#nejiten au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silentvoicescryingout · 1 year

Text

in love & war

For selin, by silentvoicescryingout

Twenty-one

Hyuga Neji stands before her, a perfect four paces away, for propriety's sake. He offers a small, respectful bow. Sakura tips her chin in response. They stand silent, observing each other as those around them exchange greetings and kenin bustle about in an organized fashion. A restrained, but excitable energy fills their surroundings, but does not quite reach the pair.

His long hair flows to the silken belt holding his robes together, the top half swept back into a neat bun high on his head. The strands shine, chestnut brown and glossy like oil in the sunlight. His eyes are pale like the moon, near-white with the barest lavender tint. The goddess’ favor, the histories say: irises as powerful as they are ethereal. A fine nose, shapely lips and arched brows give a delicate facade to a man known to be stern, far more likely to frown than smile.

“A pleasure to see you, Hyuga-san,” Sakura murmurs, tipping her chin once more, slowly and gracefully as she had been taught.

Everything from the perfect posture she held when she straightened again to the shifting of her gaze slightly to the side of his face was second nature. Truly second as this delicacy, this gentile performance was so at odds with the way she spent the majority of her time.

Her muscles were used to being bunched tight, head constantly swiveling to and fro, poised to attack or be attacked.

“The pleasure is mine, Sakura-san,” with these words, he takes a single step forward. The swishing of his fine robes accompany the movement, bringing with it a gust of his scent.

He smells of patchouli and the slightly spicy-sweetness of persimmon. Pleasant, but it does not compel her to take a deeper breath, to inhale and experience more of his essence. His appearance is fine, his body tall and lean and strong, but she does not experience any quickening in her heart, nor heat in her veins. If anything he is simply…familiar. Someone she is used to, and can be comfortable enough sharing her presence with.

“I do wish you would call me by my given name,” he says. The words sound sincere, but his delivery is lacking. Bland, even. “You have long permitted me to use yours.”

“Aa, I have,” Sakura replies, her lips spreading into a small, demure smile. So well practiced, she does it without thought. “But I know how highly you value your family name.”

They had been children of only five and seven years old, the first and last time she had called him by his first name.

It is Hyuga-san, to you! Do not address me so casually, girl! He had said. And so she had not, ever since.

His lips curve in a shadow of a smirk before he tilts his head in a small, rueful bow. In the next moment, his hands emerge from their place tucked into his billowing sleeves, revealing pale flesh marred in a few places with thin scars. He offers a long-fingered hand.

Sakura curls her fingertips lightly around his, their callouses scraping slightly against each other. A gaggle of maids gather at their backs, waiting until the pair has taken about five steps before following after them as they begin to walk about the garden.

“The cherry blossoms are blooming beautifully,” Neji murmurs, cutting a glance at her with his pale eyes.

Sakura stares back into them until he looks away, turning to glance up at the hanging branches, tracking the few petals that float to the floor with each gentle breeze.

“They are,” she finally agrees, smiling gently.

“As they should, being your namesake,” he adds. A small giggle bubbles in her chest and she glances at her companion once again.

“Do you flirt with me, my lord?” she asks. His head turns and he glances down to study her face.

“I suppose,” he says, arching a fine brow. “It is part of courting, is it not?”

Sakura rolls her eyes, emboldened by their distance from the other people meandering about as they take a less-beaten path, wandering into the less tamed sections at the very edges of the garden.

“Courting does not make much sense for us, does it?” she huffs a quiet laugh. “We have been betrothed since I was born.”

“Longer than that,” he corrects. With a gentle squeeze over her fingers, he draws them to a stop. Her hand drops from his as he steps— sweeps — a few feet away to stroke a finger against the delicate petals of a brightly colored flower. “It was actually since I was born. And you took a terribly long time to show up.”

Their chaperones have stationed themselves just outside of the enclave they disappeared into, within technical earshot. But, they had been engaged for years. If they had not completely scandalized each other yet, it was unlikely to happen now.

Sakura leans into the thin trunk of a small tree and relaxes her posture, crossing her arms and ankles.

“You are only two years my senior, Hyuga-san,” she drawls. “Too young to even note the difference when your soon-to-be bride came into this world.”

“That is what you think,” he mutters. His fingers sweep over the differently colored petals, almost startlingly gentle. Those same hands had spilled much blood. “I was waiting for you, of course. Most impatiently.”

“You joke so masterfully, my lord,” Sakura deadpans. Neji hums in amusement, as close to a laugh as she has ever heard from him in more than two decades.

He turns, capturing her gaze as he moves toward her slowly. His steps are steady and sure, but graceful. Raw power and nobility wrapped in one man who has been bathed in gentility and blood for as long as he could read his letters and hold a sword.

Just like her.

When he finally stops, his steps have brought him within two paces of her leaning form, close enough that he does not have to reach far to rest a hand at her shoulder. His palm brushes featherlight over the topmost fabric of her luxurious robes, stroking down to tickle his index and middle finger at the sliver of exposed flesh at her wrist.

“Never would I joke about my affections toward you,” he says in a low voice. His hand withdraws, and he straightens, peering down at her with a haughty expression.

Sakura has been in his company long enough to know that it is simply the way his face looks.

“You do all the time,” Sakura mumbles. “We both know this is not a love-match, my lord.”

“Is it not?” He raises a dark brow, pale irises tracing every line and curve of her face. “Love exists in all its varying forms.”

The attention is not discomfiting for it is familiar. As is the barest hint of heat in his gaze.

As is the press of his lips to her mouth, chaste and soft. First, to her upper lip, then the lower. When her mouth parts on a sigh and she sinks more fully into the rough bark behind her, he presses deeper, shaping his mouth to hers perfectly. Practiced.

She can nearly predict how long it will be before he pulls away, having become used to the routine. She knows that his tongue will slide out to flick lightly over her lower lip next; then he will dip his head to press a peck to the side of her throat. On the spot that he will place his mark on her, as he’d promised when she was eighteen and he, twenty.

When he pulls back to stare down into her face, they will smile. His small, restrained, and hers gentle.

“How scandalous, my lord,” she whispers, watching the way his nearly nonexistent pupils dilate in their proximity. “Accosting a maiden behind the backs of her chaperones.”

