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Creatures of the Wind	By : Casey Category: Naruto > Het - Male/Female Views: 1150 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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-Creatures of the Wind
- 2-Spend it All with Me
- 1
- 2
A/N:

First--Ever hear a song and immediately
fall in love with it? The kind you listen to over and over and never
tire of? Download Cat Powers' “Wild Is the Wind,” on
iTunes or whatever program you prefer and curl up with your favorite
someone. If music could be bottled as an aphrodisiac, this song
would be a top seller.

Second—I never write (1) song
fics; (2) Naruto fics; (3) anything even vaguely erotic, so forgive
me if this seems silly. I just could not, for the life of me, get it
out of my head.

Third—It's fluff. I like fluff.
Hush.

Fourth—No, I will not tell you
who the female is. That's entirely up to you. Let your imagination
run wild! No, I don't care how OOC you think so-and-so is. My story.
MINE. Don't like it? Write your own.

Fifth—The song doesn't start
until the end. 'Cause that's where it fits. Nyah.

Legal: Naruto and all characters of the
Naruto Universe belong to other, decidedly luckier, people. I am not
profiting financially from this fanfiction.

Spoiler Warning: If you don't read the
manga AT ALL do not read this story. I don't want to ruin anything
for anyone. I do recommend reading the manga (you can get almost all
of the chapters on YouTube)--Lots of great (and sad!) stuff is going
on that any real fan must know!

...

Dedicated to the Second
Life nins of Kumogakure.

I know you all hate Gaara.

Tough.

...

Creatures of the Wind

“Temari said you'd be out here.”

He cringed at the sound of the door
being slid open, the sand in the track grating against the wood.
Head lowered, he tightened his grip around his knees, crouched on the
lip of the balcony, facing the moon.

“Heard you had a close call.”

“I died.”

“Closer than I heard, then,”
she laughed, short and bitter, and he hated her for it. Hated that
she could laugh, even now, when he could not.

“Thought you'd be sleeping off
all these years of insomnia, to be honest.”

“Shut up and go away.”

Instead, she leaned over the balcony,
infuriatingly close to him, staring at the same Moon but seeing it as
he never could.

“Can't sleep?”

He didn't answer this time, brows
furrowing at the question. How could he sleep? He hardly knew how
past a quick cat-nap. And he was so tired. So damnably,
soul-searingly exhausted. But even now, even with that monster out
of him...

“No.”

“Probably because you're out of
practice.”

“If you don't leave me alone
I'll--”

Her hand on his, long fingers wrapping
around and between his white-knuckle grip, made his voice catch in
his throat. The sand stirred, like raised hackles on the back of a
stray dog, but settled when no real threat emerged.

It was the first time in a long time
that someone other than one of his siblings had touched him. It had
been a long time, if there ever had been a time before this, that
anyone had been purposefully tender.

His skin burned.

“C'mon, get down from there.
People will think you're going to jump.”

...

She pulled him back inside
and the Kazekage felt his resolve crumble like so many of the
neglected buildings of his village. He was just too drained to fight
back, to wrench his arm away. The skin around his eyes, always
diseased and blackened, felt like it was rotting away now. His body
was failing, all the years of physical and mental abuse breaking him
down piece by piece.

Shukaku, it turned out, had
been the glue that held him together. What a paradox.

“I'm a paradox.”

She blinked at him a few
times, trying to discern his meaning. It wasn't like him to be
cryptic. If he wanted to say something, he said it, though his
utterances were scarce to begin with.

“You're nothing but
human. Humans are complicated. Sit,” she pushed him down onto
the edge of the futon, something he had hardly used. His “naps”
were usually taken on a cushion while he meditated. He watched as
she shoved some of his soiled clothes off of the surface of the
overstuffed pad, kicking his things into the darkened corners of his
room.

“If you can't do your
own laundry, at least hire someone to clean up every now and then...”
She pulled the covers down, gave them a sniff, and once satisfied,
turned to him again with her hands on her hips.

Only she would have been so
bold to come into his personal space uninvited. Only she would have
been strong-willed enough to convince Temari that she could handle
it.

Damn kunoichis.

“What?” he
finally demanded, finding the silence infinately more aggrivating
than her constant chatter.

“You can't sleep in
that. You shouldn't even live in that. It's filthy.”

He looked down at his
clothes. Usually he tried to at least keep some semblance of
personal hygiene. Things had been stranger than usual lately. He'd
forgotten.

“I forgot.”

“Obviously.”

She was waiting for
something and it took him a while to figure out what.

“Turn around,”
he scowled, working the buckles across his chest. He still had his
pride, dammit.

With a snort she did as he
asked, for the first time that night, and faced the opposite wall,
shifting from one foot to the other.

Once he'd gotten it all of
his gear off, he began rumaging through a drawer for something clean.

“Bath. Now.”

With a sigh he realized she
was right. His body was still covered in sweat and blood, dirt caked
under his fingernails and into his hair.

