. She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't make herself watch what he looked at. Here, like this, the sunlight wouldn't hide her faults: her hips and breasts were too small, her thighs were too fat, her stomach wasn't flat enough, her toenails needed trimmed—

He raised a hand to her as she got to the water's edge, and she accepted it for the sake of steadiness. The water rose past her knees to her thighs, and somehow Gaara was directly in front of her, his hand in hers subtly guiding her to meet him. The pool had cooled his skin, and their contact leached her heat away from where they touched: thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach, her chest flattening against his and his hands chilly against her back.

Another part of him pressed against her hip, warmed faster than the rest of his body, moved of its own volition. Sakura tensed—Did he intend to do it here? Would he at least give her warning? Could it even work while they were standing?—but all he did was hold her. In a second, she wrapped her arms around him as well.

"I'll remember you this way," he said quietly. His expression was soft, relaxed, openly admiring. Before she could think of a way to respond he brushed his lips against hers, let go, and climbed out of the pool.

Well. That hadn't been quite what she'd expected either. After a few seconds of standing there, feeling relieved and disappointed and utterly bewildered, Sakura sank down to rinse. Gaara didn't touch his clothing, though. She told herself that he was just choosing to dry off in the sunlight, not that he had decided this was a better place than a battlefield for him to take her virginity. Even though it was. And according to Gaara-logic . . .

Thinking this through with any kind of normal logic, she decided, would probably only hurt her head.

Gaara tipped his gourd onto its side with one foot, sat down in the grass by the water's edge, and settled his back against its dip. His fingers idly caressed its rough surface like a favorite piece of furniture and he watched her, fascinated, as she finished washing.

She wouldn't have thought he'd want to get things done this soon, but doubted he was waiting there, completely naked and fully erect, just because he loved the sunlight. "Now?" she asked, and shamed herself by stammering.

"Do you really want to put it off for longer than necessary?"

Maybe. But she'd expected her first time to be somewhere private, with candles and warm clean sheets. Not in the middle of the woods, in the grass, with any number of enemies prowling the area—even though only a few minutes before she'd expected it to be in a creek.

She remembered the warmth of his skin, his mouth, his hands, the exquisite lines of his stomach, how his body'd been ready but how he hadn't pushed things at all. And as her own body made its approval known with a strange, coercive pang of craving, she nodded and approached.

She accepted his hand again, and their fingers intertwined as she straddled his thighs. She'd meant to use the distance between their bodies, however slight, as a barrier. Instead he used it as an opportunity: as one hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer for a kiss, his other hand reached for her body. Two fingers brushed against the side of her neck; four against her collarbone; his whole hand against her shoulder, and then he slid down, cupping—and then back to two fingers, her nipple between them, and enough pressure to make her arch against his hand for more.

He wouldn't rush, his hands moving slowly, carefully—the one stroking down her back, the other against her breasts—and his mouth remained on hers, kissing her deeply, incessantly. The wet rhythm of his kisses sharpened the amorphous craving she'd felt to a full-blown want, and Sakura finally broke away, trying to catch her breath.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I just . . ." She nibbled the inside of her lip and, since he seemed to appreciate vocal approval, made herself say it. "You feel good."

"I think that's the idea," he murmured amusedly, and put her hand on his body so his heart beat strongly against her palm.

She reached out with her other hand, using her fingers on his chest in the same way he'd touched her, and he gave an approving sound and pulled her a little closer. His stomach felt even better than it'd looked—wonderfully soft, smooth skin, with ridges of muscle that moved and flexed under her hands. There was a faint tan line at his hips, about where his pants would sit, and she smiled and touched it too, imagining him working shirtless and making every kunoichi within viewing distance absolutely miserable. And there, waiting against the thin trail of red hair that led down from his navel . . .

Before she could decide on whether or not, he leaned in for her throat—and slipped his hand between her legs. His fingers stroked against her, and she realized how wet she was with how easily they slid: up until she squirmed from both sensitivity and want, then down to slide slowly into her, then back up to give a little, circular stroke that made her gasp—then back down, and deep. She moved with him, reaching almost without meaning to and closing her hands around him, squeezing in time with the thrusts of his fingers—and then they slid out again, and went back to slippery wet circles, and her breath caught.

If she'd known he could do this, Sakura thought, she would've dragged him off and had her way with him years before.

Gaara nuzzled her throat, one hand still at her breasts as the other continued working against her. Sakura didn't realize she was moving closer to him until her hips met his—and before she could think about that he grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulled it back and down until her chest rose, and applied his mouth to her breasts. His fingers slid into and out of her one last time before he pulled his hand away, and she jerked forward. That way, together, with his tongue against her skin and his fingers teasing her until she shook, until she could feel herself clenching around them—she wanted that. Desperate, she reached for his hand—and he pulled her flush to him so his hardness met and slid against her, encouraging her to tease herself with long, wet-smooth strokes.

