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Cold Comfort	By : randomsome1 Category: Naruto > Het - Male/Female Views: 1954 -:- 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-Cold Comfort
- 1
Cold Comfort
Originally posted at LJ on January 28, 2006, as a response to a community challenge, then moved around from there.
Word Count: About 4k

All they want to do is argue. Maybe.
___
ooo

Their argument was executed in hushed tones, layers of civility being stripped away with each step he dragged her from the banquet room, tempers running hot even as the empty hallway's air chilled their skin.

"I'm doing you a favor."

"I'm not looking for favors," Sakura snapped, "I'm--"

"Information gathering. Poorly, at that. You're not even cut out for this."

She was supposed to have been undercover, blending in with the hired entertainment and servers while listening in on diplomats' conversations. Ordinarily, no one would've known the difference--until she'd looked up from her duties to lock eyes with the unannounced guest of honor, Sand's newest Kazekage. She'd tried to continue the ruse, tried to pretend that he hadn't recognized her . . . but that had fallen through when she attempted to pour his tea. The way his fingertips brushed her hair out of the way to touch her cheek wasn't as crude as some of the other attention she'd gotten that night, but her heart had skipped a beat anyway. Would he out her as Leaf's spy in front of everyone? He certainly had every reason to . . .

But it had been worse. He'd waited until she looked up from pouring, his eyes coolly meeting hers, then murmured what amounted to an unconditional demand: "Stay."

And it might not have been too bad--he was sitting beside some of the higher-ranking nobles, and acting as his personal tea-pourer would give her plenty of time to listen to them uninterrupted. But then one had looked her over and casually, laughingly commented to the Sand ninja, "Picked a nice one, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Gaara'd replied; and before she'd known it, his hand had settled halfway up the inside of her thigh.

Sakura colored at the memory and twisted her wrist free from his grasp, hissing at him when he turned to glare at her. "I'm not cut out for it?"

"You froze up when I recognized you, and later--"

Later, she'd colored entirely too much at the casual way he'd touched her for her to fully keep up the mask of professionalism. "You groped me, you--"

"Like I told you, I'm doing you a favor. If I hadn't put a claim on you then one of the others might have. Then what would you do? Hope they only wanted you to dance for them?"

"I would've taken care of it," she insisted.

"How so? Slip something into their drink and hope they don't question waking up with no memories of what happened?"

She glared. That had been exactly what she'd intended to do. "And your idea is so much better?"

"They won't expect you to do anything for them as long as you're with me. We'll go to my quarters and wait out the night."

But all of the forced smiling and eyelash-batting she'd done earlier that night had caught up with her, combined with Sakura's memory of the fluttery feeling in her stomach as he'd idly caressed her thigh and what she thought was a healthy amount of distrust. "And since you're so different from them, you're going to expect me to do . . . what?"

Gaara glanced over her ensemble, with its flowing sleeves and long, unwieldy skirts. "You could always keep up your act and be entertaining."

She had to struggle to speak quietly. "I was keeping my act up perfectly, even with you and half a dozen other self-important asses trying to feel me up every other time I turned around! But no, that wasn't good enough--you had to announce to practically all of them that . . . that . . . you had further need of my services!"

He blinked at her, almost petulantly. "You are the worst entertainment I've ever seen."

That was it. Sakura straightened, glancing around them distraughtly. "I'm getting out of here."

Suddenly serious, he reached out for her wrist again. "No you're not. You'll be seen, and--"

"I'm a ninja." She backed out of his reach and laughed, hoping the short, harsh noise sounded braver than she felt. "It doesn't matter if it's snowing--I won't leave any tracks, and I won't be seen unless I want them to see me."

"You're not the only ninja here. If you get caught then everything is up, and we'll both be implicated."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Kazekage-sama."

He stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, his face close, voice low, eyes wide and breath skimming against her cheeks. "I won't let you risk my alliances just because you're offended and don't want to be around me and--"

"Look, I just want--" Her efforts to loosen his grip only made him squeeze tighter. Desperate, she dug her thumb into a point on his wrist and wrenched, freeing one arm but being caught again by her sleeve and jerked back before she could take a half a step.

"Stop it," he hissed. "I don't have time to--"

He moved to reposition and she grabbed at his arms again, trying to prevent him from getting a better grip on her--then exhaled sharply in shock as she slammed back-first into a wall. Gaara had apparently run out of patience.

She should probably feel thankful that his hand had kept her head from bouncing off the wall as well, but couldn't spare time to think about that. She should probably be frightened about how she was cornered, practically immobilized, and that the hand not cupping the back of her skull hovered, shaking, in front of her face. Gaara's voice sounded hoarse, strained, as he all but gasped out, "Why can't you just . . ."