His eyes roll dramatically and he hums his quiet laugh again, straightening and reaching up to swipe at the dot of saliva lingering beneath her lips with the pad of his thumb.

“At this point, I believe they wish I would accost you,” he scoffs. “We have been engaged for longer than many people have been wed.”

“Because there is a war raging,” she reminds him, quirking her brow. His tiny smile tamps the fire that began to spark in her veins.

“That there is,” he nods. “And so I do not believe it is a sin for me to want to share at least a kiss with my betrothed every once in a while. Considering the battlefield may take me before you ever will.”

“Speak not of such things,” she frowns and he sighs, leaning in to press his lips to her temple before sliding back smoothly, stopping at a distance of four paces. Proper.

“Apologies, my lady,” he nods, his features taking on a sterness and stoicity. “I meant that perhaps the battlefield will take you before I have had the chance.”

Sakura barks a laugh, pressing her finger tips to her lips to muffle the sounds after the initial outburst. Shaking her head, she straightens and steps away from the tree, once more taking Neji’s outstretched hand.

The two of them reemerge and melt back into the promenade. They complete a circle around the huge koi pond, their steps small and graceful, each dip of their chins and tilt of their heads so refined it might have been choreographed.

Neji’s pale eyes sweep their surroundings one too many times, and once Sakura follows his gaze, she knows.

“Lady TenTen is a vision, is she not?” she smiles at the young woman standing a few yards away, toying with a tiny, ornate blade of glass and metal. “Her beauty is nearly as impactful as her skill with the blade. And the ax. And the bow.”

“Indeed,” her fiancée says dryly.

TenTen dips her head to Sakura before her chestnut eyes shift a bit higher, focusing behind her. They soften before slipping away quickly as she turns her head.

“You know I would never fault you,” Sakura says softly, squeezing his fingers lightly. “What was it that you said of love?”

“I have arranged with my father to build us a small estate, away from the center of the compound,” Neji’s voice holds a sharp edge that pricks like needles against Sakura’s skin. “By the time we are wed, it will be complete. I know living with my clan, and their archaic ideals troubles you. We shall have our own space to live and grow together.”

“Hyuga-san,” she sighs. “I know you heard what I said.”

His hand squeezes hers and they come to a stop, mere feet away from his parents and her master. “My commitment, my loyalty and my protection are yours. My life is yours. So it has been since you came into this world, and so it shall be, until the goddess reclaims our souls.”

No such declarations are made of his heart. She knows the truths unsaid, in her own soul feels them deeply.

With a heavy exhalation, he frees her from his grasp, gliding away and leaving the scent of patchouli, persimmon and the tang of pain behind. He disappears, graceful, behind another wall of green, the length of his robe teasing the petals of low-bearing flowers.

She pulls a fan from her sleeve and waves it open to demurely shade half of her face.

A few moments pass as she gazes around with her practiced, pleasant smile, and shifting movements engages her peripheral vision. Lady TenTen bids her graceful goodbyes with a bow, and trails with small, careful steps in the direction Neji has just gone before.

Her mouth twitches, and she wonders not for the first time how well she and the weapons-mistress know the taste of each other’s lips.

Taking leisurely steps around the pond, peering about the garden, she thinks of the future, the children she might bear. She imagines what kind of parents she and her soon-to-be husband will be, having spent their formative years in battlefields flooded with blood. Ponders the sacrifices she is willing to make for her husband-to-be’s happiness and levity of heart.

Just twenty-one and twenty-three.

She reflects on the warm fingers attached to hers, the pale irises that flick toward her face every few moments. The same ones who stray whenever a certain iron-forged lady draws near. Those eyes, so beautiful, dangerous, reminiscent of the moon that they all pray to.

Yet she can only appreciate them for a moment before her mind is taken with visions— of black, of deep blood red, circling about in a burning iris.

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Fifteen

Pain. Cold. Wet.

It is these sensations that bring Sasuke from the abyss, back into the world of the (unfortunately) living. His limbs tingle to awareness slowly, and through the fog of his mind he finds that he is shivering, soaked to the bone. He wonders if the pool of liquid at his back is water or his blood. His dulled senses cannot yet tell the difference.

Air rushes into his lungs and agony throbs at his side, causing it to whoosh immediately back out. If he had command of his body, he might open his mouth to scream, yell to the heavens or to hell to decide who will take charge of his soul and let him die .

Pressure at his side jerks him fully into consciousness and then he does scream.

His throat feels bludgeoned, so his voice comes forth more as a whimper, hoarse and quiet.

“Be still,” a soft, distinctly femnine voice sounds near his ear, whispering close under the sound of pouring rain. “I will get you mended. Please, do not move.”

Sasuke’s lids peel open and his cursed eyes bleed, the dojutsu passed down through his bloodline whirring to life.

As if he is just a boy again, blinded by the pure intensity of his new sight, he only makes out the finite details at first. Pearlescent droplets of water clinging to pale, fuzzy hairs the color of ripe peaches, ripples of jade, emerald and prasiolite, specks of pale brown like drowned, fallen leaves during the start of the rainy season.

His cursed eyes hones in on pale skin spattered with freckles, wide-set green eyes taking up a heart-shaped face. Hair strands the color of dampened pink rose petals drip water onto his face. She is beautiful. Exquisite, even.

Goddess? he thinks. Have you come to collect this unworthy son? Perhaps to breathe life into him once again?

“You must stay awake,” she speaks again, bites her full lower lip till it dots cherry-red. “I will help you.”

A small hand, streaked with blood reaches to push back the hair from her face, reveals a lavender diamond at the center of her forehead and suddenly he knows–

This is no goddess.

“ Senju ,” he croaks, clenching the fist he has just remembered he has. “You are…the enemy.”

“Yes,” she nods, bracing both hands against the right side of his ribcage. “I am your enemy in every moment except this one. Right now, I am your savior. Take a deep breath, Uchiha-san, and pray do not bite your tongue.”

The palms resting on his torso give a mighty push and any air he might have breathed is forced out of him as pain lances through his form, the sound of bone grinding to bone echoing in his ears.

