Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

She Made Him Wait	By : Tomcat171 Category: Naruto > Het - Male/Female Views: 10707 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any characters from it, nor am I receiving payment for writing this piece of fiction.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
A gust whispers its passing.
A cat mewls its attention-seeking purpose to the uncaring neighbourhood from atop a garden fence.
An abandoned newspaper sheet dances across the gravelled street like a wary pedestrian.
Night-time Konoha - for all the activity of its daylight counterpart – demonstrates its lonely, empty existence to whatever soul may still be wondering its avenues. The caring moonlight is driven away by the harsh lighting of the most populated drinking establishments and restaurants, splitting the village into the districts of high life…and no life. The soft audible caresses of wind are pitted against distant rattles of dense chatter and drunken laughter.
Haruno Sakura never bothers to notice these tiny quirks. The peacefulness of her environment is lost on the congregating and haunting memories of witnessed debauchery and faded inner questions.
With that said, though, the questions are never completed, let alone answered, continually cut off by ghostly echoes of pleasured groans and squeals of bodily rapture. Every question is cut off by another. No answers, no closure, not even the surety that what she had seen was even real.
The newspaper is crushed beneath her running stride, the stones in the path grinding holes through the inked material before the lifting of her boot puts it at the wind's mercy.
The existence of genjutsu isn't beyond her…yet it all seemed far too insane, even the thought of somebody conjuring that scene as the imagery for an illusion was just so farfetched that it almost made her want to laugh.
However, laughing she was not.
That's why she's so chilled to the bones, frantically wiping at her eyes to rid herself of any proof that what she saw affected her. The air blasting into her face as she fervently runs back to her apartment doesn't help in any way, either.
'Fuck me harder…'
Her teeth grit, she's angered by the rebellion of her own memories. The recollections of the training ground help her in no way. Even as the street lights blur past her vision in yellow streaks, she's reminded of blond hair: two different shades, two different styles.
Two different lovers.
'You love this, don't you?'
Thoughts of his growl stab at her stomach, almost making her lose balance on the next stride.
And then there was the smell…
She remembers the cleanliness of the air and savoury scent of soil, all too soon finding it battled by the stuffy and intoxicating fumes of sweat and stale deodorisers. It was almost a mix of sweet and sour, multiple bodily fluids coagulating into a thick musk of bedroom-brewed incense.
She can smell a mere fraction of it on her fingers, fingers that lost the will to resist, fingers that tried to have her succumb.
The wetness and tingling of nerves is still harboured at the apex of her thighs, further exaggerated with each step she makes. It only seeks to warm her belly, corrupt her brain, make her want to be rid of it like a perpetual sub-dermal itch; one that always remains but that no amount of scratching could possibly quash.
It would need to be dealt with deep down.
Her front door bears no witness to her frantic movements, gliding open and closed with patience and relaxed precision. Outside she had a want, a need to run away as far and as fast as possible. She was not within her comfort zones, far too overwhelmed by the sights of chiselled, naked skin and the grates of exalted moans. Inside she has her cocoon, her sanctuary where all contemplations are made safe and secure.
She had weighed up the pros and cons of asking Naruto out in this apartment. Eventually she had gone for it.
A lot of good that did her.
A light bulb sparks to life, furling night's curtain away from polished wall tiles and glistening ceramics. The sink sparkles as a tap gushes forth into the hands of its owner, flinging glittering droplets back to join the excess that swirls into the abyss beneath. Her reddened cheeks feel the cold shock of the water in her hands, but her rushing blood rebuilds the heat within moments. She bathes her face again, but once more the blooming warmth fights back.
She looks up, meeting an imposter in a circular mirror. She would have believed herself only barely affected by the earlier shocks, yet the alter-ego staring at her in the droplet-spattered reflection is beset by bloodshot eyes, small creases supporting her lower eyelids, dishevelled hair explosively drawn across her forehead and lips downturned into a malignant frown.
His buttocks clenching, thrusting his hips into hers.
The image flashes behind her eyes, forcing them closed and further clarifying it.
Her gleaming teeth exposed to the moon, split apart in a desperate cry for more.
She shakes her head, but the sound remains plastered inside her ears.
'She doesn't know anything…'
Such words were never said, but paranoia was never going to be far away.
"Go away…" She harshly whispers to the defiant reflection.
His organ so straight and rigid, each inch hungrily swallowed by swollen petals, only to be regurgitated and consumed again in a lubricated cycle.
She charges out of the bathroom - too embroiled in her psyche to turn off the light – and charges into her bedroom down the hall. The drapes, still drawn open from earlier, soothe half of the room with a soft glow gifted by the lunar surface. She would have considered it pretty if not for what it had unveiled to her prying eyes.
It was as if the goddess of the stars herself was displeased with her voyeurism.
"You're amazing…"
He was kissing her, sucking at the lips of the deceitful cow.
A half of her impending shout of frustration is caught in her throat, what escapes bounces harmlessly between the walls and ends in more silence. Her bare feet march her to the curtains, adrenaline-quivered arms haphazardly yanking them closed sans a tiny fillet of light. Still her core tingles, harasses her with a deep burning. She can't ignore it any longer.
Her thoughts seek to break her, she believes she must retaliate or at least soothe her anger. Still she does not know if it actually happened.
If someone can give her strain using imagined scenes, she can find relief in her own.
Shaking hands hastily unfasten her skirt and fling it toward the closest corner of the room to remain forgotten until the morning light.
Her knees mark her mounting of the bed, causing the mattress to sink and yield to her need for support. For all their tendencies of destruction, soft hands glide over the comforter and pull her up to the pillows, keeping her upright and facing the wall. Her eyes close again, relying on willpower alone to irrigate earlier upsets.
She can see sunlight, azure skies and brown-green blurs of the forest in the distance as she spins and somersaults like it's a second nature. There's a kunai in her right hand, the downward-facing point swinging to the left and trying to slash at her target.
He appears in her periphery.
A torn, grass-stained vest of black and orange teases tanned skin beneath it. Gleaming white teeth are grit as his torso leans back from the attack, lips turning it into a grin as the evasion proves successful. Her free fist lunges for the chest but he sidesteps to her right and steps forward, his hair leaving a brief yellow blur.
His trailing arm clamps onto the wrist supporting her weapon, she's forcefully spun back towards him by the grip, but he continues around to trap her punching arm. His arm makes it under hers, lifting it before planting his palm on the back of her neck. Her restrained limb is locked helplessly in the air, she ejects struggled breaths as he brings her own hand - complete with kunai - to bear against her throat.
That's the least of her concerns, for his chest is magnetised to her back. A quick shake of resistance against his grip translates the change in his muscles from soft to sturdy through her shoulder blades as he tries to keep her shackled.
'We said no grapples', she can imagine herself droning in complaint.
