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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.

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It's a plot! Oh noes!

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She woke up certain she'd had the strangest dream, only to find herself still cuddled snugly against a very naked Sand-nin. Sakura was learning the joy of practicality, it seemed—so after the initial thought of Oh shit what did I do, she decided that she could've done much worse. So she mumbled something that might've been "Morning," and he responded with something that might've been words, and she took that as an indication that all was well in the world.

Gaara didn't seem to want to rush her into getting up, which must mean he was pretty comfortable. Strangely enough, she was, too. Sleeping on the forest floor while being hunted ranked high among Sakura's least favorite things to do. Roots she hadn't noticed invariably left her stiff and sore; the ground invariably leached the warmth out of her. And when it came to getting sound sleep, without jumping to alertness at every tiny noise . . . She'd had a number of mornings where she would've been better off not having slept at all.

Not so much this time. Not with comfy sand under her, comfy discarded clothing over her, a comfy naked redhead to keep her warm, and the rock-solid knowledge that he could keep her safe from whatever might be stupid enough to try and sneak up on them. And . . .

No alarm clock, she thought drowsily to herself, and tucked her feet further under his duster for added warmth. No getting up early. It's almost like we're on—

She cracked an eye open. Now that she thought of it (and was a little more alert), running rampant through the forest, killing everyone he didn't want to have sex with, and being completely free from the constraints of his advisors and his title . . . probably was Gaara's idea of a vacation.

"What're you thinking of?" he asked.

"Nice," she said as she snuggled closer, rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, squeezed her leg around him, and flattened her chest against his side.

"Yeah," he said in reply. He stroked over her shoulder and down her back, his hand open and flat. Sakura shifted a little to let the arm she was laying on move, and his other hand joined the first—seemingly not to purposefully arouse her, but solely for the joy of touching her.

Funny—she'd been saved by the Coldblooded Killer and seduced by the Concerned Kazekage, had bedded down with the Dominant Control Addict . . . and now found herself waking up to the World's Greatest Romantic.

He might be crazy, but she'd be damned if he ever brought her a dull moment.

"I think . . . I should think about moving," she said, which meant she was completely content to not move from here.

"If you want." He stroked the small of her back, squeezed her hips, then continued down to what part of her thighs he could reach.

"No rush today?" She propped herself up on an elbow over him, relishing this lazy moment and the half-lidded way he looked over her body.

"Not just yet." He caressed up her side to cup one breast and rub a roughened thumb over her nipple. "Don't forget—I've had all night to think of this morning."

"Again?" She looked down for confirmation, then laughed. "Really, Gaara—you're gonna wear me out before we get home!"

"No," he said, suddenly serious, his hands stilling. "You're stronger than that."

Her breath caught, her fingertips traced a little half-circle against his cheekbone—and suddenly, belatedly, she realized just how easy it'd be to fall for him.

"What?" he asked, his expression suddenly concerned—and without any better ideas, she swore.

"Damn it, I . . ." She looked down, realized that looking down only resulted in her looking at his skin, and looked back up again. "You said . . . And I . . ."

"Sakura—"

Well, there was no point in trying to hide it.

"I'm getting attached," she snapped, and tried to roll away from him. "Tried" was the operative word; he wrapped both arms around her and refused to set her loose.

"You said you didn't want someone who'd be attached," she reminded him petulantly, scowling at his concerned expression. It'd been a wonderful diversion, yes—but she wouldn't be one of the clingy girls following him, refused to be the one who'd blush every time she saw him, and under no circumstances would she be the one left bitter and angry and lonely when they'd both agreed to truncate their relationship before it could get emotional.

Gaara stilled; he examined her face from inches away. Then: "But it's you."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Yeah—and I should've known. That . . . that should've been it, yesterday afternoon. Not all of . . ."

Sakura trailed off; he was tracing a fingertip from the back of her neck and down her spine in little, gentle strokes. And when she opened her eyes, he was watching her—and smiling. "I'm attached."

"What?"

"I'm enjoying this more than I should. And I'm okay with that."

She stared. "But . . ."

A tiny smile made it to his lips, and he shifted—fitting a leg between hers and pulling her back until she was half over him again. "Sometimes plans change. You can be angry at the change or you can roll with it. I'm learning to roll with it."

"But," she protested—even though she knew her argument was made out of pure stubbornness.

"Don't worry," he said. "Just tell me: What do you want from me?"

She considered. Did she want their strange, blood-spattered vacation to be over? Or . . . maybe just a little different?

"I want a bed," she told him, and poked him in the chest. "And sheets. Clean sheets."