Surely, he slips into darkness once more, the reapers’ claws brushing at his ankles before he slams back into himself, groaning like the animal deep within as his ribs are forced into their natural place. He is reminded that the hands bending his bones and body to their will could easily disturb them even more, press them until they become nothing but dust if so she wishes.

He has seen enough of his kin crushed between those insultingly small hands to feel rage and terror in waves.

“Demon,” he curses, spitting blood with his words. “ Senju scum .”

She ignores him, takes his flayed skin in her hands and pulls, drawing it together and then bathing it in cool, fresh chakra, weaving his flesh together like his cousins in the compound do their quilts.

“Easy,” she murmurs as he writhes, cringing away from the sensations.

“Why do this?” he bites out, panting, eyes rolling wildly as she sinks her fingers into him to grasp at the edges of more torn flesh. “I could kill you. Your kindness here could be your end.”

Rainwater fills his gaping mouth as she presses her sharp fingers into a spot near his hip where a blade had sunk in deep, then broken off.

“Aa, it is a good way to end, is it not?” she mutters. The shard of metal slices him on its way out. “I have been spilling blood since I could count my age on both hands. I would much rather die in an act of kindness– even if it is to you.”

“You have the fantasies of a child,” Sasuke scoffs, biting back a growl of pain. “There are no good deaths.”

“There are honorable ones,” she replies.

“There is no honor ,” he hisses. Her lovely, hateful face sways into his line of vision, fingers prodding at the aching spots sprinkled over his chest. “There is only war. And we two stand on opposite sides of it.”

“If honor did not exist, you would be dead, Uchiha-san.”

The girl continues her work of piecing him back together and Sasuke can only swallow the taste or iron down his throat. He knows her words to be true, and has seen the havoc she can wreak with her own two hands many times, if only from a distance. His kin spit on her name, yet shudder when they speak of it.

A woman warrior who can crush a man’s skull between her palms– she offends the Uchiha twice.

“Nearly done,” the angelic face above him turns away as she rifles through the pouch belted at her hip. When she turns back, a small, round container that carries with it the smell of pungent herbs and oils even when sealed shut is clasped in her hand.

The scent of its contents prick at his sensitive nose as she flips open the canister, scooping up the muddy-looking substance with two fingers. It is cold and thick when she smears it over the now-closed gash at his side.

The girl’s hand pauses in the air mid-withdraw and her face jerks up to squint into the distance. Her nostrils flare, green eyes flashing and taking on a luminescent glow.

“Your comrades approach,” she mutters, upper lip peeling away from her teeth. She straightens her posture, rising to her knees as she surveys their surroundings, inhaling deeply. “They are coming, quickly. I must go.”

Sasuke wants to blame his weakness from the injuries he has sustained for his inability to sense his kin before his unlikely savior was alerted to them. Something deep within, where everything is dark and no lies can be beheld growls in disagreement.

“I expect no thanks,” the girl–Sakura is her name, bringer of death and life in equal measure– rises to her feet, still crouched low enough to speak into his ear. “Let this be a testament of a possible future, where maybe our peoples will find peace together.”

The small, round container of her foul-smelling ointment is pressed into his limp hand and then she is gone, her lithe form zipping through the trees before disappearing completely.

In the next moments, while his mind is reeling and his body growing stiff from the cold, he hears a deep voice calling to him.

“ Sasuke! ” it is his brother calling, his voice loud and desperate.

He groans when a large body slams into his shoulder, hands gripping his arms and hauling him up into a half-sitting position.

“Otōto,” Itachi gasps, his fingers slick with rain, trembling as they grip at Sasuke’s face. “You live. We thought-”

“I am fine,” he cuts in, his voice hoarse. He bites back a groan, pulling himself from his brother's hold and sitting upright. “We must return home and report back to Father.”

Despite his (and his unlikely savior’s) best efforts, Sasuke is too wounded to stand on his own. He chooses not to imagine what his fate would have been, the state in which his brother and kinsmen would have found him were it not for the healing hands of a girl who he was duty-bound to hate.

“I wish you would just let us take you to shelter and rest, brother,” Itachi murmurs, walking beside Sasuke’s head as he is carried by four men in a makeshift gurney. “What is so urgent that it cannot wait to be reported to Father for one more day?”

Sasuke blinks water out of his eyes, staring up at the stormy gray sky. The edges of the heavens are darkening, blackness creeping in amidst the swollen rain clouds. He feels that same darkness snaking about the corners of his mind, creeping through the gaps of his ribs and swirling in his gut.

“Senju’s most prized warrior,” he finally says. “She saved my life.”

Itachi is silent for a stretch of time that could have been moments, could have been hours. Eventually, he barks an order, urging the men in their party faster, tightening his lip when Sasuke is forced to bite back pained sounds as he is jostled about.

┍━☽【❖】☾━┑

Eleven

Sakura sits seiza, hands folded neatly in her lap, fingers soft. Her spine is a straight line from tailbone to nape, her chin parallel to the tatami beneath her knees. She has been in this position for nearly an hour while awaiting the end to the intense talks happening on the other side of the shoji.

Pins and needles prick at her calves, a numb sensation verging on pain creeping through her thighs. Still, her face remains unaltered, expression smooth and pleasant, just as Tsunade-shishou taught her.

“They have been talking for so long I believe the war will be over by the time they finish,” a voice calls her attention outward.

Sakura blinks, focusing on the boy sitting directly across from her. He holds himself in the same position, save for his hands which rest on either of his thighs. His long hair is pulled back from in a long, ornate braid, the face-framing portions held in place with a thick hair-band.

“I am sure they will be done soon,” Sakura murmurs. Their chaperone sighs from her post in the corner of the room, unfurling a small scroll for likely the fifth time.

“Neji,” his father’s deep voice booms. With the grace of a prince and the agility of a killer, the Hyuga boy rises to his feet.

He shuffles a few steps forward, stopping alongside Sakura’s kneeling form and offers a low bow to someone (Sakura’s own guardian, most likely) before pivoting smoothly on his heels to offer her the same.

His braid slides off his shoulder, swinging to brush against hers.

“Good-bye, my betrothed,” he whispers, “let us hope we always return from the battlefield and meet again.”