“It'll only take a
minute.” He didn't know why he told her that. It was none of
her business how long he took. He shouldn't have cared if she waited
all night. What was she waiting for anyway?

“Try a bath. It'll do
you some good.”

“That's unnecessary.”

“That's not the
point,” she turned around and breezed past him, apparently not
taking so much as a second glance at his obvious nudity. She headed
straight into the bathroom and started filling the long-forgotten
tub, using the first blasts of hot water to clean the porcelin.

“Do you have any
soap—Nevermind, found it,” she called from inside, clouds
of hot steam already billowing out from the small, tiled room. He
expected something flowery or sweet—something a girl would
choose.

“Mint,” he
realized aloud, edging closer to the doorway.

“Yah, everything else
smelled ridiculous. I threw them out.”

He couldn't see her, her
form lost in the thick steam.

“Do you have a vent in
here? For the steam, I mean...”

He honestly didn't know.

“All right. It's
perfect now. Shampoo and stuff is on the ledge, use it liberally.”

She slowly materialized as
she neared his position.

“While you're in
there, I'll go find a towel or two. Yours are... “ She just
shook her head and appeared to shiver. “Blegh.”

Whatever that meant.

Finally, she was gone. While
relieved that he had regained his coveted privacy, he also had to
admit to himself that it was nice to have someone actively looking
after him. Tamari and Kankouro did their best but after so many
years of being afraid... It was slow work, at best. He couldn't
blame them, not really.

He knew, however, that this
pampering, like anything else good in his life, wouldn't last. Of
that he was sure. She, like so many others, were concerned now only
because he'd almost died. Had died. Was brought back. Whatever. It
was that rush of motherly fussing; kissing the bruised knee, ruffling
the hair, and then he'd be shoved back outside.

Not that he had much
experience with motherly-anythings. Still, he assumed this was
something akin to being doted on by a mother. Maybe an aunt. Or an
uncle.

He sucked in his breath,
willing the old memories to go away. He knew now that his shattered
mind was entirely his, not
Its. That had not gone away when Akatsuki... When they took it out
of him. Yashamaru was still there, false smile and hollow promises.
His mother. His father.
The other children of Suna. What he had done to, had tried to do
to, Konoha. Naruto. The Uchiha. Rock Lee.

There
had been better moments though, the ones he tried to concentrate on.
He had helped the same boy he'd tried to kill during the Chuunin
exams dispose of one of Orochimaru's lapdogs. He had gotten closer
with his siblings. He had protected Suna with his life. He had
chosen to do those things, even with Shukaku still there,
still howling for blood and death and innards spilled onto the
ground--

A knock
at the door.

“I'll
leave the towels right here,” her voice chimed, and a pile of
ludicrously fluffy white towels were dropped close to the tub.

He
hadn't even gotten in yet.

...

Hours
later, the water had finally gotten cold and his fascination with the
deep wrinkles that formed on his fingertips had waned. She hadn't
knocked again. Maybe she'd left, satisfied that she'd done enough to
sate her own need to be temporarily tender with the feared Kazekage
of Suna.

His own
skill as a ninja told him otherwise. Her chakra signature was flaring
just beyond the door of the bathroom, fading in and out as she moved
from one room to the other. What she was doing was beyond him, he
couldn't see through doors.

Snooping,
perhaps? She'd find nothing useful if she were. He had little in the
way of personal effects. Just his gear, his gourd, and a few sets of
clothes. He had no time for knick-knacks. The only 'toy' he'd ever
had, that stupid stuffed bear, was long lost.

He
pulled the plug from the bottom of the tub and watched the slightly
grimey, soapy water drain away. He let the shower turn on, just to
wash off that last bit of stubborn residue, and finally got out.

The
towels, he realized, were actually quite nice.

Rubbed
dry, he slung one around his narrow, bruised hips and rubbed his hair
dry with the other. His injuries were taking a long time to heal. He
no longer had the Ichibi's chakra to help him along. He ached in ways
he never had before, blueish black marks blossoming under his skin,
nicks dotting his hands where he'd been careless with his kunai.

Temari
had been furious with him for getting out of bed so soon after...

She
didn't understand, though. He wasn't comfortable in a bed. Lying down
left him open and vulnerable. It was a boring, tedious affair and he
wondered how people dealt with it day in and day out.

His
room, he realized with a start, was immaculate. All the dirty
clothes and leather straps were gone from their corners, the floors
swept of sand. She sat on a cushion near the futon, a few white
candles burning behind her, as she fussed with an instrument he'd
never seen before.

“There
are some comfortable clothes on the bed. I didn't know what you'd
prefer so I got you a few choices.”

“How
long was I in there for?”

She
wrinkled her nose for a moment, a clear sign she was thinking.

“Ohhh,
four, five hours?”

He
stumbled mentally. It had never taken him four or five hours to do
anything, much less bathe.