'You sure, Sakura-chan? Or are you just saying that to avoid admitting you got beat?'
Through her lucid fantasy, she has him whisper the jest right beside her ear, hoping to feel a tickling sensation from the phantom heat in his breath.
'Fine, if you want to play that way.'
Her backside pushes back into his groin.
She wills him to go with it…
….returning the favour with his own clothed grinding.
Her hand comes to life, starting at her knee and caressing upward along the smooth skin of her thigh and orbiting around her waist. Fingertips sample the silken fabric of her shorts before spreading out, allowing her palm to lie comfortably against the curve of her rear. She can feel it now, the grinding of Phantom Naruto's hips against her posterior brought to life by her mimicking hand.
The sounds of his lusty sighs swarm her hearing, contort her mind and stir her stomach. The hand he uses to control her kunai eases off, allowing her to drop the weapon completely. He grabs her hand almost as quickly as he'd released it, but she somehow feels powerless under his touch, unable to resist or compromise.
But that's because she doesn't wish that of her fantasy avatar.
Still they stand as if embroiled in a packed nightclub: lower bodies constantly touching, refusing to end their mutual groping. His right arm persists in manipulating her, moving her arm across her front, forcing her own fingers to feel the quickened rising and falling of her chest and the earthquake of her heartbeat. She shivers as she feather-lightly grazes her nipple, budding and begging for further attention from under her top, before his fingers force hers to close and grasp at her mound.
Her right hand complies, skirting over her vest and squeezing at her bosom. A gasp escapes her lips.
The arm he has pinned above her head remains, but her forearm is granted a small range of movement. She uses it wisely, pulling her hand back to palm at his head and pull his face beyond her shoulder, lips desperately seeking a partner. They lock, silently telling of their admiration in a sloppy exchange of saliva and tongue probes. He pulls away, halting all protests in her throat as his weight shifts forward, forcing them both to their knees, torsos still locked and undulating.
"Unh…" Her closed eyes clench further, emphasising her guttural moan. The middle and index fingers of the hand stroking her rear connect and bestow extra pressure, imitating what she wishes to be Phantom Naruto's length hardening under the confines of his pants as he pushes against her.
'What do you want?' She hears as a distant echo, a voice laced with grainy undertones but oozing domination.
'I…I want…' Her avatar stutters in a whisper.
'Tell me.' He insists, 'Tell me you want this.'
"I want you in me." Her voice resonates, breaking the black silence of her very real bedroom. Her eyes flash apart, pupils flickering in the additional, though only minor, change in lighting.
She can't believe she's just said that aloud. All other admittances of her desires were done in the full privacy of her head. Only inside was she sure of the wants of her heart, never was she going to admit them to anybody else unless assured that it would remain confidential.
Even when alone in her bedroom, she considers the darkness and the moon strangers.
Even so, the confession only seeks to fuel the want. Her eyelids seal up once more, reforming the scene of her mind's eye.
'I've always wanted to hear you say that.'
Ghostly lips drag over her neck, invisible fiery welts coursing over her skin completed by surges of impulse charging through her muscles. The hand on her rear crawls up to the waistband of her shorts.
Her left arm is finally freed yet she keeps it there, frozen as his hand kneads at her side, squeezing at her ribs with an icy grip that still singes her.
She gasps, replacing her very real fingers with his astral tendrils for every moment they pry at her shorts and peel them away from her skin, dragging the tight fabric over the spongy flesh of her ass and laying it to bridge at the centre of her thighs. He returns to her hips to divest them of her last barrier, stripping her soiled and sticky underwear to rest with her unwanted shorts. The hand keeping her at her breast relinquishes its hold, swiftly moving to her back and forcing her onto her hands with little persuasion.
She leans over in full willingness. Her free hand fists the comforter, soft cotton between her fingertips trying to pass as the lush prickliness of grass and dampness of fresh soil.
Still his imprisoned hard on rubs against her, his pelvis unrelenting in its teasing.
It's not fast enough…
He's immediately unfastening his waistline button and unashamedly flaunting the loud buzz of his loosening fly.
'Can you feel that?' He asks in a husky drone, scalding naked hardness rubbing on her, sandwiched in the cleft of her supple cheeks.
Chills shoot up her spine and congregate around her neck as the air of the room meets the dampness of her exposed flower, aching for more under the touches of her lurking fingers. They move away from her rear, down her stomach and between her thighs. Strokes with the flat pads of her fingertips change to prods with their peaks, imitating the blunt head of his shaft as it kisses at her opening.
Her supporting arm gives, bringing her shoulders to collapse onto the mattress but still keeping her posterior raised to the phantom like a feral mating display.
'Please…' She begs, "Please…just take me...'
White explodes across her vision as two fingers lunge. Her muscles contract with the touch, squeezing around the intrusion, begging it to remain. Vocal breaths spew from her throat as the invading appendages flutter inside her, sometimes splitting to double the effect of their caresses, searching out the velvety ripples in her canal and eagerly rubbing.
'How is it?' He asks softly but with a demand still underlying.
"Unh…" Words are lost in the onslaught of pleasurable spikes flooding her cortex, degrading her speech to groans and single syllables.
He's all the way in, every surface of his shaft contacting her in a blissful circuit, each electric spike rampaging along her nerves.
Her fingers are buried all the way, coursing nowhere near as deep as the phantom she dreams to be plundering her.
The heel of her palm inches forward, scraping against her jewel in the same way she wants his sac to do as he urges every possible millimetre to raid her body.
"Agh! Mmm…you're so deep…" Her lips confess the desires of her fantasy to the pillow under her chin.
Another surge of her fingers - another roll of his hips - and the pillow is caught in her teeth to muffle the next cry.
'Nothing rough, sweetheart.' She imagines him leaning over her, chest once again melding to her back, keeping as much of their body connected in that one moment. Still his length resides inside her, each little twitch and shuffle conveyed a thousand fold through the warmth of her channel.
'I'm only doing what you want me to do…saying what you want me to say. This is your mind, after all. You don't want me to pull out at all…you only want me to push.'
He does so, even with every possible part of him accommodated, he still urges his hips into her.
Her fingers mimic, trying to delve further than physically possible. Her palm scrapes her bead again, drawing a strained moan through her pillow-clenching teeth.
'I could fuck you like I did her, you know. Make you believe you're feeling what she did. Make your body shake, turn your brain to jelly and have you screaming like a desperate whore each time I fill you.'
"No…" Her voice is feeble and body wracked with endorphins and a lusting heartbeat.
'But you don't want that, do you? You want me close, you want it slow and sensual…like it's almost romantic.' He scoffs. 'Since when has our relationship ever been mutual, let alone romantic?'
"Shut up…"
'You only just decided to act now? After all these years? After all the times you shot me down?'