His hand found her cheek, roughly cupping, not relaxing even when she grasped it. She realized faintly that she must appear to him the same way he did to her--mouth open, eyes wide, features fixed at somewhere between anger and terror. If some agreement was reached in that second, she wasn't consciously aware of it,; nor was she aware of who moved first--but the next heartbeat found her mouth crushed against his, her free hand clutching at his side as she found that he apparently executed everything with the same intensity he used on political duties.

And he was terribly, horribly good at what he was doing.

What probably cemented things was the sound she made as he pulled back, how she licked her lips as if she could use the pressure to still feel his. Meeting his eyes, she found him watching her with an expression that for all intents and purposes should have been her clue to get away. But his hands were still holding her in place, and he was stepping in, stepping close, then deliberately pushing her back against the wall; his breath warm and lips soft, this kiss not as bruisingly hard as the first but no less heated. And she knew she should really object--but wrapping her arms around him was so much easier to do than voice anything more than an encouraging murmur. Gaara took the gesture as an indication that he could continue. The hand gripping the back of her head shifted to her hip as he moved closer, pressing her tighter against the wall as his lips and tongue coaxed her into a frenetic response. The other hand smoothly dipped into the front of her dress, tugging the bindings over her chest down to expose her to his greedy caresses.

She would've complained, would've tried to stop him, but by that point she'd drawn a leg up the outside of his and had realized mid-kiss that the problem wasn't his attentions but how she was responding to them: how she pressed herself against his hand, gasping against his lips when he squeezed tender skin, how she ran her own hands over his back, his sides, down over his stomach. How she didn't mind when he went for her raised thigh in order to try to get his hand under her skirts. How she clasped the back of his neck in order to stop him from breaking their kiss again . . . until he shoved the material of her underwear to the side in order to touch her.

She let him go then and gasped, her hips working against the first few sharp thrusts of his fingers, arching forward to him hungrily when he pulled them out of her. He didn't break contact with her, though, his fingertips wet and slick and searching. Sakura squirned in an attempt to aid him in finding his new target, then sighed and pulled him back for more kisses as his fumbling turned to sure, firm caresses.

It wasn't fair that he could make her react like that, not in the least bit. She retaliated by pulling his hair out of the way and pressing her mouth to his throat. He responded instantly: tilting his head back for her with a faint groan and pulling his hand away from her chest to run his fingers through her hair. She felt his pulse beat strongly against her lips as she tasted his skin, licking from the edge of his jaw down to the point where she had to pull his clothing out of the way in order to leave wet, sucking kisses where his neck met his shoulder. That way she could stifle the sounds she made as she rubbed herself frantically against his fingers, could know that he heard them as his grip on her hair tightened and he answered her with a gasp of his own . . . Then his fingers sped up, just enough, and then there was nothing else she could do but muffle her moans against his throat as she came.

His eyes met hers again as she finally pulled back to look at him. Without sensation obscuring her thoughts, things were all too clear. She'd just let Gaara, of all people--

Worse: when faced with his the intensity of his gaze and his sure hands and the way her kisses had brought color to his lips, she wasn't sure she could've denied him on anything but principle before.

Undaunted by her pause, Gaara carefully extracted his hand from under her skirts and kissed her again. When he pulled back to look at her the expression settling on his features was one of dark determination--and when she cautiously pushed her hips forward against his, she became all too aware of his reasons. With the realization came something that was almost as much panic as desperation. He wouldn't, not there, not then--but he was still pulling her skirts up, sliding her underwear down her legs, moaning against her mouth as her hands finally made it under his clothing to skim over the hard, hot proof of his need before she unfastened his pants rather than push him away.

From somewhere down the hall came the faint sound of voices, and suddenly all desperation shifted to panic as well. If they were caught . . .

Gaara muttered something she was certain was thoroughly obscene and let go of her skirts. She only had a second to locate her discarded underwear before he grabbed her wrist and started to drag her down the hallway again. This time, though, she didn't resist.

His quarters were closer than she thought. Sakura only had a second to take in the austere room and the traditional futon in the center of the floor--then his mouth crushed down over hers again. The certainty of being in this situation with him finally gave her the fortitude to pause, though, to break away from his kiss in order to voice a breathless protest. "Shouldn't--"

"Don't worry," he replied from against her throat, using his breath as much as his lips to caress her.

"But--" She hadn't signed on for this part of the mission, hadn't expected anything like this, hadn't intended to finish her day by ending up under anyone. And she definitely hadn't expected Gaara to pin her against a wall and . . . She shivered as the memory blended with the feel of his lips and tongue against her throat, and her hips ground against his again almost of their own volition.