If this would be anything like how he'd feel inside her . . .

Sakura moaned and ground harder against him, wanting, and he responded with tiny, gentle bites, ones that were jolts of pleasure more than pain. Her upward strokes against him came with purpose—maybe she'd go too far, maybe she'd catch him at the right angle and then all of him would be wonderfully, deeply—

She shuddered and moaned again, bucking her hips sharply and digging her nails into his shoulders—then slowed to a stop. That . . .

She blinked at the sky and Gaara stopped kissing her, releasing her hair so he could look her in the face.

That was . . .

He reached between them to guide himself and she reacted instinctively, lifting her hips up so he fit to her. He'd felt wonderful this way, but in her he'd be—

She pushed down once, hard, and buried her face against his shoulder to keep from crying out. Too much, she thought desperately, too much—

His hips rolled up against hers, filling her, and she let out a choked, pained gasp. Gaara took it for pleasure; his arms wrapped around her and tightened, trying to move her. But the unexpected pain had made her noncompliant; her legs went limp, and for lack of any better ideas she refused to help him.

He wasn't stupid; he recognized her reaction for what it was. "Are you okay?"

"Gaara . . ." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Do we have to keep going?"

For a moment he was silent, his hands rubbing frantically over her thighs, her sides, her hips, and she knew how very much he wanted to continue. But the shock of feeling like this, like he'd bruised her and split her in two . . .

"If you want," he finally rasped, and let go of her hips. She lifted herself and as he slipped out she shifted to the side, unsure of her legs' strength.

The pertinent question suddenly became this: What should she do with an extremely aroused Sand-nin?

He looked her over again, the tight line of his mouth and his half-lidded stare clearly telling her what he wanted her to do—but when her uncertainty won over and she made no other move towards him, he stood and headed back to the stream. Sakura watched him go, so caught up in wondering if she should've done something else that she couldn't even appreciate the view.

The thing to jerk her out of her worries was even more worrisome: sand had started to follow him. Sakura leaped to her feet, sure she was either going to have to fight for her life or witness the absolute most messed-up masturbation tactic ever. "Gaara? Is everything all right?"

"I thought cold water was supposed to help." He half-turned toward her and scowled down at himself, as if surprised at his own reaction. "It hurts."

"Can . . ." Sakura scowled as well—damn it, she could do better than that. She bit back the word, forced bravado into her voice as she took a couple steps towards him, and started again. "I can help . . . If you want."

For a second she was sure he'd drop her right there on the muddy bank and fuck her until she couldn't think. For another second, she wondered what it'd feel like if he did. Gaara took a step out of the water and towards her, then another, and her mouth went dry.

What had he done to her to make her like this? Why was it that already the shock of his breeching her had gone; even though her body still ached, why did she remember him inside her with hunger instead of hurt?

He stopped in front of her, jaw moving as he swallowed. "Your hands," he said, and she nodded. Then his hands were on her as she touched him, drawing her closer, and he nuzzled her shoulder as she began to caress him. Sakura nibbled at his neck a little in return, stroking his thighs and stomach teasingly, then returning to his hardness, running her fingers from the base to the tip, then closing her hand around him and squeezing gently.

Gaara's hand closed over hers, squeezing harder than she would've thought he'd like, and she took the hint. She kept both hands moving, tightening on the upward stroke, releasing on the downward, feeling his hips start to move with her rhythm.

His hand slipped back between her legs, his fingertips startlingly cool, and picked up where they'd left off—little circles, then two fingers into her, then little circles again. She weighed the sting against her reawakened craving and found her craving greater.

"Trying to convince me to try again?" she managed.

"Not what I was thinking," he replied, and kissed her.

Sakura laughed against his lips and pulled back. "Then what were you thinking?"

He reached towards her face with his unoccupied hand. "Your mouth."

She understood, and they went to their knees together. Gaara sat, keeping her at his side so he could touch her more easily, and wet his fingers with his saliva before he reached for her body. The warmth of his fingers contrasted with the breeze against her skin, sharpened by the wetness his touch left behind, and she shivered as she reached out for him again. Sakura only had the basic idea of how this was done—but it seemed the basics worked well enough, and expanding on them was simplicity. She teased him with her tongue, licking spirals and patterns; she took him down her throat until she was sure she'd gag, then sucked harder as she withdrew until he almost slipped out of her mouth. The last had him making soft, choked-back noises, and she worried until she looked up and saw him watching with undisguised, undiluted lust.