Sakura nods to him, keeping her eyes lowered as he straightens and glides smoothly out of the room behind his father and their accompanying kinsmen.

She inhales through her nose, lifting her chin once more to look straight ahead. The rustle of robes and a soft brush of air touches over her hands as multiple figures pass by quietly.

She watches as Senju Tsunade sinks down to the floor, flanked by her closest maidservant and another woman–Haruno Mebuki. Sakura’s own mother.

She was not allowed to call her such by name. The woman had nursed her, bathed her, taught her how to be a lady since birth, but she had been claimed by someone else immediately after her first breath.

“Sakura,” spoke the woman who named her heir to the Senju. Her parent by right, if not by blood. “There is a matter I…we wish to discuss with you.”

“Tsunade-shishou,” Sakura murmurs in response, dipping her chin and curving her spine ever-so-slightly in a modest bow. “I am always ready to listen.”

A beat of silence and then Tsunade’s fingers twitch. In the next blink of the eye, they settle into a relaxed position in her lap once more, prone against the layers of her robes.

“While your marriage is many, many years off yet,” Tsunade sighs and her trinkets and jewels clink together with the movement of her shoulders, “there are…details which you must be informed of in advance, for your safety and peace of mind. You are now at the age where it is appropriate to receive them.”

As unnatural as it was for Sakura to sit on her knees swathed in layers and layers of fabric with painted eyes and painfully combed hair, Tsunade’s formal approach to this conversation and circular speech was moreso.

“I see,” Sakura utters, uncertainty lacing her tone despite her best efforts.

Tsunade sighs deeply again before her golden eyes flick over her left shoulder, to the woman who has eyes green like young spring leaves and a mouth full and pink and just-barely downturned.

Just like Sakura’s.

“Sakura-san,” the woman begins, dipping her chin. “With Tsunade-sama’s permission, I will explain to you what…what it means to be a wife. How it will be, after the ceremonies and celebrations end and you are taken to Hyuga-sama's marital house.”

She sits, silent and still as her mother–no, she is not– tells her of a night in which she will be asked to bare herself in both mind, body and spirit to the boy who makes jokes of the war and demands she call him by his formal title. She hears a warning of the changes that will occur in her body, spurned and forced upon her by the ceremonial bloodletting, ceremonial joining, and the ceremonial release of her spouse.

Sakura learns that she will be ceremonially bitten, bedded, and then locked in coitus with her one-day husband for an entire night before the beast inside her is forced awake. Then her body will become something she does not know– fragile, sickly, feverish. She will become ill with a hunger for ceremonial breeding for as long as three days in which her husband will satiate her with his seed and then-

Then she will carry the pups that come forth from this honorable union and never see the battlefield again. Left to raise young, manage a house and destined to hunger desperately each month again and again until her death.

“There was a time when things were different,” her mother says in a soft voice. Her green eyes hold a sheen, long, dainty fingers sliding together in an uncomely show of nerves. “When our ancestors first presented and evolved into creatures who shifted with the turns of the moon. They found mates that were destined for them, and these changes in the body happened as a natural progression, with less pain. True Matings are what we call them. It is different now, in our time–”

“True matings are the stuff of legends and fairytales,” Tsunade cuts in brusquely. “We do not know if half of those stories are true, but we do know that your joining with Hyuga Neji will be vital to our victory in a war that has lasted for generations. Peace will come to this land, finally. And your future pups will be the key to the new world borne from it.”

Haruno Mebuki lowers her head, but her green eyes linger on Sakura’s for a long moment. In those mirrored irises, Sakura sees oceans of regret.

Sakura swallows past the lump in her throat, leaning forward to place her fingertips to the floor, hunching over in a deep bow.

“Thank you for your wisdom, Lady Tsunade,” she croaks. “I understand and will honor my duty.”

With the rustle of layers and layers of silk and the tinkle of jewels, Tsunade floats to her feet and sweeps out of the room, her lady maid following closely behind her. Sakura lingers, prone in her bowed position, forehead pointing down toward her wrists.

“Lady Sakura,” comes a soft voice, a trembling whisper. Hands slide up her curved back to grasp at her shoulders. “Come, child.”

“ Mama ,” she chokes. The woman hushes her, shaking her head vigorously before tugging at her shoulders until she sits straight once more.

Tears prick at her eyes and she bites the inside of her cheek.

“Do not fret, my lady,” says Mebuki, green eyes glistening. “It will be alright.”

“I do not want a ‘heat’,” she says thickly. “I do not want to be made into something other than myself.”

Thin arms pull her into a warm chest. Her intricate hairstyle is smashed on one side, but neither of them care.

“You will overcome this,” her mother says. She presses one hand to the side of Sakura’s face. “As you have overcome every challenge brought to you. I cannot protect you…I never could. But trust that this lowly woman will always be on your side. And please…you must remember not to call me ‘Mama’, Lady Sakura.”

Sakura cries quietly into the woman’s chest, shoulders shaking and chest throbbing with an ache.

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Twenty

“That girl,” Uchiha Fugaku’s voice is a growl, an echo of a time when their kind was feral and closer to the beasts laying dormant inside. “How is it that these so-called men that have been trained by my hand fall to a mere waif of a girl ?”

The room is silent. Men and boys kneel at the edges, positioned by rank, class, age. The few women deemed worthy enough to listen to the proceedings are farthest to the back, kneeling perfectly still and with their heads pointed to the ground.

On a raised dais sits only one man, in an intricately carved chair instead of seiza on a mat. He is the most still, the quietest of them all.

Sasuke keeps his chin tilted down, but traces his father’s predator-like steps as he stalks around the space. His robes are heavy and black, disturbing the air each time he passes by. He carries with him the stench of rust, of aged blood and woodsmoke.

Sasuke hates it. He hates him .

“The Senju’s heir is a force, Otōsan,” Itachi’s deep voice breaks the silence. Their father’s head whips to the side, a hard gaze falling on his eldest son. “Not many men who face her live to tell the story. It is by no fault of their own…her defense is impenetrable. Such is her strength.”

“Such is her trickery, you mean,” the patriarch growls.