The bed behind him, though, was still a huge step.

"Sakura." She blinked at the sound, unsure if he'd ever called her by name before. Gaara pulled back and reached up to rub his thumb along her cheek before he spoke again. "Stop thinking so much."

She forced a shaky half-smile. "It's what I do, though."

The tight-lipped expression he returned may have been a smile. "I know." His next kiss was almost leisurely, apparently to show that he could go slowly if that was what she needed in order to accept him, that he could be gentle enough for her to relax. And it couldn't be so bad, right? After all, if the past few minutes were any indication . . .

She broke away, nodded shyly, and took the few steps across the room to the futon by herself. Gaara watched her sit down, his features reflecting the same sort of intensity she'd seen in the hall earlier. Wide-eyed, she watched him opt to unselfconsciously undress before following her, the faint light coming in through the windows accentuating the darkness around his eyes and the paleness of his skin. His weight pressed her back, his knees spreading hers as she reached out for him, running her hands along the strong, warm line of his shoulders, down the smooth skin of his sides, and finally, hesitantly, up between his legs.

Maybe this was a bad idea, she decided. She could barely fit her hand around him, and he'd intended to just rip her clothes off and--

Apparently still intended to, as his hands were moving her skirts out of the way again, caressing her hips and thighs. One thigh in particular. Wait, what was he--

Gaara sat up, curiously holding a sheathed kunai she'd forgotten she was wearing. "Expecting trouble?"

"Staying prepared," she replied.

He gave her another strange half-smile and dropped the weapon off to the side. His thighs felt warm against the insides of hers as he leaned back down to her, propping himself up with his elbows and cupping her face in his hands as he moved in for another kiss. In response she returned to what she'd been examining before, stroking him with her fingertips, then squeezing, then finding a rhythm between her hands and her kisses.

Gaara thrust slowly against her caresses, and she shivered as she imagined him inside her instead. But before she could guide him there he then paused and rolled to his side, trapping her leg beneath him. "It would feel better if . . ." He caught one of her hands, licked her palm, then guided it back down. "There." As her hands went to work, pulling back impossibly soft skin to properly glide over him, he moaned quietly against her hair. One hand slipped into the top of her dress again, then tugged it off of her shoulder just enough to bare her left side.

Clothing was an encumbrance. "I could take it off," she offered.

"No." Something unreadable and dangerous and terribly exciting flickered across his expression. "I like you like this." He skimmed a hand over her shoulder, down over cold-peaked flesh, over her hip and down her thigh in order to tug her skirts back up around her waist. When she tried to pull her legs together, he nudged them apart again. "This way." Gaara leaned down, his tongue warm against her skin as his fingers slipped back into her. There was something about how he shifted off of her leg, settling on his other side as he nuzzled what skin of her stomach was exposed . . . and she understood when he planted an open-mouthed kiss against the inside of her thigh, then turned to shoot her a curious upside-down glance.

Experience wasn't her friend in this, so she wasn't sure--but he'd reacted so beautifully before and was apparently willing to return in kind, so she shifted herself closer to his hips as she reached out for him anyway. He tasted faintly musky as she traced her tongue over him, feeling his breath whisper intimately against her skin as his fingers spread her apart. She didn't hear any other sounds he made as she took him into her mouth, using her hand to stroke what she couldn't otherwise encompass, but his arm wrapped around her hip and the first light touch of his lips quickly became more demanding. Sakura shook and sped up her ministrations to match the way his tongue moved against her, licking circles around him, then nearly choking herself as she tried to take as much of him as possible. Her hips moved almost involuntarily against the quick strokes of his tongue, prompting her to move faster on him--and as she realized how much his locked muscles shook, how much she moaned against him, she wondered vaguely which of them would finish first.

Then he was pulling away from her, turning around to kiss her rather than continue. She pushed away, confused, her body tingling and cooling from the lack of contact. "Are . . . you okay?"

"If you keep going, then . . ." Gaara blinked and met her eyes, his lips curving into a faint, rueful smile.

So she'd almost finished him, and he didn't want to go that soon. But with the way he made her feel, desperately wanted and amazingly alive and frantically needy and so terribly, terribly empty . . . "It's okay. I want you to." Sakura reached out for him again, sliding both hands over his saliva-slick skin as her mouth opened against his throat.

His hands closed around her wrists to stop her. "Not like that, either."

That left one option. Sakura raised his hands to her lips and pressed light kisses against his palms, then smoothly rose to her feet, encouraging him to stand as well. When he did, she led him back to the wall. "This is what you wanted, right?" she asked quietly, setting her back against the cool wooden paneling.