His organ…her hand…pushes into her again.
"Haa…" Her abdominal muscles twitch from the spasmodic flickering of her fingers.
'If only you had come to me sooner.'
He pushes again. She moans again.
"Naruto…"
'It sounded better when she shouted it.'
She recalls what he said only seconds before, about how it was her own mind sewing the words birthing from his gullet. Is she really subconsciously torturing herself? Physical pleasure and mental pain melded into a demented compound of simultaneous want and revulsion?
"Shut…guh…shut up…" She's cut off by another prod of his hips.
Her fingers speed up if only slightly, enough to make her belly twinge as a fuse is finally ignited just behind her aching clitoris.
'Oh, that's nice. Take it however you want, Sakura-chan.'
The hand fisting the pillow beside her head moves downward to her zipper. Opposing the slow burn of the phantom inside her, the tab is violently ripped down to her navel, allowing each side of her vest to sink away from her body. The training top underneath is yanked up and over her bare skin, puckered nipples taking their first breaths of the night air before absorbing their share of the stimulation.
Her fingers pinch at the one on her right, a light sting spreading under her areola before she once more returns to a whole-palm caress.
His hand is larger than hers, fondling more than she could hope to on her own. The grating callouses on his palm scrape along her milky skin.
'They feel so soft.' He mumbles into her ear with pelvis still gyrating and erection rubbing along every surface as if to scrub her of any essence but his.
'Hers are bigger, make her a lot curvier. And the taste…'
A restrained sob breaches her jowls, trailed by a louder wail as her wrist speeds up twice, nearly three times as fast.
"Ah…ungh…" Deep gasps interspersed with cracked cries break the vacuum of dead-silence surrounding her bedroom. Still the moon spies on her ministrations through the crack in her curtains, a poetic judiciary advocating her own involuntary exhibitionism, much like she witnessed not half an hour before.
'If only you could know…agh…just how much she loved it…' Being a figment of the filth-oriented partition of her psyche, even he can fail to restrain sexually-fuelled grunts. 'Then again, you do know. You were watching. You watched me fuck her to an ecstasy you'll never reach from this.'
A third finger makes its contribution…
"Ah! God…"
Even in the coming days, Sakura will remain unable to comprehend why such taunting and mocking words – from her own twisted brain, nonetheless - hit her with a typhoon of emotion powerful enough to turn the ember in her stomach into a conflagrated rope twisting around itself one-hundredfold. Perhaps it was the pure sexuality of the words, or possibly something deeper, something protected by her exterior dominance…
'You enjoyed watching me do her, didn't you? When you saw her face as I came inside her, when you heard her scream as she took everything I gave without protest…you wanted that to be you.'
Her ears are ignorant of the slow ripping coming from below her as her free hand – since halting its continued squeezing of her breast - claws away at the comforter, the seams closest to her trained grip giving under the inhuman force.
She's so close now. Just replaying the images of her rebellious mind pushes her further toward sensual insanity.
"N-Naru…" Her wrist starts to tire but she pushes with all she can muster, fingers sawing in and out, palm still grinding against her nub when her appendages sink as far as she dare force.
'Oh, wow…that's so good…' No longer is Phantom Naruto keeping himself glued to her. His hips retract and assault her again with speed. One hand solidly fists the back of her vest for leverage to pull her body back into his thrusts, each one punctuated by a familiar wet slap of flesh: a sound her memory has siphoned from the incident at the training ground.
'Sakura…' He lets out within a grunt.
"Naruto…" Vigorously her hand continues to delve, fingers completely drenched in her own carnal juices. Beads of translucent runoff drip down her wrist, some losing their hold on her skin and splattering on the comforter below.
'Fuck…Sakura…'
Her thumb aggravatingly scrapes along the bundle of nerves. A scorching shock explodes through her hips, quaking all the way up her back and rocketing into her chest like a wildfire. The thumb pushes in hard. The pressure of her fingers inside her is softened by the other layers of her flesh, yet she can feel it – if only slightly – contacting behind the pleasurable ruby.
Her body's final wall of tolerance is destroyed by the double team.
"Naruto!"
Fireworks of white blotches detonate along the linings of her eyelids, sparkling unseen through the waves of nirvana that cascade all the way up her torso from the fire in her core. The muscles in her legs and stomach tense as if electrolysed, and the hand balling the ruined comforter magnifies its state as her arms pull in toward her chest, attempting in utter futility to ease her rampaging heart.
Deep and laborious gasps for air become the only trailing tell of a story penning isolated lust and deep-seated turmoil; a canny rattle seeking to only entertain the attentive ears of the blind night. The tangy scent of sweat fills her nose, immediately followed by the near sweet musk of lustful nectar as her soiled hand balls besides her face on the pillow. Shaken legs finally buckle, slipping her pelvis down to topple to the side, giving the wall before her a full view of her shameless perversion.
The afterglow in the wake of such release should have her reflecting on the events of her fantasy, of the things she could dream of him doing and the admittance of what she had finally convinced herself into chasing. Yet she is doing none of these things.
Instead the gasps seamlessly meld into weak sobs and an onslaught of tears breaching through clamped, distressed eyes. Her throat's clenching up from the stinging in her lungs, twisting her face into one of pain rather than pleasure; all through one word, a word not even spoken in reality, but from one final crack in her brain. Her satisfaction is reliant on selfishness, yet one tiny part of her remains intent on keeping alive a hard fact.
Phantom Naruto had climaxed, yes, but Sakura's name was left forgotten to time.
'Ino!' He had cried as Sakura willed his control to break beside her.
Ino…
Her best friend…
Once her rival in love…
Now her betrayer…
"Why her?" Whispered demands fall through her sob-broken breaths and tensed lips. Exhaustion manifests over her, having her care none for the fact her bare rear is just visible through the gap in her curtains. All she wishes to do now is sleep, pray that the seamless change from dark to light in the morning will somehow act to wipe her deranged fantasies.
Sakura's sleep that night would be restful, yet the emotional rollercoaster would do her no favours in the morning.

The Following Morning – Downtown Konoha
I always thought, like most youths, that the concept of warmth was just a means of making sure you didn't shiver in the cold air of a winter's night. Someone could find warmth in wearing a sweater, stoking a fire or eating a hot meal. One of the most addicting methods, though, would be that feel of waking up in the morning under a cosy comforter and ignoring the common sense of getting up in the morning.
It just never occurred to me that the morning scenario could – or actually would - pan into something so much greater in the future.
I am warm, I am cosy, I am content, I am…happy. My eyes lazily swerve across a cambered plain of ochre and see that the early hours of the morning are afoot. The curtains are closed, but that doesn't stop the sun from blasting the room with a sandy luminescence. Only 8:03 the alarm clock across from us says, and that big glowing ball has already made itself known.
That's right, I said 'us'.