Her saliva helped her hands slide better on him; she used them both. In turn, his saliva helped his fingers better slide back into her. She moaned at the touch and took him as deep into her mouth as she could, over and over, and he gasped. She wished he'd kiss her again; she wished it was his mouth against her skin, his tongue stroking where his fingers did. She wanted—

She stopped and pulled up to look at him, and suddenly found herself on her back with him over her. "Tell me," he said; and his mouth was at one breast, his hand at the other, his fingers inside her and thrusting relentlessly as his thumb rubbed against that indescribably sensitive spot. And it would've been easy for her to stay with this, to let him bring her to another, even better finish—but she wanted more. So she reached between them, found him still slick from her ministrations, and worked her hands over him hard and fast until his own rhythm broke and he rose, gasping, to see her face.

"Do it," she whispered, and set him back against herself. Sakura closed her eyes to concentrate this time as he carefully slid back into her, and found that slower was much better than abruptly impaling herself. She sighed as he moved deeper, and finally let out an appreciative moan as his hips ground flush against hers and she'd taken every possible inch of him.

Finally he began to move, giving her short, deep thrusts that put pressure at every spot she wanted. "Better?" she heard him ask against her ear, his voice gone ragged.

"More," she hissed in return—and he drew back, almost all the way out, and thrust deeply into her again. Sakura moaned again as she moved with him, aware of the noises she made but too caught up in the sensations to quiet herself. If it went on like this . . .

Gaara shifted to a kneel, holding her hips so her back arched and legs parted further around him. This changed the angle, changed the pressures completely, and she opened her eyes to see what he was doing. One arm held her hips in place; his free hand pressed against her lower stomach, thumb down. Then his thumb had reached her again, had found the spot where she wanted more contact, and he stroked her until she began to whimper and move against him. She wanted—

He began to thrust again, each stroke slow in comparison to his thumb's movement, and Sakura gasped at the combined sensation. The way her body tightened made it feel like there was even more of him, the angle made it feel like he was even deeper than he'd been before, and as all of her focus became caught up in the fluid slide of his body into hers her only thought was to take all of him, all of him, all of—

She remembered in time that they were in hiding and held back the cry that welled up in her throat as the sensations overflowed, then overwhelmed her. Sakura convulsed, clenching her legs around him, clutching his thighs, and finally let herself moan with every last stroke. In return he slowed, drawing out every movement until her climax finally abated and she was left clinging to him, trembling and gasping for breath.

Once again he slipped out of her, falling to his side and gathering her into his arms. Sakura went gladly. She ran her hands over him again because he was there and wonderful—and because she was fairly certain it'd be criminal to not get her hands on that stomach as often as possible. Amidst her caresses, though, she noticed that he'd started to go soft already. Curiosity made her ask—she couldn't believe he'd just lost interest, not after that. "Did . . . did you go, too?"

"Before I sat up." He paused, then smiled a rueful little smile. "You felt amazing." He kissed her—lips, cheeks, chin, forehead, a satisfied, gentle scatter of his affection—then wrapped both arms around her and sighed relaxedly into her hair.

Sakura giggled a little. Amazing? He'd been pretty amazing. It'd be amazing if she could walk later, too. She was still a little sore—but then again, she'd expected that much.

And she wondered what it would be like if they tried again later. If it would be better . . . She shivered in response to the thought. Sakura bit her lower lip and tucked her head, knowing then that as surely as they continued to travel together, she'd do her best to seduce him.

After a deserved moment of rest, Sakura shifted, then made a face at the slipperiness on her thighs. It might be well-earned, but they were outside and there were some things she didn't want bugs anywhere near. "Think we should wash?"

He didn't even open his eyes. "I've been covered in worse."

Well, that was that. And a little worrisome. But he was still very warm, and laying there with him was still very comfortable, and if she could just stay there and not think about fighting and killing for just ten seconds more she'd consider herself—

Something nearby screamed, a short, high-pitched shriek that abruptly cut off. Sakura jerked upright. "What was that?"

"A rabbit. It touched one of the triggerpoints."

She tried to control her expression, but something of her reaction must've come through anyway. He sat up with yet another exasperated half-glare. "I don't have enough food for both of us. There could be missing-nin anywhere around here; we both need to keep our strength up."

Sakura looked down, blushing. "Sorry . . . I thought the traps were just for other shinobi." Then she'd thought he just wanted to kill whatever was available—but she wouldn't tell him that.

He untangled himself from her, and stood. "I killed a ninja once who could use small animals for remote viewing. This far into enemy territory, I don't want to take the chance of meeting another."

So she hadn't been too far off with the "kill everything" idea. Sakura rolled her eyes at his backside as he walked back towards the water. "If you'd met one who could hide in the dirt instead, would you dig up every place you ever went?"

"Maybe."

"Remember what I said about practicality?"

He looked over his shoulder at her, his expression perfectly blank. "If you're practical, you're not crazy."

"There's such a thing as being too practical, you know."

"Maybe," he said again, and waded back into the pool.

Sakura watched him go, considering, before staggering to her feet and following him. Well, congratulations, she said to herself. You just lost your virginity to Gaara of the Desert.

And guess what: He's still out of his mind.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Question of Priorities