His shoulders relaxed; his hands started moving again, down to her hips. "I can do that."

"And maybe candles."

"Anything else?" He pulled her astride him; she wriggled until she could rub against him properly—gently, teasingly, rhythmically.

"And . . ." She looked down at herself, then back up at him, laughing. "And a bath. I'm filthy and sweaty and—and sticky."

Gaara's expression softened to affectionate interest. "I can find you a place to wash?"

"Before or after?"

"Before." The morning's cool air had stiffened her nipples; he warmed them with his tongue. Sakura continued to rock carefully against him; she was still sore from the day before, but her motion came smooth and slick as her body responded to the stimulation. Gaara gave a throaty sound of approval, then added, "I want to watch."

Sakura kept moving. This way let her control her angle, let her press forward to his lips to better encourage him. But the added stimulation—his teeth, the quick hard flicks of his tongue—distracted her from his proposal.

If she were to take him now, grind down against him so she had every bit of him inside her . . . If she were to encourage him with kisses and fingernails . . .

"I think the bath could wait a bit," she said breathily, and reached down between them to guide him in. It still stung a little; she wasn't too surprised. Yet as she pushed Gaara flat, balancing herself with her hands on his chest, she couldn't help but clench around him; couldn't help but move slowly down his length, teasing herself with the sensation until she'd finally taken all of him and ground her hips determinedly against his.

Slow, she decided, was a wonderful pace to try. He took the hint, covering her neck and chest with warm, wet kisses, his tongue moving leisurely and distinctly against her shoulders, his hands at her hips clenching every time she eased her way down onto him.

"One thing," he said against her jawline.

"Hm?"

"Bathing. May I still watch?"

"Maybe. Though . . ." She wanted more kisses, very, very much. But she'd just woken up, her breath was certainly horrendous, her body remained definitely unwashed . . .

Self-consciousness put a sudden stop to the festivities. Could she smell herself? What if he could smell her? Oh, this was just horrible.

"Would you just watch?" she asked, smiling as cover. "Or would you help?"

"Whichever you want," he said, smiling; and she had no doubt he knew her intentions.

"Find me some water, then," she commanded, and grinned at her own silliness. "I just . . . need a minute first. Morning ablutions and all."

Because she doubted he'd be turned on by her brushing her teeth and quickly primping, and because now that she thought about it, her bladder wasn't taking well to all this early-morning jostling—something else they'd never told her about back at the ninja academy.

They gathered their clothing with amiable little caresses and pats. Gaara stood, his clothing bundled in his hands and his nostrils flaring as if searching for water by scent. "I'll be right back," he said—and with a sandy blur, was gone.

For some reason, being naked in the woods didn't seem quite so comfortable anymore. Sakura squirmed back into her clothing and started looking for a good spot to get cleaned up.

Something that'd been nudging around the back of her mind made it to the surface. Gaara was running loose out here, yes. Gaara was pretty much back to his old murderous habits, too. And Gaara was hopping country borders without any sort of permission as he brutally slaughtered renegade ninjas, actions that registered as hostile on pretty much anyone's scale . . .

And she was his only witness.

She didn't like the feeling that he'd do whatever he wanted in front of her because he didn't care what she could or would say afterwards. She really didn't like the feeling that she might need to fear for her life. She especially didn't like the feeling that her having sex with him might help him not think of her as hostile.

"Naruto," she murmured to herself, and sighed. If Gaara'd told Naruto he'd protect her . . . Well, that was as close to a blood oath as the redhead could make. She might make it out of this after all.

Mid-forest, Sakura stopped in her tracks. Something about the area didn't seem right—

The missing-nin burst up out of the ground in front of her in a shower of dirt, the metallic claws on his hands reaching for her, and Sakura immediately punched him dead in the eye. He fell back with a yell and struggled to right himself—and as he started to stabilize she shot her left foot straight up, held it for the fraction of a second it took for him to focus on it—and then dropped her heel onto his face with enough chakra-spiked force to flatten him.

The second shinobi almost managed to hide his own shock at how quickly his companion had fallen as he dropped from the lower branches of a tree to her right. Sakura clenched her fists—she might technically be unarmed, but that wouldn't matter. This time, she would not—

Sand caught the man and smashed him against the tree trunk hard enough that the wood shattered as if it'd been struck by lightning. He went limp immediately, without so much as a gasp—and as the sand flowed away from him, she saw Gaara'd broken enough of his bones that he'd never get up again.

Sand spun into the air at her side and consolidated into her rescuer, once again cold and hard and thankfully clothed. "You're all right?"