As much as I often desire a big and fluffed up down-feather pillow, sometimes the squishy muscle of a relaxed pectoral has just the right amount of resistance. The heat radiating from the skin coating it and everything else gives me my own hot water plushie. The thought makes me want to giggle a little bit, to be honest.
My hand slowly strokes back and forth over a branch of valleys set apart by more soft muscle that rise and fall with perfect consistency, mapping out the lax breathing of my 'Plushie'. I don't want to lose the warmth flowing from 'Plushie' to my cheek, so I look across to take in a collarbone, then a slightly sinuous neck, and finally a face. But not just any face, a face set among a firm jaw, softly curved cheekbones and one of the messiest hairstyles to ever grace my sight.
Of course, who can forget those whiskers?
I might have been a little bit sneaky in the past and probed him about them; how he got them, what they feel like and so on. Well, to answer those particular questions: he had them from the moment he was born, courtesy of his jinchuuriki mother, and 'not much'. Turns out they're a bit like normal birthmarks, but they have no nerve endings, he doesn't feel anything from them at all.
Shame, really, the things I could have possibly done...
This whole scene, this peacefulness, it just seems so…wrong. I've seen what this boy, this man has done, and I know what he's capable of. How can someone with the power to raze a village on his own sleep so quietly? Then again, I've heard tales of his restlessness on missions; it's funny trying to imagine how he could almost kill Yamato just in his sleep. At least he and I haven't had an incident like that yet; otherwise I'd be relieving him of some precious body parts.
Speaking of which…
There's just something about this...about us. We're always taught to look underneath the underneath as shinobi, expect the unexpected; and even though this was certainly unexpected, the mere idea of it - mostly due to its absurdity - had never crossed my mind until it actually happened.
Do I regret it now, in hindsight?
Absolutely not.
I've seen many fine specimens as I've grown up, a woman notices these things; but it's the ones that sit right in front of your face that you inevitably put off, your history with them clouds your typical perception. That might be why my two original teammates never looked like options; they were always there, as comrades and friends for year and year on end, never changing, never pushing. I grew up with them, they became my family, they became my brothers.
And then one little encounter altered the way I saw this man under my head, one little moment in which he lost himself. It all started with a simple question, but that's a tale for another time. It was what happened then and soon after that opened my eyes and made me consider him for 'candidacy'. I think back now and wonder how I never noticed it: not a single blemish on that tanned body, a smile that shines like diamonds, and eyes that you could swim in. Obviously looks often matter, but I've seen enough of how he acts to know that his density, something that did kind of put me off, is offset by his determination and unbreakable loyalty. While he hasn't always been the most honest of people, considering personal events, his often naïve innocence is enough to excuse it.
I have to say, without any hesitation, that Uzumaki Naruto's bed is something I can very easily see myself waking up in every morning; because despite what parts of him annoy me, his childishness and ramen addiction included, he is a great man in more ways than one.
He's wearing a cute little smile that's gently curling the lowest of his whiskers; very fox-like indeed. Maybe he's thinking of last night...
My God, last night, that was unbelievable. I mean, we had arranged it days before we had our little spontaneous 'session' on my lunch break at the shop yesterday, but I never thought that the sight of his body, gleaming with sweat and emanating such a musty, masculine smell would send me into such a rut. With only a gruff 'hi' to welcome me I was caught, I had to be the one to have him, and no woman would take this from me. Within moments my hands were desperately tugging at his pants and my tongue dancing a wet tango beside his. Just the possessiveness of his wandering hands roaming over my body and the heat of his breath as his lips sucked at my skin drove me wild, and I was enveloped with rapture as we took each other again, and again…and again.
We've kept it veiled in at least some amount of secrecy, but I have my reasons. He's courteous enough to allow me this much. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't embarrassed. Embarrassed, but far from ashamed; I think any sane woman with somewhat normal taste would be regretting not taking a shot at this fine man. My biggest reason for this plan would be the aforementioned unexpectedness and possible shock.
You see, one person already knows about us.
Naruto and I were getting a little touchy-feely at the back of the shop about a fortnight ago and…well, you know you've done something outrageous when Nara Shikamaru, one of the most solemn people around, loses the ability to close his gaping mouth and the only thing you can hear is his cigarette hitting the floor. He was surprised, to say the least. Fortunately, being one of the few people that could keep him in line, I made him swear on pain of his girlfriend that he wouldn't tell a soul.
But it wasn't the fact he would keep it to himself that had me so relieved; at least it was Shikamaru that found us and not-
…
Never mind.
Thinking back like that has taken away my concentration, and I find, upon collecting myself, that the hand that was once drifting over his abdomen has travelled a little lower than I had wished. But considering the distance we've already gone, I'm not afraid of dabbling near it, either.
The early hour seems to have gotten a rise out of my plushie; I can feel his rigidity underneath the sheet that sits across our waists. My lower lip makes its way between my teeth as I eagerly scan his features for any sign of consciousness, and I move my hand to caress him over the fabric. I can't comment on size in comparison to other men, but all I care about is that it's more than enough to stir me into bliss. With a flat palm, I slowly stroke along his length, feeling some flaccidity while keeping my eyes on his sleeping expression. I give him a small squeeze; it pays off in the form of a dozy moan.
Bingo…
As playfully naughty as this feels, I don't smile jokingly, I actually feel my tongue drying and my heart beating faster. I don't know what has happened to me recently, but I feel like words are only our second best form of communication to our bodies, so goes the common saying of actions and words.
I pull my hand back, sliding my fingertips underneath the sheet to feel the tiny trail of hair leading down from his navel, and continue lowering it to reach his tool. My thumb teases his tip as my fingers curl and mould around him, and I slowly, gently, start to twist my wrist along him, taking in the near-artistic intricacy of his blood vessels and hardening flesh. I honestly have no idea how men can walk with this thing hanging between their legs, let alone fight.
Then again, I guess they wonder how we of the fairer sex live without one…
Tenderly my nails drag across his soft skin, but I can feel the sturdy hardness underneath. Such a strange contrast, and yet it gives so much pleasure, the human body truly is an amazing piece of biological ingenuity. Even as I goad him I keep my eyes glued to his face, silently analysing for a sign of consciousness, a flicker of an eyelid, a twitch of the lips…those tender, savoury lips, anything. It's not his face that is first to react because I feel his arm, the one he had slung behind me to stroke at my back before we fell asleep last night, slowly shift. His forearm flirts with my unbound hair before relaxing again. A rather disappointing development.
The heat of his hardness in my hand transfers through my skin, sending a tingle up my arm and an ember to ignite in my stomach. I know that feeling all too well, it's the signal telling me that I'm caught in the web. I can't overlook it now, I want this, and I want him to want this.