"Yeah," he murmured.

She pulled her arms out of her sleeves so she could move without the fabric's obstruction, leaving herself bare to the waist, and pulled him close enough to press against him, warm skin against skin. Strong hands at her hips lifted her as she hooked an arm around his neck and wrapped her legs around him, further adjusting her clothing to keep it from impeding them. She felt him nudge against her for a second, hot and slick; then he pushed, sheathing himself in one smooth motion.

Her hiss of indrawn breath turned into a shuddery gasp, was released as a low moan in echo to his. Gaara's hands clenched against her hips, his panting breath hot against her throat, but he didn't push any more. Instead he waited until her moans subsided, for her to adjust to his size and to start undulating against him. Certain that he'd hold her up, she loosened her legs' grip around him to not limit his motion, rewarded when he settled at deep, slow strokes.

Sakura closed her eyes to better concentrate on the feel of him, her head rocking back at the fluidity of their motion, at the easy, wet slide of him into her. It seemed like that way was perfect as it was--but then he shifted his grip on her hips so his next thrust filled her with what little bit of himself their position hadn't allowed before. The sensation was a revelation. She tightened her legs around him, grinding herself hard against his body and gasping as his next thrust repeated the motion. Opening her eyes, she found him staring at her, deliberately holding her gaze as he drew back and thrust again. This time her gasp came out a whimper.

Gaara leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as she writhed against him. "I want you to, too." He stepped back from the wall, carrying her the few paces back to the futon, then knelt, pulling free of her once she loosened her grasp. "Turn over."

His hand settled between her shoulder blades and pushed her down, pressing her face and chest to the mattress. She felt him press her knees further apart and fumble against her for just a second before he slid back in. This time he didn't wait, didn't go slow. Instead his hands pulled her back to him until she met his rhythm, then skimmed up her thighs to touch her the same way he had in the hallway. Already concentrating on how he slammed into her, how he filled her just the way she wanted him to with every thrust, Sakura almost didn't notice his fingers until they settled, then started rubbing against her in firm, tight circles. It didn't take long before the combined sensations drove her from gasps to moans, then from moans to cries as her body clenched around his with her climax, accentuating the feel of his thrusts as she pushed hard against him, trying to drive him as deep as she could. Gaara gave a ragged gasp at the way she writhed, his hands clamping onto her hips as his next motions became short and sharp. Encouraged by his reaction, she moved faster, meeting his desperate thrusts with as much fervor as possible until he stopped moving with her in order to lock her tightly against him, his fingers clenching in time with his hoarse moans.

His forehead bumped against her shoulder and his arms wrapped snugly around her as they each caught their breath. And after her heartbeat had slowed down a little, as well as his breath against her back, she decided that cuddling afterward was a good thing. That way they'd have time to enjoy the warm, satiated feeling . . . Well, warm except for her toes. And her hands. And--yeah, a freezing cold room apparently wasn't the best place for uncovered cuddling.

She felt him plant a kiss somewhere between her shoulder blades before he withdrew. He settled on one side and extended an arm to her invitingly as she turned around, then pulled a blanket over them as she snuggled against him.

"You'd think they'd have turned the heat on for you," she grumbled.

"Mhm."

She glanced up over his head, to the dark shape under the window. "The heater's over there, you know."

"Mhm," he repeated, and started struggling with her dress's cinch. He figured it out soon enough, pulling the wrinkled fabric and unraveled bindings out from under the blanket and tossing them aside.

Sakura sighed and squeezed him. Apparently he didn't care about the room's temperature; at least, not as long as he had someone under the blanket to help keep him warm. And aside from that, he'd switched back to laconic, which left her with plenty of time to think. She scowled and shifted, tucking her head under his chin and draping her leg across him. A night together could mean anything to him--from a fling, to the start of something, to him just having fucked her into not giving them up to their hosts. To make things worse, she wasn't sure what it meant to her, either.

She might have just fucked up in absolutely stellar ways.

"The next time I'm in Leaf," he said, startling her from her reverie, "I'd like to see you."

Sakura took a deep breath and smiled. It apparently meant something to him, at least. "To bicker more?"

"If you deserve it."

She squeezed him, making sure he felt the full length of her naked body against his. "Or something more like this?"

"Definitely." And to punctuate the statement, he goosed her.

She couldn't expect much more than that--but it might be okay. "I could handle that."

His fingers traced over her side and up her rib cage, searching for softness as humor laced its way into his voice. "Good."

"Jerk," she muttered, for the principle of it all.

His thumb rubbed over her skin coaxingly. "Keep talking."
- 1
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Cold Comfort