“Go
on, get dressed. I won't peek.” Her head dropped again, ear
tilted toward the belly of the stringed contraption she was busy
plucking, listening to.

“What
is that?”

“Just
get dressed.”

He
picked the first pile, not bothering to sort through the choices.
Clothes were clothes.

Soft,
white linen pants that reached the floor, drawstring pulled tight,
and a matching white shirt. Clean. Comfortable. Exactly what she had
promised.

She
looked up, eyes softer than they usually were.

“Lay
down.”

He
nodded dumbly, internally raging at himself for plodding along like a
tame puppy. But he was tired, so tired, and it seemed like she
wanted to help him sleep. Normally he would have doubted anyone
capable of such a thing, he would have thrown her from his room and
berated Temari for letting her up here.

But
things change when you die.

The
candles smelled nice, something mellow. Sandalwood, maybe. Did they
make sandalwood scented candles?

He,
rather awkwardly, climbed into bed, mimicing the position he had
watched others assume. Flat on his back, arms across his chest, head
back.

“You
look like you're dead.” She laughed a little, put the
instrument aside and leaned forward, watching him with a shake of her
head.

“Get
comfortable. You'll never fall asleep if you lay there like a
corpse.”

He
didn't know what she meant.

“I
don't know what you mean.”

Then she
got onto the futon with him and copied his position before he had
time to react.

“What
do you think you're--”

“Shh.
Now, like this, my arms aren't comfortable. I like them up by my
pillow, like this.” She moved.

“And
I hate sleeping on my back. Gotta be side or belly.” She moved
again. Then adjusted her head, shifted her legs, drew the blanket up
to her chin, snuggled down. Sighed.

“Perfect.”

He
nodded, beginning to understand, and began experimenting with
positions, trying to feel out how his body wanted to lay.

She got
up and returned to the cushion and he felt the heat from her body fly
away with her.

“Good?”

He
nodded, now curled up on his side, arm tucked like hers had been,
pillow almost completely forgotten and pushed out of the way. Yes.
This was nice.

She
smiled and plucked a few strings again and removed a bar on the neck
of the instrument. A note called out, sharp and crisp.

“Hn,”
she stated, tounge darting between her lips. She fiddled with
something and plucked again. “Perfect. Now...” Her eyes
flashed up to meet his. “You need to relax.”

“I
am relaxed.”

“Your
as tense as bowstring. Relax.
Start at the tip of your toes. Feel the tension drain out, onto the
floor in a puddle, you have no bones in your feet. Relax.”

He did. His feet relaxed.

“Feel your ankles relax, your legs. Feel the tension and the
hurt just fade away. Let that travel up to your knees, circle there
in the joint, exhale slowly, feel a slow warmth build there in your
bones, work all the knots out. Up your leg, to your hips, circle
again, inhale slowly...”

He concentrated on her voice, excited that this was working: he felt
better. It was something akin to meditating, but with someone else
showing you the way. She was smoothing out all the wrinkles,
painting over the mess with pure white paint, washing all the blood
away...

She ran her fingers along the instrument, unrelated notes singing,
sliding through the air, reminding him of the way the air shimmered
over the dunes on the truly hot days.

“Good, up your spine, let it drain out, threading through the
muscle and tendons, up up up. It's all gone, all gone and forgotten,
up and through your shoulders, down your arms and fingers, back back
back to your neck. Relax. Relax.”

He slept.

...

“How long?”

“Five days. You woke
up a few times. Bad dreams, I think.”

He looked away, kicking at
the wrinkled sheets. She had changed her clothes but was still
sitting on the cushion.

“I was getting
worried. Your brother thought you'd never wake up.”

He grunted and stood up,
stiff and aching again.

“How do you feel?”
She was putting the instrument away, picking wax off the table and
floor.

He grunted and moved into
the bathroom and slammed the door.

...

When he came out a few
minutes later, she was gone. Her things were gone from his room, even
the white wax from her candles.

A note on the bed:

Had to return home.
Responsibilities of my own. Feel better. Try not to die again any
time soon.

He
crushed it in his hand and threw it into one of the empty corners of
his room.

Just as
he had thought. Her concern was temporary. She'd done what she had to
in order to keep her own conscience satisfied. She'd completed her
“mission,” no need to stick around any longer.

But why
did he care so much that she didn't?

Because.
Because he'd done it again. He'd done what he swore, SWORE, that he
would never do after that first assassin. His uncle.

He had
allowed himself to trust, to hope that someone gave a shit about him
beyond what was expected. He should have known, should have
guessed...

He could
only love himself and try to do his duty to his village. It was all
he had.

He moved
to the door, intending to throw it open in a fit of rage and found
another note stuck in the crease.

Forgot to put this in the
first note (am tired a bit myself): Don't be a stranger. Come visit.
My home is your home!

There
was something that vaguely resembled a smiling face drawn at the end.