I just want him…
I'm not a shinobi at this moment, I'm not bound by an obligation to rules or law, and I can give in to vices and desires as I please for I am, right now, a woman and nothing more.
Slyly I lift myself up and out of his embrace, relinquishing the warmth of his body from mine before sliding my leg over him, planting my knees either side of his hips. I pull my hand from his erection and softly plant it against his chest; I need a support for what I plan to do. What light that has crept though the gaps in the curtains mingles and heats what it can touch, but the coolness of the air lashes at my skin and coaxes minor goose bumps. How coincidental it is that skin acts like this during sexual arousal as well.
He looks so innocent with that tiny smile and sleepy passiveness; it sometimes makes me forget that this man played a large part in ending a war. Admittedly, I love having the exclusivity of seeing such a genuinely peaceful and hidden side to this idiot; I may be a gossip queen, but there are some things that a woman just will not let slip. Things like how the texture of her man's tongue at her bosom is enough to elicit a full-body shiver, or how the slightest use of chakra from his finger to her clitoris is all that's needed before she's begging to feel him inside her.
And no, I'm not making that up.
I slide the sheet down to his knees and keep my hips hovering over his. Slowly, for the sake of the moment, I let my legs succumb to the weight of my body until the underside of his length lies flat against me. Hard and soft fleshes connect and I feel my body give way only slightly. I suck at my lips, wet my tongue and start a slow rolling of my hips, achingly rocking back and forth along him while my hands keep me upright. All I hear is the increased volume of my breathing and a mousy squeak from the mattress springs. My eyes scan over his features: the light tan, the firm structure of his muscles, the hair, and I just stare in wonder at how his body, still unconscious, has begun to rock along with me.
Please wake up…
The friction between us beckons on my body with the burning just below my stomach saying I'm doing something right. I continue to move my hips, and the dryness of our rubbing skin slowly becomes more tolerable as I feel my opening agreeing with what I want. I rock a few more times before leaning flush against him, my chest squashing against his, the skin of our stomachs touching, faces mere centimetres apart. My heated breath bounces off his chin and back to my face before I lean over and take his lower lip between both of mine. It starts slow and chaste as if I don't want to disturb him, but soon I lose myself, overcome by the need for his touch, and turn my head to repeatedly paint him with my mouth.
Finally, I feel more movement. The arm that used to be around me lazily waves across the bed, and I'm sure it's my lack of presence beside him that makes him slowly blink his eyes into accepting sight. Well, he needn't look very far to see where I've gone. I look down at him and pull my lips away, watching with some humour at how his eyelids creep apart before he can make out my body above him, at which point they start wide.
He looks at me with a mix of shock and surprise, first taking in my parted lips and burning cheeks which I'm sure are a rosy red, then snapping down and taking in our mutual nudity. The brightness of the early hours overpowers his adjusting sight, causing him to blink and squint at me.
"Wh...wha-", he tries to question, but I jump in.
I whisper a 'shush', pursing my lips and pressing a single finger to his mouth. I have a reason for doing this, and I hope that it'll give me the result I want. He quickly silences himself, but the question remains in his eyes. If that's the case, then I have ways of making him forget. I lean down again, having a small latching of gazes before I look to find what I want. Before he knows it, I'm kissing him again and occasionally prodding at him with my tongue. I won't be denied any longer, damn it.
I rest my elbows just above his shoulders and bury my hands in his hair, silently encouraging him to join me. It only takes a few seconds before I feel his lips move against mine, and I find the opening my tongue wanted. He lets out a muffled moan, and I feel his palms weld to my hips. Either way I keep rocking against him, savouring the constant lower feedback of my movement. I can tell that he's pretty much ready; he's never needed a lot of time to prepare for anything, anyway.
I pull my face away, feeling the snap of a tiny saliva string connecting our lips, and push against his ribcage to bring me upright again. From my position, I feel like I can just sit here and admire the being below me as if it…he…were on display in a museum. During my little pause for sightseeing, I watch at how his eyes lather over me; the apparent scrutiny brings about a natural nervousness in me, but there's just something about the shine in his sleep-addled gaze that rebuffs any possible negativity. I've given him that kind of look before, and I can safely say that it's meant to project nothing but dumbstruck awe and magnetising infatuation. I love it when he looks at me like that; it lets me know his mind is purged of everything but yours truly.
But how much of me is he or has he been willing to invest in? Just my body? Further than that, perhaps? I wish I knew, but I'm also scared of asking, mostly because I have no idea what his answer would be; so at the moment I sit content in the knowledge that we are mutually interested on the physical level.
I could easily find out more with very little effort. I'm a Yamanaka, a blood member of the shinobi world's most adept group of psychoanalytic professionals and daughter of the clan leader himself. One technique is all I'd need, co-operative subject or not, and I could be filing through every childhood memory, every white lie…every deep romantic and lustful feeling. If it sounds so easy, then why don't I take that route?
It's quite simple. The man below me is, despite his burden and previous loneliness, a pure-hearted soul who has not - and never will - betray the trust of those he holds dear. You could put him in a fighting ring with his own teammate, a kunai as the only weapon, with no possible means of escape, and tell them to fight to the death for their freedom. I doubt his teammate would even need to attack; Naruto would probably turn that kunai on himself. We're all afraid of dying to some smaller or larger extent, but he would embrace it with the knowledge that his own departure would prevent that of another. I've seen first-hand how devoted he is to his friends, and I would rather torture myself before doing anything that might openly spit on the trust he has in us. Even if they may be about me, Naruto's thoughts - romantic or not - will not be sullied by any invasion of his mind: I respect and admire him enough that I can promise that much at the very least.
It's unbelievable how a man so open and gutsy can make someone feel guilty at the mere thought of acting unjust towards him.
Internal debates aside, there are more pressing matters at this moment in time…
I drop one of my hands, ghosting my fingernails through the valleys in his six-pack and reaching into the alcove created by my raised body. I grasp him again, and I can make out the dampness from his pre-cum smearing against my palm. Using that to my advantage, I stroke him with a mixture of both his and my lubricants, getting a deep hum from his closed lips. The hands that were once at my hips slide up, the roughness of his palms stroking along my ribs before I angle him upward, feeling his spongy head flirt with my skin and sending another tingle up my spine. I descend on him, build-up be damned, and gasp when I feel my body freely divide in acceptance of his shape. I can't truly fathom it; it's as if my body knows that it has found its perfect match.
His fingers squeeze lightly into my sides, but the pressure of his grasp comes second to the sensation of a cushioned friction inside me; a slow, all-encompassing growth of contact that I can't see, but can most certainly feel. I remember how our first time was slower and a lot more awkward, but we've gone through it enough times now that the actions have become second nature. Before I know it, I can feel the tops of his thighs resting against my buttocks, and his very tip, along with the rest, sitting snugly against my walls. I shut my eyes and just sit like that for a few moments, regulating my breathing, savouring the calm union and relishing his heated palms patiently stroking me.