"Just as okay as you," she replied, slightly miffed. Getting beaten once didn't mean she'd lost her training or skill. Maybe if he'd paid attention before he started crushing people off of trees—

Great, now she was starting to sound just as detached as he did.

"Good," he said distractedly, completely missing her sarcasm. "I came back after two tried to surprise me."

He'd still been unclothed when he left her. She wondered if the two missing-nin he'd run into had found him that way; she wondered who'd been the most surprised.

If she started laughing, hysteria would set in and she'd never stop.

Gaara moved beside the one she'd kicked. "You didn't kill him?"

"I didn't try."

"Good." Sand coiled around the man, turning him face-up, and he groaned as he regained consciousness. He couldn't be much older than either of them.

"I don't want to watch," she said abruptly. Or hear it, or be near it, or anything like that. It seemed World's Greatest Romantic Gaara had been left somewhere back on the forest floor, and she'd much rather deal with him than watch a half-rabid Kazekage start torturing people.

"I need a medic on standby," he said flatly, as the missing-nin before them shook his head as if to clear it. "If I go too far, I'll need you to heal some of the damage."

"Is this necessary?"

Gaara waited, his expression completely emotionless, until the shinobi had focused on them. He then took a step back and gestured at Sakura. "Do you know who we are?"

"I know you." The guy bared his teeth and looked her over in a way that made her skin crawl. "But I'd prefer to know her."

"Don't speak to her, speak to me. How many of you are there today?"

But knowledge of his impending death made their prisoner non-compliant. "The last bitch we kept here got loose for long enough to kill herself. You wouldn't have, though—because it'd be funny to drop the Fifth Hokage's prodigy on her doorstep after we were done with her."

Her heart sank, chilled, hardened. The man's forehead was against her palm, his chin in her other hand—and Gaara's arm around her waist drew her back before she could put a stop to his words with one sharp snap.

"Not yet," he told her. "You can later, if you want—but not yet."

She might be sick.

The missing-nin, seeing his chances of a quick death pulled away, began fighting against the sand holding him—and Gaara covered his mouth, then dislocated his shoulder.

Sakura remembered how cruel Temari and Kankurou had seemed when she'd first met them. She wondered now if this was their only way to deal with their little brother's actions—besides to break down completely or go mad as well.

"If you just tell me how many," Gaara said, very reasonably, "I'll let it be fast."

Silence; then another muffled pop, followed by a muffled scream.

"How many bones in the human body, medic?"

"Two hundred six, usually," she said.

"And how many of those can be dislocated before they're broken?"

"All right!" cried the missing-nin. "There's about twenty-five of us—thirty at most."

"Good," Gaara said—and with one last snap, it was over.

Words wouldn't come. Sakura turned away from the corpses in an attempt to stabilize her mental state and her stomach. Instead she found a question: "How do you know he was telling the truth?"

"It matches the information I've heard before. This one was a coward and likely would have been culled from their number at some point." Warm hands were on her shoulders; warm arms around her. Sakura weighed being strong against the comfort offered and found the comfort to be more easily accepted. "Sorry for being late."

"I could handle it," she grumbled.

"I know. I saw. And now I know for sure."

It didn't take a mathematical genius to figure out that something else was wrong. The Akatsuki moved in pairs. These guys wanted to be Akatsuki and thus moved in pairs. But if she'd seen two, and Gaara'd already taken care of two . . . "Why were there four?"

His hands flowed through a pattern of seals, and this time she saw the ground open to swallow the bodies. "These ones are sentries. Their sentries tend to work in teams of four."

She knew the reason, certainly; but that didn't mean her mind would actually process it. "Sentries . . ."

"For the rest of them."

Sakura's jaw dropped. "That's what he was talking about? There's a village of them out here?"

Gaara continued as if a virtual wasp's nest of extremely deadly missing-nin wasn't all that strange an idea. "It was easier for them to keep each other in line this way—or so I was told. You and Naruto were sent out to look for abnormalities; this is what we were looking for."

So he was told, by the shinobi he'd tortured to death.

"We've been running directly at a hidden village of shinobi in line to become Akatsuki," she said disbelievingly.

"Thirty or so criminals is not a village."

"But we're running straight at them."

"Sakura," he returned. "Did you actually think I would run away from this kind of threat?"

And since she could be sure he hadn't come out here to politely ask them all to stop being terrible . . .

"You're going to kill all of them."

"Yes," he said, and smiled giddily. "I am." And then he grabbed her by both sides of the face and kissed her, morning breath and all.
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A Question of Priorities