Come
visit?

The
anger drained out of him like water through a siv.

Come
visit?

How long
was he supposed to wait? Could he go there now, insist that she help
him sleep again, insist that she fuss about his clothes and his bath
towels. Insist that she buy stupid things like candles and play her
odd instrument. Was that allowed?

“Temari!”
he called, trying to keep the rising taste of panic and bile down
deep in his stomach. She would know. Temari always knew about these
things. “TEMARI!”

...

He let a
month go by. Then two. Kankouro kept looking at him funny, that
shit-eating grin of his widening until it looked as though his
painted face would split. Temari kept bringing home new clothes for
him every few days, rattling off some excuse about how they were on
sale or she thought they'd come in handy for a meeting with the
Village council.

He
wasn't an idiot.

Try as
he might, he could not convince his siblings that his desire to see
her again was purely platonic, if not entirely selfish. He had
tasted something that others took for granted and craved a second
helping. He had tried sleeping on his own and found it
unsatisfying—a pale ghost of what she had done, helped him do.
He'd even had Temari say those words again, “Relax, relax,
let it drain out,” but it wasn't the same. She had
to say it, he was convinced it was something only she could do.

“What
is she, a witch?” Kankouro joked. “Sounds like she cast
a heck of a spell on ya, little brother.”

“A
love spell, more like,” Temari added, smiling around her
chopsticks.

He
stormed out of the dining room, leaving his food still steaming and
untouched.

Maybe a
bath would help. And some of that mint soap.

...

The
landscape was so different here. Desert dwindled to grassland,
dwindled to scrub, dwindled to the first inkling of woodland. It was
lush and alive and thrumming with noise and activity.

His
arrival had been announced to the Hokage, as was proper, but he had
declined the residence offered to him by the crass blonde woman.
Temari and Kankouro were welcome to stay in the tower, but he had
other accomodations waiting.

He
had waited.

As
anxious as he was, there was an tendril of fear snaking its way
through his mind.

What if
she had only written that to be nice? What if she had only written it
because she thought it was expected of her? Or that if she didn't
he'd do something terrible?

What if
she shut her door in his face and laughed. Or worse, screamed.

“You're
being neurotic,” Temari chided gently, putting away his
ceremonial robes and tossing him something more casual to change
into. She moved to the door, and looked back at him.

“Trust
me, a girl doesn't invite a man to her house just to be polite.
Unless she's an idiot.”

“She's
not!” he admonished, clutching the new shirt to his bare chest.

“Fine,
fine. Sorry. Didn't mean to insult your girlfriend.”

“She's
not my—”

“You're
going to wrinkle that shirt,” she interrupted and shut the door
behind her. Probably off to see that cloud-watcher. Shika-something.
Gaara knew that Kankouro would have her tailed by their escorts just
to be safe. It was a brother's duty, after all.

He took
a long breath and jerked the shirt over his head roughly, dragging it
down until it settled properly. Pants next. Long jacket. The gourd.
Checked his reflection and sighed.

Messy,
bright hair, ghastly skin, pale eyes, and dying flesh to border them.

He
shifted the gourd's weight on his back and made a note to remove the
mirrors from his own tower in Suna. They were nothing but trouble.

...

The door
was flung open before he could even knock.

“Took
you long enough.” She smiled and motioned for him to follow
her in. “Just close the door behind you. Don't want the cat to
get out again. Keeps terrorizing my neighbor's dog.”

“Your
cat bullies a dog?” He asked, quirking a non-existant brow,
trailing just behind her.

“It's
one of those little yippy dogs,” she explained from beyond the
open door of her refridgerator. “Water?”

He
nodded and she poured him a glass.

“Come
on, sit down,” she lead him into a sitting room, barefoot and
wearing a summer dress that Temari would have called “froofy.”
It was a sign, she had told him, that a girl had chosen her clothes
carefully and wanted to look nice.

“You
look nice,” he blurted, feeling his cheeks flush and the cold
water hit his stomach like a brick.

She
laughed, as easily as always, and ran a hand through her hair.
“Thanks. I got it at a thrift store this morning. Nice and
cheap.”

So much
for Temari's theory. This was worse than he imagined. This was Hell.
Why was this so different than when she had been in Suna?

“You
can put your gourd down over there if you want to sit,” she
motioned to a bare space in the far end of the room. “I had a
treadmill there but I never used it.” She shrugged and sipped
her own water.

“Oh.”
What else was there to say about a treadmill that no longer resided
in a spot? He moved clumsily and dropped the gourd onto the floor,
flinching at the loud 'thud!'

“Heavy?”

“Mhm.”
He sat down as quickly as possible, straightbacked on a couch across
from her.

She was
studying him again, he could tell. Her eyes had narrowed slightly
and she was chewing on her bottom lip.

“What?”
he demanded, irritated at his own awkwardness and at her silence.

“You
look like shit.”