Sasuke’s eyes slide shut for a moment. Jade green and pastel pink dance behind his closed lids, the sounds of earth breaking apart and a soothing, gentle voice ring in his ears. He thinks–despite himself–of the cool pressure of her hands, so dainty despite the power they hold as they pushed chakra into him, through him, changing him on a molecular level until he was sure he could never be the same again.

Not trickery , but something otherworldly, to be sure.

“Perhaps we should investigate such trickery for our own purposes, then,” Sasuke says dryly. The silence becomes even heavier, if possible. After a beat he adds, “Father.”

“What exactly is it you say, boy?” His father approaches, and stands a tall, looming presence. Sasuke keeps his eyes on the floor, the protruding tendons in the man’s feet.

“I say, maybe this trickery the enemy utilizes would serve us well,” he continues, “since we are losing this war.”

Here, a ripple through the room. Greater men hunch their shoulders inward while the ladies–his mother and sister among them–clutch their hands in the silken fabric of their clothes.

He dares not lift his head, but his mouth moves unendingly, “The enemy’s trickery , honorable Father, is utilizing the whole of their populace to supplement their military force. Women are for more than bedding, breeding and bludgeoning in the Senju clan.”

“Dare I think my very own son has been poisoned by his enemy’s ideations?” Fugaku says coolly. He steps close enough that his toes brush against Sasuke’s knees. “Perhaps the Senju girl saved your life with a welcoming mouth and sucking cunt? Is that why you spout nonsense?”

“Father,” Itachi calls softly.

Finally, he raises his gaze to meet that of his sire.

“That girl has been trained in battle since she was less than half her age,” he says, voice cold. “She has mastered the healing art, can close any wound and mend any shattered bone. The Senju have crafted a weapon and curative in one. But this is beside the point. They have numbers , twice as many as we have.”

“Half of their number of the Uchiha’s men make three times their forces,” Fugaku hisses. “Our people have been forged by fire and blood.”

“Our people are dying by the hundreds. As our Clan Head, should that not concern you?” Sasuke fights the urge to shrink into himself as his father’s lip curls in a snarl, irises bleeding a deep, blooded red.

“Father, I believe my brother begs a solution that perhaps…requires a different approach than the one we have been using,” Itachi cuts through the intensifying moment.

“My sons seem to be full of thought this day,” Fugaku sneers. He takes one step back, pivots to face the eldest of his children. “Pray that my eldest will actually speak sense.”

“I must agree with Sasuke, my lord Father,” his brother dips his chin only briefly before boldly meeting the clan leader’s gaze. “Our numbers dwindle at a startling rate. The…traditions we uphold mean that we are always at a disadvantage due to our civilian populace far exceeding our military count. Battling outright, no matter the skill of our warriors, will bring slow and hard-won progress. I fear the cost to our clan will far outweigh the benefits.”

Silence again. Sasuke’s fingers dig into his thighs, his chest aching with the need to exhale as he traps his breath between closed lips.

Fugaku paces a step closer to his better son. “What, then, would be your suggestion?”

Itachi swallows visibly. His eyes flit side to side quickly as he searches for an answer.

A tremulous, aged voice fills the space instead: “Sabotage.”

A sharp laugh that holds no mirth falls from his father’s lips, “A tried and true method. We have burned hundreds, thousands of military camps to the ground. Forgive me, Grandfather, but I expected a new solution.”

The entire room swivels their heads to look up at the man sitting on the dais, back curved and hair colored with an abundance of silver and the rare streak of black. His face is a canvas of wrinkles and scars, signifying age and many battles won.

Destruction and mayhem made his story–the man who fought in the first war with the Senju, who rivaled the best of their own in every way:

Uchiha Madara.

“What exactly does the Elder suggest, if I may ask?” the voice of his father’s second-in-command sounds from across the room. “We have already blocked trading lines and taken numerous villages bordering their territory. We have poisoned wells and food and yet they persevere.”

“Today you have told me the most pressing matter is this supposedly indestructible weapon the Senju have in their arsenal,” Madara responds, casually resting his hand over his cane. “This weapon is a girl. A skilled warrior, healer and bargaining chip to solidify their alliance with the Hyuga.”

The commander nods, visibly uncomfortable with the bleary gaze of the nearly ancient man fixed on him.

“To weaken the enemy,” the elder intones, slowly as if to ensure those listening can keep up, “take away their most valuable weapon.”

A beat of silence. Then a gruff sound, what Sasuke supposes is meant to be a laugh, breaks out into the space.

“Your suggestion is to kidnap the Senju’s so-called heir,” Fugaku states. Madara only tips his chin in a nod.

“It is near-impossible to get close to the girl on the battlefield without the risk of maiming or death,” one of their kinsmen pipes up.

More muttered protests and uncertainty filter in from various sides of the room. A common theme among them– retrieving such a dangerous individual would prove nearly impossible.

Nearly, but not completely.

“What say you, boy?” Uchiha Madara interjects, and Sasuke stiffens, meeting that almost-blank gaze.

He swallows, eyes flicking around the room as suddenly everyone focuses their attention on him. His brother watches with a keen eye, wary and concerned.

Green and pink swirl in his mind’s eye, the sound of a soft voice speaking of peace and dainty hands providing relief from pain, safety from death. He thinks of the girl who pulled him back into the world of the living when by all rights, he should have died. Those bone-breaking hands had felt so gentle then…a kinder touch than he had known in years, if ever in his life.

Sasuke clenches his jaw.

“It would be impossible to retrieve the Senju heir in the midst of battle. We would waste manpower and lose many in the process. Even then, the probability of success is low,” he states, voice steady despite the erratic thudding of his heart.

“So?” Madara watches him like predator to prey, patient, waiting for the perfect moment.

“We would need to move when the enemy least expects it,” he continues. Another thick swallow works down his suddenly tight throat. “When she is likely to be unarmed and her comrades unsuspecting.”

“And when would we come across this golden opportunity?” Now it is Fugaku who prods for clarification, his gaze heavy on the side of Sasuke’s face.

He does not turn away from the elder’s watchful eyes, “On the day Senju’s heir is to be wed to the Hyuga prince. Taking her then, we weaken and humiliate our enemies in one.”