I think he's waited enough.
I lean forward, pushing my hands into his stomach to help my legs in taking my weight. His extraction takes some of my growing levels of fluid with him, marking the start of what will become a sensuous cycle, and I feel an internal void along the depths that he has pulled away from. He's out as far as I dare allow, and I drop again at a quicker pace; the faster sense of being filled burns through my waist, down my legs and up into my chest, coaxing a low gasp from my lips.
Rise, tense, fall, roll, relax, repeat…
Faint pulses of my heart beat in my ears, and the sounds of our breathing start to echo between the walls. As I repeat my practiced motions, the sharp spikes of pleasure run under my skin, standing my hairs on end and stiffening my nipples, but succumbing to such stimuli only degrades my concentration. Without a single spoken word Naruto bends his legs, angling his thighs upwards to push into my butt while his arms, which have sat complacently until now, pull my upper body forward. After bracing my hands to a new position at the top of his pillow, I see he has put me in one of his favourite places: with my chest right in front of his face.
I almost want to laugh at how enamoured he is with my boobs, but can I blame him when I'm happily bouncing on his hips like a woman possessed? I'll admit that I'm proud of what I have, I'm not quite Hinata's size, but it's more than enough to fill Naruto's hand.
The thoughts are knocked from my mind as his pelvis, which my body had once been restraining, lazily lunges up and claps against my ass. The force from being filled again so quickly sparks a blissful explosion, and it's enough to pull a gentle groan from my voice box. He drives himself inside me again, jolting my body forward and teasingly rocking my breasts before his eyes. It's all the temptation he needs before he's craning his head and greedily sucking one of my hardened nipples between his lips. The humid wetness of his mouth collides with the cooled air across the rest of my skin, and the vacuum of his suckling has microscopic ticklish pinpricks spreading under my skin.
With his hands possessively grabbing at my rear, he pulls me down as he pushes up, filling the room with debauched sounds of skin slapping on skin, occasionally combined with our own little grunts and moans. It's exactly the same position as we were in last night, but neither of us are complaining because, simply put, it works. Our speed and friction feels so in-tune, every thrust pushes me forward while he pulls back, adding more friction, and we both return to the same origin where the pleasure spikes to an unrivalled peak once again. It'll only stop when one of us does.
And I definitely don't want to stop.
We may have only been awake for a few minutes but firing synapses, rushing pulses and a man with a reputation for being energetic can bundle up into a tireless hive of activity within moments.
His tongue makes a bold line from my sternum up to my clavicle, at which point his neck becomes strained, so I push my back out to bend down and meet him in a searing kiss; his heated breaths erupt from his nose and break against my cheek much like mine do upon his.
I keep trying to move atop him, feeling his rapturous hardness breach me over and over again, but his arms circle right behind my back and restrict me. We both come to a stop and my body comes to rest fully in his lap again to consume every inch that he can offer, the only sounds of body contact now coming from our lips. Even as I envelop him completely and savour how he pulses against my inner walls, he makes little fidgets with his hips that subtly try to push him even further within me. While enjoyable and erotic, it's rather impractical.
I shift my weight back, breaking our kiss, and transfer my hands from the pillow to his shoulders. His skin is already slick from his efforts; the smell of grass and a faint remnant of miso also remain from last night. I daren't move any further back, otherwise my opening would have to let him go, and I don't think either of us would appreciate that right now. His arms constrict around me tighter, pulling me further into him, and the reason why accumulates as he bites softly at a spot on my neck just above my collarbone. First I feel a nip at one of my more secretive sensitive spots, which easily wrenches a gasp from me as well as clenched eyelids, and then an open mouth surrounds the spot. I grab harshly at his hair with one hand, pulling at his roots with as equal a force as I believe he is sucking. He stays latched to me like a bat for a good ten seconds more, and I'm pretty confident by the time he lets me go that I'll be wearing a lovely ovular bruise of vivid purple.
One would expect me to be worried by this point, given that I'm trying to keep this on the down low, but I know how Naruto operates. He'll flirt with the dangers, but he will never cross boundaries. That hickey he's just left, despite its open placement, will be easily hidden by the high neck of my top. I won't bother saying anything in gratitude since I figure that sex first thing in the morning would be enough.
Out of nowhere I'm brought back to reality by my partner as he rapidly rolls us over, placing me in the remnant warmth that his body had left in the mattress. He leans over me closely, his torso eclipsing the majority of the ambient light from my eyes like a celestial body. Still I feel him inside me, pulsing, throbbing…urging for release.
There's a small pause, barely a few seconds long, but I get a glimpse of his eyes. Behind his hooded lids I see a glazed stare of bewitchment and awe, a look that says nothing less than 'I want you…in every which way'. It may seem like a very specific thing to notice, but it's because I've seen this gaze on him before.
Except that until a few months ago, that look wasn't meant for me.
I daren't think about that now, not while I have him here with me, not while he repeatedly crashes his hips against the backs of my thighs with such confident strokes, not while I feel the tensing of his lower cheeks under my fingertips for every time he penetrates me, not while his elbows digging into the pillow either side of my head act like a protective cocoon that make me forget about everything but this one moment.
Our lips collide again, our chests crush together, our breaths intermingle and our bodies meld. He spreads his legs further apart and higher up my curled legs, and the new angle forces my knees further back, practically level with my chest, changing the movement of our pelvises from back and forth to up and down. He drives down into me even harder, punctuating each time he fills me with a heavy grunt. Gravity helps him reach even deeper inside me and I struggle in biting back the urge to scream, the friction against my walls becomes unbearable, and it's multiplied when his pubic area scrapes against my swollen nerve bundle.
The dam has slowly been cracking ever since we started, but this position has me so open to stimuli – my core, my chest, my neck - that I'm constantly assaulted by frayed nerves, and I can only take so much before my mind gets washed away in the flood.
I grit my teeth when he thrusts into me once again. The tension I feel in his back lets me know he's almost at the finish as well, so I try against my pending exhaustion to tense my muscles and squeeze him more as he repeatedly takes me.
"Ino…"
He doesn't even move his lips, but I hear my name cleverly hidden in his breath. I let it slide; I'm too focussed on the coming orgasmic tide to speak.
Another thrust…
Oh, yes, yes…
And another…
Finish me…please…
The next one completes it. He scrapes harshly against my core and bites into my neck again.
"N-Naruto! Oh, God!"
Yet again, it's his name that leaves my lips as my body quivers with release. Soon enough, he stops moving as well, his tiny pelvic twitches and vocal breathing next to my ear telling me of his ejaculation. His sperm feels so warm even against his red-hot member, the sensation of him bursting inside me such an exclusive and unbelievable feeling, so exclusive that I fear I may one day forget it, and so I always wish to feel it one more time.