She got
up, quick as always, and closed the space between them to gently
touch the skin under his eyes.

“Not
sleeping again?”

“Not
well,” he whispered, too startled by her touch to drum up more
than that.

“Hn..”
Her thumb brushed firmly across his lower lid, up to the crease of
his eye until they shut involuntarily and she moved the pad of her
finger across the top. Her fingers felt cool and smooth and a sigh
escaped his lips before he could bottle it up.

“Yeah,
you're exhausted again. Your body can't bounce back like it used
to...”

She took
a step back and crossed her arms and he felt himself miss her touch.

“Don't.”
He caught himself.

“What?”

He stood
and left the glass of water on the table next to him.

“I
have to go.”

“And
again I ask: 'What?'”

“I
have to go. This was a mistake.”

She
looked genuinely confused, her arms suddenly crossed over her chest,
lips tugged downward. No, not confused.

Insulted.

“It..
It's not you. This would have been great if I...”

“If
you what?”

“I'm
not... I can't be...”

“Do
you talk like this all the time?”

“No!
Only when I'm around you!”

Silence
floated down and left them both blanketed in shock.

“I
have to go.” He retrieved his gourd and left, the door left
swinging open behind him.

The cat
darted out in a blur of orange and black. He missed it completely.

Completely.

...

That
night, he sat on the roof of an abandoned house in the small run-down
portion of a city that wasn't his. The wind, warm and calm and so
unlike the wind of the freezing desert nights, wrapped around him,
teasing and soft.

Her
fingers had been so soft.

He felt
the old pain in his chest flare, felt the mark on his forehead burn.
He had meant what he said: This was a mistake. He was setting
himself up to be hurt far worse than Akatsuki could have managed. No
good shinobi willingly walked into a doomed situation for no reason.

He had
responsibilities of his own. He had no time to be nursing these
kinds of worthless feelings.

He was a
killer. A great ninja. Someone feared and revered all at once. He was
a survivor.

He loved
no one but himself.

Head
bowed, he tried to rest. His temples throbbed, bones ached, the
gourd felt infinitely heavy on his back. His one shot at rest had
been ruined by the treacherous organ that beat in his chest. If he
had possessed the energy to rip it out, he would have.

He would
have happily flung the bit of muscle onto the street below.

Temari said you would be
out here.

That's
what she had said back in Suna. When she had opened that door and
ruined everything, fixed everything. When she had broken and put him
back together.

Humans are complicated.

But they
didn't have to be. His life, not so many years earlier, was simple.
He killed. He felt alive. He loved himself.

And had
been miserable and alone.

Chakra
buzzed all around him. In a city full of powerful ninja, he wasn't
surprised. He'd have to keep his guard up—he wanted to be left
alone and couldn't be sure that every villager had forgiven him for
what he'd done when he was younger.

He
clutched the back of his head, trying to keep the onslaught of
memories from coming again. It took a lot out of him to keep them
away, to keep them quiet. Shukaku had told him this would happen.
Had told him that if He ever went away, this would happen.

He
wished he had never been born. It wasn't a new wish.

“Please...Please...”
Over and over he begged whoever or whatever could grant him that one
request—an answer didn't not come. Never came.

Soft,
strong arms wrapped around his mid-section, somehow making it between
his back and the gourd. He let himself be pulled back, the scent of
mint and sandalwood on the air. He wondered if the stranger would
kill him, wondered if the sand would stop the attack as it had so
many times before. Maybe he'd command it to lay still and let the
blade drop.

Soft
fingers on his face, wiping the dampness away.

“Hey,
you...”

He
opened his eyes and saw hers staring back at him, her head resting on
his shoulder from behind.

“Come
on. You can't sleep up here. It's not comfortable.”

He
laughed, for the first time that he could remember, dipped his head
against hers and laughed. He could feel her smiling against his
forehead.

“What?”

“Nothing.
I just... I can't imagine what a pain you must be when you're forced
to do something uncomfortable.”

“Well
hopefully you'll never have to see me in that kind of a situation.
It's not pretty.”

He
sighed.

“Hnn,
that sounded sleepy,” she said, still smiling.

He
nodded as she helped him up, slinging one of his arms over her slight
shoulders and they both started back toward her house on the other
side of the city.

...

When
they got to her door, the sun was already starting to rise, seeming
to light the tops of the trees with little tongues of flame. She
kicked the door open and shooed the cat back inside. He noticed a
patch of fur missing near its shoulder.

The
little dog must have bit back this time.

“In
we go...” she murmured, bringing him straight back into a guest
bedroom. There were clean white sheets on the futon, those candles
she liked on the nightstand and the same style of nightclothes he had
worn in Suna folded neatly on the cushion nearby.

She
handed him the pile and left the room so he could change. Exhausted,
he fumbled with the buckles on his jacket, his fingers slipping along
the cool metal.

“Everything
okay in there?”

He must
have been cursing.