Uchiha Madara slides back in his seat, a satisfied grin marring his ruined face. Sasuke feels a heady combination of pride and trepidation roil in his gut. It nearly sickens him, the concoction that makes him think of the cloying scent of blood underscored with the sweetness of early-spring flowers.

┍━☽【❖】☾━┑

Eighteen

Sakura often ponders the fact that she prefers the weight of thick-woven pants and heavy plates of armor to flowing, finely made robes. With her hair tied back in a long tail, bare of any ornaments or paint, she feels her truest self. Simply a body, covered in armor, free from society and all of its conditions and proclivities.

The muscles in her legs and lower back throb with a distant ache. They have been walking for miles, nearly a full two days' journey toward their destination. The horses would tire if they rode them the entire way, so she and her clansmen and women trudged for hours on foot, the sun and sometimes rain beating down on their heads.

Most of the time, the goings and coming backs were a blur–her memory fixated on the moments of action, when warm blood slicked her hands and a forceful enemy tested her grip. What came to her in her dreams were the faces of those who perished before her eyes, some with snarling faces, others peaceful and smiling.

This time, Sakura has the feeling that she will acutely remember the cool brush of the wind, the crunch of sticks and soil under her feet. She thinks that she will remember the sun glinting off the helmets of the soldiers at the frontline, the texture of her favorite weapon’s belt at her waist.

The scent of fire and ash, burning wood, and the sound of screams.

“ENEMY AHEAD!” comes the roar of the general at the front line.

They are caught in an unfortunate position, surrounded by trees and un-level ground. Shouts and growls of aggression filter to her ears as her eyes flit around the mayhem happening at the front. She turns to the rear of their party, where the youngest of their forces, the medics who do not fight and their supplies are being slowly surrounded by men with inky black hair and glowing red eyes.

Sakura is facing off against an opponent before she takes her next breath, using the plated metal at her forearms to block a blow meant for a girl who is likely at least five years younger than she.

Red irises spin, capturing hers and thrusting her into a word of gray and black. In the next second, she is pulsing her chakra, pulling herself back into reality and swinging her blade in an arc, cleaving the man’s head from his body, blood spurting thick and hot over her face.

The young girl plastered to her back shrieks, body rocking with fearful shudders. Sakura forces her backward, step by step as she blocks attacks and sends her fists flying at anyone who attempts to breach the barrier being erected around the supply wagons and non-fighting healers.

“Go, child,” she hisses, reaching back to shove her hand against the girl’s thin chest. “Take to the supply wagons, hide yourself and keep your weapons close.”

Before she can ensure her directions are followed, she is forced to spin around and catch the wrist of a man swinging an ax toward her head in a deadly downward motion. His muscles bulge and tremble with strain as she forces his arm away, fingers clenching so tight that his tendons begin to bend and bones fracture in her grip.

“Yield and you may live,” she mutters quietly, gritting her teeth. Sakura avoids his bloody eyes but catches the snarl that shapes his mouth.

“Senju scum ,” he grunts, one of his hands slipping from the handle of his ax.

That hand reappears clutching a glinting blade which he slices against the small portion of flesh at her side not covered in armor. She hisses in pain and snaps his arm with her left hand, thrusting her sword deep into his stomach with her right.

Ignoring the bleeding in her side, she glances at her surroundings with her pulse thumping in her ears. Tens of bodies litter the ground, most of them–and she feels sick at the rush of relief that sweeps through her–wearing the uchiwa insignia of their enemy.

A chorus of shrieks snatches her attention to the rear where the supply wagons are gathered, healers frantically treating some wounded on the ground. The youngest of their party are crowded behind a few older warriors, Neji in front of them. He rotates in his specialized technique, Eight Trigrams Palms Revolving Heaven. Raining arrows are rebounded away from the cowering children– soldiers –while other officers wrangle a second wave of men who had snuck behind during the chaos of the initial confrontation.

She sprints toward the scene, swinging her long blade as she goes and cutting down two. Another meets the end of her fist, flying yards away to collide with a tree with a sickening crack and thud . Skirting in front of Neji, she ignores the pain of arrow tips slicing at her arms and stomps a foot, creating a crack in the earth and a rumble that takes many of the enemy off their feet. From the high branches of the trees, three men drop.

Sakura freezes. Inky black hair tousled and falling to obscure one eye catches her attention, next a shapely mouth and sharp jaw. His eyes, scarlett with black patterns spinning in dizzying revolutions, take the breath from her lungs.

Tall, handsome, terrifying.

It is the boy she once saved, now a man grown. Standing on the opposite side of battle, as always, but nearer to her than he had ever been before.

Her knees buckle and Uchiha Sasuke visibly inhales before releasing a stream of fire over the crack in the ground, scalding the tip of her braid as she ducks under it just in time. The wave of heat against her back causes goose pimples to prickle across her skin, smoke quickly filling the air as the surrounding brush and trees ignite with flame.

More screams and grunts and clanging metal sounds and she pulls herself up to avoid the thrust of a thin blade right where her head was before. This man, dark of mane and pale of face just like that particular warrior falls by her hand.

Even the surprise attack does not weaken them and soon the Uchiha heir calls for a retreat, he and the remainder of his men sinking back into the shadows of woods.

Blackness spots across her vision and her sword clangs to the ground. Sakura finds herself falling to her knees. The forgotten wound at her side throbs with its own heartbeat, a burning sensation spreading to the surrounding flesh.

Uchiha Sasuke stands alone in the distance, close enough still to make out the glow of his visible iris. He watches her for long moments, as her breath rattles through her chest and her form slumps forward heavily. It is only as her face draws near to the blood-soaked soil that she blinks and he disappears.

“ Sakura!” comes Neji’s shouting voice and she finds herself airborne, cradled against a broad chest fastened with slick armor. “What has happened?”

“Poisoned blade,” she guesses, her voice merely a croak. “It will heal.” She does not explain that while she is resistant to poison, she is not resistant to pain. It hurts too much to say.

Instead she slurs, “I will be fine.”

Neji ignores her, roaring orders for water, for medicine and for someone to secure the area and someone else to pitch a healing tent.