I said I had a reason for having him keep quiet throughout this, and I honestly couldn't have expected a better outcome. There was the way he looked at me: an enchanted stare of pure emotional and physical want and need, a look he had only directed at one woman before. There was his acceptance of me and my wishes, how he remained silent for me despite being given no reason. But most of all, out of all my little musings about how much of me he truly desires, the fact we have just engaged in such a unique and treasured form of bonding without having to speak a single syllable to one another says more than any words ever could. I can't speak from experience, but sex for the sake of sex is riddled with dirty talk and insincerity.
But in making love, words are trivial…
Many would obviously be worried if they were to know our sexual relation is completely natural and without precaution, an unwanted pregnancy is a very big risk that comes with it. All I need to say is that passive chakra-siphoning seals with proximity barrier triggers are a godsend, and that having an Uzumaki as a…close friend, I'll say for the moment, is very advantageous.
I won't jump to any conclusions, considering the raw physicality of last night's moment, but this feels like a step in the right direction. It feels…right. I am warm in this man's arms, I am cosy when my lips touch his, and I am content when I sleep beside him.
I am happy when we become one…
I find warmth in being with Uzumaki Naruto.

10:30 hrs - Konoha Hospital
ECG totally stable, body scans showed no irregularities, urine uncontaminated despite the colour…
Narrowed eyelids shadow dull green as the black circles within scan back and forth over the chart.
'This wuss is perfectly healthy!'
The moron had stumbled into the walk-in treatment ward the night before complaining of light-headedness and collapsed. His personal, inexperienced and untrained self-diagnosis?
Brain cancer.
Her hands clench around the clipboard.
What kind of moron would claim to have something so severe with totally unrelated symptoms?
The blood work that came back had the simple solution. The patient was a type-1 diabetic and had missed his two previous intervals of insulin. With all the glucose swimming around his plasma and no insulin to convert it, it was no surprise that the man fainted like a malnourished child.
Patients like this grated at her tolerance. Treatment could only be administered efficiently if they were completely honest and co-operative. Due to the man's selfishness, the on-call team had spent the good part of three hours trying to look for a tumour that never existed. Given the span of the patient's incompetence in self-treatment, he probably omitted his little problem out of embarrassment.
She hates liars and deceivers. It hasn't always been the greatest thing on her list of detested traits, but recent events sought to change that.
"So…what's the verdict?"
A watery voice breaks her away from the vision piling behind her eyes: a flash of yellow, a mouth locked wide in a silent moan.
She regards the weed lying in the bed, his arms relaxed and body snug under the covers smoothly blanketing him from toe to chest. His tone shakes in what she could only analyse to be a practiced act of worry.
"You're going to be fine." She says flatly and uncaringly. "You didn't have enough insulin in your system so your body wasn't getting any energy."
"But the headaches- "
"Were attributable to lack of water. How much did you drink yesterday?"
He paused.
"Enough…"
"The dark yellow urine sample we took from you says otherwise. You should be drinking almost 3 litres every day. Consider that doctor's orders along with what I'm about to say."
His unconvinced gaze bounces off her determined stare.
"Take your insulin shots, otherwise you'll be staying here much longer in future. To forget taking them in the first place was…silly and dangerous enough. You need to stay on top of these things if you want to keep yourself healthy." She had to catch herself before 'silly' became 'stupid'.
His head sinks bashfully, but still she watches him like a dog show judge.
"I understand, and I'm sorry for all the trouble."
'You understand, but you're not sorry, you'll be back here in a month.'
"Okay, just be more vigilant in future. You wouldn't want to become a regular visitor here, would you?" She flashes a generous smile with her 'joke'. Fake, but generous. Damned bedside manner.
He laughs behind a replied 'no', making the underlying phrase a sarcastic 'obviously'. His skewed brow broadcasts the lie like a neon pub sign.
"Right then, we'll give you a final shot to level your system in about two hours and you'll be free to go."
With a final smile she places the clipboard back at the foot of the bed and turns for the door, mentally picturing the turn of his features to annoyance. She knows this type of person, and it wasn't hard to glean the signs.
Multiple dark blotches on the underside of his forearms, the leftovers of baggy and bloodshot eyes from before he'd fallen asleep, that constant bothersome dither in his right hand. He has to be a drug user, but to outright call him out on it is not her place. Even though his urine showed no substances during this current visit, the likelihood wouldn't be so quick to leave her mind. If she were to see him in the ward again, he would likely be in a worse state, and then she would take the matter to Shizune.
The man is playing the system, taking advantage of their Hippocratic Oath. Even if her anger at such wilful negligence of personal health gets the better of her, it is her duty as a medic to treat a patient. In due course the man is either going to kill himself through crossing the boundaries of sanity or end up permanently hospitalised.
Honestly, the latter appears to be his goal. Who can blame him? A warm bed with staff to dole on your every whim and hot meals every day.
To staff, a situation like this is derogatorily labelled the 'Pauper's Palace', where one can live as if the world revolves around them, while the taxpayers foot the bill.
She shakes the feeling away. This is a hospital, for goodness sake! These buildings are meant to rescue, preserve and repair life and she should take pride in that.
She steps out into one of the hospital's many bright corridors, the morning sun billowing through the windows exaggerating the cream surfaces around her in a natural spotlight. Under her beacon of a white coat her claret top and navy skirt strike a great contrast to the surroundings, further illuminating her presence. The shimmering fuchsia of her hair and glowing but not oily skin tells of a careful morning preparation ritual.
Only they don't know just how contrary said ritual of cleanliness is against the sweaty, sticky, noisy self-violation of the previous night. Looking at Sakura now nobody would ever think it, she seems the very epitome of conservativeness and purity.
"Hey, Sakura!"
She hears the voice before she sees the face.
Her fist reflexively clenches, knuckles pop like microwaved corn.
You really are a dirty girl…
Why now? Dear God, why now?
She looks up to his approaching person, stride and posture tall with confidence but balanced with an easy and placid smile. The fluttering of his pant legs combine with the bright hallway, urging the flames beside his calves to life as if he were trailing a blaze.
But he'd burned her already.
He's still wearing that accursed vest.
Crumpled next to the purple top on the grass of the training field.
His face waters down upon seeing her reaction: flat mouth, still eyes, rule-straight brow.
Emotion? What's that? Is it edible?
It's not lack of emotion, it's being locked in. Seeing him flicks a switch.
You love this don't you?
His hips slap into her buttocks.
Ye-es!
Her own little onset of repressed memories activated by a trigger. Him.
'Not now…go away…'
"Hey, you alright?"
'Not anymore…'
"Saaaakuraaa…"
"Argh!"