“I
can't get these...” He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

She came
in and pushed him back gently, quickly freeing the straps and buckles
and sliding the coat off his shoulder. She draped it over his gourd,
set neatly in the corner by the window and began heading back into
the hallway.

“W-Wait.”

She
paused and turned back to face him.

“You.
You don't have to leave. I, um, I trust you not to...”

“I
won't. I promise.”

She shut
the door, staying inside, and turned to face the closest wall while
he finished undressing. His limbs refused to comply and his fingers
felt numb and stupid. His body was rebelling against his will,
running on nothing but fumes.

“Oh
for goodness sake..” She broke her promise and turned around
again, lightly smacking his useless hands away to pull the shirt off
herself. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the battered
skin underneath.

“What
happened?”

“Sparring.
Missions. Just.. bumping into things.”

She
touched one of the bigger marks on his shouder.

“You
shouldn't bruise that easily...”

“I
don't have Him anymore, I'm just like everyone else now.”

“No...
No, people in general shouldn't bruise this easily. How old are
these?”

“A
few weeks. Maybe more,” he said, leaning ever-so-slightly into
her touch. Her hands ghosted from one ugly splotch to the next, and
he relished the feeling of her skin on his.

“This
isn't right... How long has it been since you last slept a full
night?”

“Since
you left.”

“That
was over two months ago! You can't go two months without sleeping!
You should be dead!”

He could
only offer a shrug. He didn't know people could die from not
sleeping.

“No
wonder your body isn't healing itself... I bet some of your organs
are starting to fail too.”

She
spread his eye wide with two splayed fingers, and he hissed at the
pain radiating from the sore spots.

“I
know, I'm sorry... You're all bloodshot and your pupils are
sluggish.” She removed her fingers from his face and took a
step back and did something he hadn't expected.

She
wiped at her own eyes and choked back a quiet sob.

“Don't
they have doctors in Suna?!”

She
stomped out of the room, ranting about the inconceivability that the
Kazekage of Suna could be this sick without receiving proper medical
treatment. Temari would pay. Kankouro would pay. Apparently all of
Hidden Sand would pay..

She came
back with her instrument and laid it down next to the cushion before
returning to his side.

“Can
you stand?” She asked, already helping him up.

With his
weight leaning heavily on her, she managed to get his pants undone.
Barring the furious blush across her cheeks, she moved without
faltering, and quickly had him redressed in the white shirt and
pants.

He laid
back on the futon, a larger, softer one than his own, and couldn't
stop the sad little smile that turned the corners of his mouth up as
she drew the sheets up on him.

“Thank
you,” he said, head resting just below one of the pillows.

“Don't
mention it.” She sat cross legged on the cushion and picked up
her instrument. “Go ahead,” she said, looking back up at
him. “Relax.”

He did
and felt himself drift as she played her strange song, but he did not
sleep.

“What's
wrong?” She finally asked, stopping the song after playing for
a good hour.

“I
don't know. I...” He turned away from her. “I just don't
know.”

He heard
her sigh, long and worried.

“I'm
sorry.” It was all he could think to say. He knew she had tried
and knew, for certain now, that she did actually care.

“When
I was little, and I couldn't sleep... My mother would come into my
room and lay down with me. She'd play with my hair, maybe tell me a
story, but really just... just hold me until I'd fall asleep again.
And when Dad was home, he'd come in too and sit there and play a song
while mom sang... In the morning, he'd be gone on another mission,
but Mom would still be here, making sure I slept the whole night.”

“You
were lucky to have them,” he said quietly, drawing one of the
pillows down into his chest. “To have parents who cared about
you.”

He felt
the futon dip suddenly and then her arms were around him again, and
he felt safe and warm, and then those fingers through his hair,
tracing the lines on his face, her head nestled against the back of
his neck. He turned and clutched at her, wanting to draw her into
himself, to take some of that happiness and that easy laughter, and
her light, bright scent.

“Please...please...”

Love me, love me.

Say you do.

She
pressed her lips to his forehead, ghosting over the kanji carved into
his skin, trying to erase it with force of will alone. She shushed
and soothed and tried desperately to show him that he wasn't really
alone, never had been. He wasn't just tired—that was part of
what was killing him so slowly—He was wasting away inside
too.

Let
me fly away...

with
you.

She knew
he was strong, he was the Kazekage after all, but he was human as
well. He had done terrible things and she knew he would have to deal
with those things some day. He had experienced terrible things done
to him and would have to face those nightmares some day. He
had a burden of responsibility no one could handle on their own, yet
he did, day in and day out. His own Village was still frightened of
him, still tiptoed around him. Now some doubted he was powerful
enough without the demon to protect them any longer. He would have to
face those people some day as well.

Some
day, yes. But not today.

We are creatures of the
wind.

Wild is the wind.