Time passes blurrily and at some point she comes to full awareness with a fur-covered palette at her back and nearly white, glowing eyes peering down at her from the darkness.

“Hyuga-sama, it is improper–,” a tremulous voice murmurs.

“She is soon to be my wife,” he bites out. Long fingers stroke underneath her eye and she tilts her mouth in a small smile. “Leave us.”

He scowls down at her face and she smiles wider.

“Greetings,” she breathes.

“Quiet, fool,” he snaps. “You were nearly burned to death and then poisoned all at once. I should ask my father to expedite our ceremony so you may be barred from the battlefield. What possessed you to stand there like an imbecile and be poisoned? Almost incinerated?”

Sakura only smiles more, allowing her eyes to slip shut. More words of admonishment and rather extravagant insults fall on her ears before a just-slightly shaking hand grasps her own, squeezing her fingers tightly. Warm breath exhales unsteadily against her face before a mouth covers hers, lingering there for a deep, slow kiss. It has much more edge, more desperation than usual.

She starts slipping back toward unconsciousness before it is over, her heart thumping steadily and belly filling with a fluttering sensation. For a moment, she wonders what another’s kiss would feel like. Red and black swim in her mind's eye.

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Twenty-two

Sasuke lurks at the edges of the garden, tracing his surroundings with black eyes. Dressed as a kenin and occasionally finding something to tinker with under the guise of righting one of the extravagant decorations. Finely dressed people–individuals who in any other setting would have slit his throat on the spot–glide by without sparing him even a cursory glance.

In comparison to the hyper vigilance of his clan’s compound and the battlefield, he almost enjoys the sensation of being invisible.

A murmur rolls through the assembled crowd, heads dipping in reverent bows as a tall figure cloaked in a fine black kimono sweeps into the garden.

The man is tall, his features delicate from his long flowing hair to his aristocratic facial structure. His walk is graceful, steady and light despite the weight of near one-hundred eyes tracing his every movement. Hyuga Neji is every bit the prince the nation quietly calls him, bred so well he seems too good even among the most privileged of figures from the most powerful clans.

But his eyes are that of a predator. So pale that light merely reflects off them, lavender in hue but nearly white from afar, his eyes trace his surroundings with practiced accuracy. The civilians in attendance might think it a show of etiquette, but any warrior can see him searching for ill will, for shadows creeping about the edges of this bright, early-spring day to wreak havoc and disturb peace.

Sasuke slinks behind an artfully trimmed bush, lowering his gaze to the vibrantly colored blossoms, fingering one in the illusion of coaxing it into place. He waits long enough that he is sure the groom has made it to the large temple nestled into the very back of the garden before lifting his head.

A priest emerges, waving his hand expectantly to a shrine maiden who moves forward meekly. Sasuke takes this moment to fall into step beside a handful of kenin carrying golden platters holding sake and various small food items, delicately cut and placed on sparkly-white porcelain.

When a lanky young man with dark hair casts him a sideward glance, Sasuke allows the black of his irises to swirl with red, pinning the stranger’s attention as he mouths quick words under his breath.

The platter containing the ceremonial sake is placed in his palms and Sasuke takes measured steps toward the altar where the groom now stands.

Pale eyes meet his as he follows the silent command of the priest to place the sake down gently on the raised platform. They analyze his face for a moment before slipping away in the next. Sasuke exhales slowly as he dips his chin, backing away to stand just behind the shoulder of the shrine maiden.

A minute that feels like an eternity passes. And then a hush goes over the small crowd, and the sound of tinkling metal, and the brush of cloth over grass and stone can be heard.

The Senju heir enters the garden with tiny, careful steps, her head raised high and cherry-red lips drawn in a small, gentle smile. The guests sigh and grin giddily as the bride sweeps past them toward the temple, flanked by two young girls that ensure her crisp white outer robe’s long trains did not become dirtied on the ground.

Pale lashes flutter and Sasuke is suddenly struck by the green of her eyes, somehow brighter among the plant life. They hold a glossy look to them as she offers more smiles and tiny nods as she makes her way to her soon-to-be husband.

The man himself stands taller, if possible. His eyes no longer rove around, instead remain fixed on his bride as she draws near.

The bride, in all her beauty and poise comes to stand beside the Hyuga and they share a knowing, if slightly stiff smile.

Sasuke watches, hands clasped tight behind his back as the ceremony begins. The priest speaks words he does not hear, motioning with hands and purification tools. His gaze remains on the couple who stand a careful distance apart, not even their robes brushing. The Hyuga glances at the woman at his side now and again, but her green gaze remains fixed on the priest.

It is when they both are compelled to reach for the ceremonial sake that Sasuke’s stance loosens by a fraction. Sakura’s eyes trace the movement of her own hand as it takes hold of the small, delicate cup. They linger for a moment before flitting upward, landing directly on his gaze.

Her eyes widen, pupils narrowing to pinpoints but his swirl red and she is slumping in a faint before she has the chance to even take a breath. The guests gasp and Hyuga Neji jerks to grab at his almost-wife as she slides toward the ground. Sasuke stalks forward, casting his gaze to the startled priest who hits the ground with a thud. When pale-purple eyes jerk up, he captures the groom, too.

Weapons are being drawn, voices screech in alarm and confusion but Sasuke hears only muffled sounds. He focuses inward, churning his chakra until it blankets the area and slowly the cries die out, some bodies slumping to the ground and others standing stock still, frozen in place– many with hands reaching for or holding weapons drawn.

He bends, snags the front of Sakura’s carefully folded kimono and tugs her into his arms, swinging her limp form over his shoulder.

Then he is sprinting, taking bounding leaps over small ponds and bushes as voices begint to groan and growl, battling against the restraints of his genjutsu.

He runs, and runs and runs, skirting around the edges of the sprawling estate and throwing himself into the thick of the woods. He runs until his back is slick with sweat, his lips and throat dry like autumn leaves from his heavy, panting breaths.

Miles stretch between the Senju territory and his home and he hardly pauses more than thrice to shift the weight of the slumbering warrior princess onto his back, and creep quietly around base camps manned by more enemies than even he is equipped to handle.

A few times his mind wanders and a startling thought takes him–

Why am I doing this?