She doesn't even remember swinging, the back of her hand crashing into the arm he waved across her face. He quickly recoils, playfully reacting with the light sting. In his mind, they're just playing.
In her mind, though...
"What was that for?" Tone fierce and sharp, she stares down at him despite having to look up. A talent only women could appear to master. Naruto's smile falters.
"You were spacing out again. I know, I know. Super brave, ultra-handsome shinobi right here. It's only natural to go a bit ga-ga." Even when said in full jest, Sakura isn't laughing.
"'Super-overinflated-ego', more like. You have less panache than my toenails."
She's being serious.
He doesn't think so.
"So…you mean 'a lot'? All of you is panache…ful, or whatever the word is. I can accept being a bit below that. You've always been the smarter one."
"You're only just realising that?" Her foot taps into the floor.
"Nuh-uh. It's been obvious since the academy. I've always noticed more things than you realise, though." His Cheshire smirk rises, and she watches his eyes as they sink down her body and back up.
You fucking dare?
It was only a flash of a glance, but he still did it.
"Yeah…" she begins, "…likewise. I know more than you think."
His lips close together in a more civil smile, something more reserved and heartfelt.
"And that's why you're my go-to encyclopaedia!" He reaches out, palm on course to land on her shoulder.
Don't, I know where that's been…
One pace back and she's out of reach. His hand freezes, drawing his eyes toward it and then her in a mix of curiosity and disbelief. He probes her gaze, but he's not hitting pay dirt. A question forms on his lips…
"Is that why you're here? You need to ask me something?"
…and turns to ash on his tongue. He withdraws the offending appendage, snugly tucking it back in his pocket.
"Er…" His sudden desire to push collides with the coming answer to her question inside his throat, bringing his vocal chords to a backfire. With a shaky laugh and what she can now easily tell as one of his false smiles, he starts anew.
"Sort of yes and no, actually. I, um…"
It's practically a reversal of the day before. She was going to ask him to eat with her and his azures just bore into her as he waited, drilling at her confidence to speak. Now it's the other way around.
Now he knows how it feels.
"About yesterday…"
Her shoulders tense, but Naruto's nervousness has him looking at an interesting speck on the floor, nowhere near noticing. Even if he did, he would have believed her tension to have sprung from being denied her meal invitation, an unwanted remembrance.
"I'm really sorry, Sakura-chan. Thursday night training became a regular thing about a month ago, I guess it's just settled into my routine. The moment I started warming up I was regretting it…I was tempted to go to your place and see if you were still up for it."
Tempted? Like she tempted you?
Every syllable from his lips looks blackened by deceit from where she stands, their inky veils ghosting across to her and infesting her white coat like tar, the very hollowness of his words piercing her. She knows he has omitted truths in the past, if only to ease the pain of his youth, but for him to speak so falsely right to her face is more than an insult.
She can't even be sure if he is in the dark about her knowledge. Perhaps he isn't, and he seeks to lie anyway.
Respect is like the lottery: Very hard to gain, but oh so easy to throw away.
"…obviously I wasn't being the old friend I should, it's no wonder you're mad at me right now."
You blew me off so that you could fuck my best friend in a training field, why wouldn't I be mad?
"Why would I be mad?" Her iced voice gives her away. Sakura is always renowned as one to wear her heart on her sleeve. While her anger is very much in the open, Naruto is oft too dense to realise the big picture: why she is angry.
At least…the real reason as to why.
"Well…" Naruto stammers, realising she wants a fully-fledged answer. "It-it's like you said yesterday. We haven't spoken in a while, and I agree that we shouldn't drift apart. Skipping one little training session wouldn't have hurt."
And yet you did it anyway…
"And I'm sorry for turning you down like that, it wasn't fair. That's why I wanted to ask if we could reschedule. Anywhere you want, completely ramen-free, I'll buy."
So that's it? He believes that with one little meal he can make up for the most mind-scrambling, body-exploring 12 hours of her life? Of course he can! He must believe that she doesn't know, otherwise the scene would have already taken a severe turn for the worse.
Yet despite the simplicity of his offering it was just-
"Too late."
Naruto's face becomes stone, frozen by her straightforwardness despite knowing it to be a typical trait of hers.
She sighs deeply, he waits for her to continue.
"The next fortnight's worth of shifts have been arranged and I've got to juggle them with any missions that might come my way." It's only the shifts for the next week that have been posted. He, however, has no need to know that. "Yesterday was the last free day I'll have for a while now. Sorry, but that was the only chance."
His expression lightens up with a harsh shrug and a tilting of the head. A physical tell of denial.
"Oh, come on, Sakura-chan, I'm sure we can squeeze something in at some-"
His stubbornness. She forgot. Damn it.
"No!" She suddenly explodes, tendrils of hair flailing like a blast radius. "What you need to realise, Naruto, is that we are growing up and have certain responsibilities both to ourselves and those around us." Naruto steps back at her outburst, but to his credit keeps a calm face.
"You skipped out by your own choice, so you've got some nerve to think that I'll just curtail my free time to be part of yours at any moment you see fit!" A stern finger is pointed at his chest, punctuating the echo of her voice resonating down the near-desolate corridor. One nurse further ahead of the arguing pair makes a brief glance over her shoulder, double taking upon noticing the unique blond hair of the village jinchuuriki and the personal nature of the conversation involved.
He stands flabbergasted, eyes saccading to anything that aren't hers and lips parting, closing, parting, closing like a fish.
"I…I'm sorry. I just feel bad for letting you down." His tongue-tied, bashful response births a tiny ember of resolve in her chest, having her believe her hidden rage is justified. It ends up sparking her off one last time.
"Well, you can sit on it for a while." She lays the kicker, internally savouring the dejection in his sigh. She has the upper hand this time, and feels it the right moment to leave him to think on her words. Her body swivels on her heel, the flat soles of her shoes not making nearly enough noise to cover the remark that breaches the barrier between her 'keep it civil' mind and 'stick it to him' heart.
'Maybe now you understand-'
"-how people feel when you're not honest with them."
With her back already to him, she doesn't see the snapped lift of his head. Annoyed at her self-betrayal, she hides her ensuing shake of the head under the guise of freeing the hair from her face, adding credibility to the motion with a wave of her hand across her brow.
She continues to walk despite the skin-crawling chill hacking up her spine. Only when she turns a corner in the direction of the next patient on her mental list does she feel safe.
Naruto remains pasted to the spot, an inquisitive but highly intense low-browed gaze following his teammate until she loses him. With a stiff movement his foot is lifted from the floor to turn him back in the direction he had come, all the while continually eyeballing the corner that Sakura had turned.
Under the questions squirming through his brain, he doesn't even remember walking out of the hospital. Only then does he look at the hand he had previously extended toward her, recalling her reaction as if he were a leper.
'This...could turn sour.'
- 2
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She Made Him Wait