He could
feel her warm breath against his ear, shivered as her fingers traced
invisble patterns on his back, moving lightly over all the bumps and
knots and ugly purple spots. He pressed his face into her shoulder
as those soft, delicate fingers moved down the ridges of his spine.
He tentatively began copying her movements, slipping his fingers
beneath her shirt as she had done.

Give me more than one
caress

to satisfy this
hungriness.

He was
relieved when she didn't pull away, when she didn't scream or tear
out of bed, call him a monster, slam a door in his face. He heard
her sigh softly, tuck her head into his neck and shoulder, moving
down and folding into him. He needed her, he knew that. But did she
need him too? He pulled his hand away briefly from her side and when
she whimpered he knew.

We are creatures of the
wind.

Wild is the wind.

Now his
head was atop hers and she smelled so good and clean, like the rain
that sometimes falls just before it snows—freezing and light, a
hint of what's to come. Her hands came 'round to his front and his
breath caught in his throat as those blessed fingers brushed across
his chest, his dusky nipples, and little shockwaves of something like
heat and adrenaline coursed through his blood.

You touch me.

I hear the sound of
mandolins.

Before
he knew what he was doing, his mouth was on hers, and again he felt
the urge to bring her into himself, to draw out whatever it was that
made her her and keep it with him always. Her lips parted
against his and he pushed against her a little more, not quite sure
what to do. She took the lead, and he felt a sharp thrill of
jealousy flare in his chest. She must have noticed the change in his
chakra because she quickly assured him that she had only kissed one
other boy and it was nothing, nothing like this. He believed
her.

You kiss me.

With your kiss my life
begins.

She
pulled her shirt over her head, then his, while laughing about how
they had gone so much trouble to get it on. He smiled, finding it
easy for once, before he realized fully that he could see her now as
he had never... Never... His eyes flashed to hers, asking permission,
she smiled back and let him settle over her. Again, his mouth
descended, first to nuzzle and give a few quick, tentative licks
before instict urged him to give her more. She moved against him,
fingers in his hair, gasping and rocking and he wanted all of her for
himself and wanted her to want him the same way.

Like a leaf clings to a
tree, please,

cling to me.

He
hooked his fingers into the waistband of her cotton pants and again
looked to her for permission. She nodded, fire dancing in her eyes,
and he complied. This was new territory and he eagerly began
exploring every inch, finding his mouth, and teeth, and tongue to be
perfect partners for his rough fingers. Her hands were all over him,
every place she could touch, grasp, try not to bruise further. Her
legs fell open, hips moving of their own accord. He sat up and
looked at her a moment in dumbfounded disbelief, wondering how he had
gotten to this place, before she was up and pulling his own pants off
and he let himself moan as her hands pushed the material down his
legs, the warm air of morning touching all of him.

We are creatures of the
wind.

Wild as the wind.

They
fell together, limbs wrapping around each other, soft and slow; she
trying to erase all those years of darkness, he trying to prove that
he was still whole, even if he were broken, he was whole. She
wrapped her arms around his neck and back, whispering promises and
endearments in his ear, kissing his mark again. She whined and
arched and something stirred in his chest; something akin to pain but
different. This had a solution, had an end and a beginning
all wrapped in one.

He
touched her where he most desired to be, where he knew he could join
with her, that precious space at the juncture of her thighs. She
cried out and for a moment he thought he had hurt her. When her hips
moved roughly against his hand, he realized it was the opposite and
he complied with her demands, pressing two of his fingers inside,
stroking, rubbing until he found the spot that made her cry out
continuously, panting his name.

You touch me.

I hear the sound of
mandolins.

He
hadn't expected her to feel like this. Warm and wet and like living
velvet beneath and around his fingers. She was tight and pressing
down on his hand, mewling like a kitten. He inserted another finger
and she hissed. He moved his hand forward and then back, watching
her face. She leaned up and drew his head to hers, kissing him
between the broken sobs his ministrations were causing.

She
looked at him, whispered that she wanted him, asking if he wanted
her. He laughed. They both laughed and when they were done laughing
he kissed her again and pushed her further up on the futon. Her legs
came up around his mid-section, drawing him forward. He leaned over
her tummy and torso, bracing himself with one hand while the other
guided himself just inside.

And you kiss me.

With your kiss my life
begins.

She
sucked in her breath. He was more than the fingers had been. He moved
slowly, brushing the backs of his knuckles against her cheeks,
straining to keep himself under control. All the energy he had left,
ever last bit of chakra and fuel that he could find, he put into
this. Finally, he was buried inside of her and nearly swept away by
the flood of sensation and thoughts that bombared his brain.

“Oh...”
She whispered, shifting underneath him, feeling him inside, deep and
warm and alive. He bent his head down to her shoulder, kissed the
little dip at the base of her throat and thrust forward, shallow and
slow. Lights exploded behind his eyes and he wondered how people got
through the entire act without dying from the sheer, overwhelming
pleasure of it.

“More...
Please, please.”

He
looked up at her, saw her eyes half-lidded and hazy. She smiled and
touched his face before returning her arms to their place tight
around his shoulders. Her chakra sang. He moved, following it's
rhythm.

Love me, love me.

Say you do.

They
crashed together, like foam-capped waves, each pulled toward the
other over and over. The muscles in his back slid beneath his skin,
shining with a sheen of sweat, as he brought himself into her,
brought her into him. Her body curled toward his, strong legs
bringing him closer, deeper into her. Noise slipped from their lips,
incoherant and perfect. They clung to each other, trying to stay
above the water, trying to keep from drowning and then both let go,
crying loud enough to scare the crows from the lightpole outside the
bedroom window in a flurry of black feathers.

They
were both shaking, eyes wide as those of startled deer. He brushed
the damp hair away from her eyes, looked down with concern in his.

Let me fly away...

with you.

“I...”

She
pressed a finger to his lips and he kissed it gently, grateful to all
that finger alone had given him. A few moments passed, both enjoying
the sounds of the city waking up around them, possibly because
of them.

“What
happens now?” He asked, unable to keep some of the old
parannoia from surfacing.

She bit
her bottom lip, drew her face close to his and stared at his lips.

“Now...
we sleep.”

He
nodded and stayed joined with her, her legs still wrapped around him.
He yawned and played with her hair, pulling the tangles out as his
eyes drifted shut. She smoothed her hand along his chest, her breath
going even and slow.

...

Neither
woke until the sun was long past setting, and even then only because
the cat was scratching the bedroom door, demanding to be fed with
high, plaintative cries. He frowned as she got out of bed and spread
himself across the warmth of her spot on the futon, trying to
preserve it.

“You
look cute when you do that.”

“Hm?”
He doubted he could form actual words even after a good night's rest.

“When
you pout. It's cute.” She shuffled back into the room, the cat
happily inhaling the food she set out for him.

“I
don't like cats.”

She
laughed and he smirked at her and patted the futon.

“Come
back to bed.”

“Quickly
becoming a fan, I see.”

He
nodded sagely and lifted the sheet for her. She climbed back in and
snuggled up next to him quickly, kissing his chest.

“Hungry?”

He
grunted, and she felt the rumble in his chest. “Yes, but I
don't want you to leave again.”

“I
can order out. And,” she giggled a bit girlishly making him
smile, “You do realize I will eventually have to get up.
So will you.”

He shook
his head. “I'm the Kazekage. Who would argue with me?”

She
raised her hand.

“No.
New law: None shall deny the Kazekage what he desires.”

“But
we're not in Suna.”

“Doesn't
matter.”

She
sighed dramatically. “Hokage-sama will stop you, you tyrant!”

“She's
60-something years old. How much of a fight could she put up?”
He pouted again, this time doing it on purpose.

“You've
never seen Tsunade-sama in a fight. She could take you.”

He
laughed, a wild barking noise that startled her before she realized
he was actually laughing.

“So...”
He said, finally regaining his composure. “What comes next?”

“Well...
That depends on you, I guess.”

He
turned so he could face her better, not sure of her meaning.

“Depends
on me?”

“I
mean, I want to.. y'know... Keep seeing you. But if you don't--”

He
silenced her with a tender kiss and moved his hips against hers, the
hardness there proving just how much he shared her feelings.

“We
should eat before we start that up again, Kazekage-sama,”
she drawled, voice hitching as he continued to move, finding that he
enjoyed making her squirm like that.

“Food
is overrated.”

“I
suppose air is too?”

“Yes,
if it impedes certain activities.”

She
laughed and tried to roll over so she could reach the phone. She
knew a ramen shop that was open at all hours and delivered.

He
pulled her back, nipping her ear.

“Stay
with me.”

She
reached back and brushed his cheek.

“Always.”

...

A/N:

Bri:
AWWWWWW! -giggles and cuddles her man- AREN'T THEY ADORABLE?! ^^

Bri's
BF: Hon... You're choking me. oo'

Bri: ALL
CUDDLY AND MUSHY! ^^!

Bri's
BF: Hon! o.o''

Bri:
THEY'RE GONNA GET MARRIED AND HAVE A MILLION LITTLE GAARA BABIES!
^^!!

Bri's
BF: -passes out- x.x

Bri:
Babe? -pokes- BABE? -pokes- So like a man... e.e

Gaara:
Ehm, excuse me?

Bri: o.O

Gaara:
Hey, yeah. Um. I was just wondering who the girl is in this story.

Bri: O.o

Gaara:
...Because I'd really like to get her number. ... I mean, if you have
it.

Bri:
-dies-

Gaara:
...

Gaara:
...

Gaara:
Freakin' perfect. -.-'

For
serious, this was lovely to write. Hope you enjoy some tender
Gaara-lovin'. And don't even bother guessing who the girl is. Even
if you're right, I'm not tellllinnng.
- 1
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Creatures of the Wind