He only grits his teeth and continues to run.

┍━☽【❖】☾━┑

Twenty-two

Sakura jerks to awareness, her thoughts sluggish and her eyes bleary. Browns and greens and blacks rush by her vision and it takes a spasm of blinks to take in her surroundings somewhat clearly.

She should be standing beside her groom, taking a small sip of sake and binding herself to him for the rest of her life.

Instead, she is being carried somewhere. And fast .

Her fist slams into a flexing back, landing with brutal force directly on the spine and the figure holding her crumples.

She crashes to the ground, wet dirt immediately soaking into and ruining the pristine white of her wedding kimono. She scrambles to her feet and swings her leg in a kick that sends blood splashing at the hem, her captor reeling back from his partially raised position.

Dropping a knee to his throat and a palm to his head she hisses, “ Who are you? ”

Red eyes stare up at her face, features twisting into a grimace of pain and fury. And Sakura buckles, losing her grip on her opponent and her sanity as she stares into the face of the boy she saved once upon a time.

The boy who haunted her dreams from that day.

Uchiha Sasuke takes full advantage of her moment of shock, slamming a palm into the center of her chest and sending her reeling back, head smacking hard against the ground.

She kicks at him from her prone position, shutting her eyes as he attempts to trap her in his gaze. She slips away from his hold, her steps unsteady and imbalanced due to the weight of her clothes and the heavy ornaments tilted in disarray about her head. They hit at each other with bruising punches, clawing and scrappling for the upper hand.

Thunder claps and rain pelts over them, causing Sakura to slip from her stance in the mud. A sharp dagger materializes in Sasuke’s hand and he moves to swipe at her side, which she avoids by the skin of her teeth. He manages to slice into the outermost of her coverings, leaving it hanging open, limp and drenched.

“Why are you doing this?” she gasps, grunting as she dodges another of his attacks, catching his forearm and bending it until he groans.

“For obvious reasons,” he rasps, freeing himself and attempting to swipe her feet from under her with a low kick. She springs away, ducking as flame bursts briefly from his hands, sputtering out in the rain. “You are valuable to the Senju. Powerful. They will either fight and be weakened without you, or bargain away their victory to have you back.”

“I am no more valuable than the people who clean your estate,” she hisses, dancing away from his attacks. Anger rises within her as she realizes he toils to subdue, rather than kill. “I am Haruno Sakura, a lowly common girl born to a kenin woman who serves in Senju Tsunade’s house. She claimed me in name, but by your clan’s standards, I am nothing. Nothing worth losing a war.”

“You are wrong,” he bites out, growling in frustration as she darts away from his grasp, kicking up a mound of earth to block his advance.

“If you think I will be tortured into revealing my clans secrets,” she shouts, gritting her teeth at the sharp pain as she pivots away from the swipe of his blade and her ankle rolls in the unstable sludge, “you are highly mistaken. I would never betray them.”

“You would betray your dashing groom least of all, I am sure,” he says tauntingly, taking light, predator-like steps as they circle each other. “The Uchiha care little for your cooperation. Having you in our territory, away from the battlefields is more than enough. You might even find your treatment pleasant, should you behave accordingly.”

“Behave?” she chokes on a laugh, her words squeezing past the lump in her throat. Her ruined hair sticks to her face and neck, her opponents inky locks doing the same. Cold water slips between the layers of kimono that had been wrapped so dutifully around her likely mere hours before, ruining the fine fabric and weighing heavily on her back.

Sakura darts forward with all her speed, slamming Sasuke to the ground, her body holding him prone with inhuman strength. Black patterns seep from her seal and snake over her wrists for a second before they retreat and she slumps forward, gripping at the wrist the wields his weapon.

“Kill me here,” she demands, lips trembling but voice deadly quiet and firm. She jerks his hand, his blade until the glinting edge presses to her jugular. “I will die before I am prisoner to a clan like yours.”

“You will die?” he spits his words, blood and spittle joining with rain and salt water on her cheeks. “Just so? You will let me kill you?”

“Aa,” she mutters, and her traitorous fingers begin to shake. “I choose to die knowing I cannot be used for such dishonorable schemes. You will find no victories in me.”

“Dishonor,” he laughs, tossing his head back and guffawing up to the stormy sky. “There is no honor. Only fighting and death and more fighting. You should know as well as I do that there is no place for honorable creatures in war.”

“You are wrong,” she shakes her head. “You are still wrong.”

“I suppose this is your good death, then?” he grins, and it is a beautiful and an ugly thing. “Me slitting your throat, leaving you here to bleed out in the rain and in your wedding clothes is the honorable end you once spoke of?”

“So you do remember,” she mutters. An odd stillness comes over her, seeps into her veins and she inhales deep.

Petrichor, iron, wet grass, soil. Him . Smelling of sage and smoke, ash and spice. She inhales it all, and exhales her resolve.

Pressing forward, she bears down on him with her weight until the blade knicks her flesh, blood trickling down with contrasting warmth to her chest. Her lids lower and mouth softens, her body not even flinching at the spark of pain.

His eyes widen, irises switching from red to black, from black to red in the span of a single second.

Then he snatches back with surprising force, jerking both hand and weapon away so that the latter is discarded feet away in a muddy puddle.

The hand that at one point sought to strike her down rises, shakily, and moves to cup her face.

“What horror have these jade eyes seen to look into death with such a blissful expression?” he whispers.

“The same horrors as your rubies,” she breathes. “Too many, too terrible to name.”

Sasuke’s face tightens and the organ in her chest squeezes in tandem. She finds herself battling the most peculiar urge to laugh, to cry, to scream into the heavens and drown her gaping mouth in the pouring rain.

Here she is, mere inches from the enemy, gazing at his full, blood streaked mouth and wishing, hungering with all her being to kiss him.

She had never hungered for Neji’s kiss before.

Sasuke’s form goes limp under hers, head thumping lightly against the wet ground.

“I am a failure,” he half-coughs, half-chuckles. “My kinsmen would be kind to string me up and leave my brother’s crows to pick at my eyes.”

“What?” she asks, recoiling slightly.

“I cannot kill you,” he sighs, shielding his scarlet eyes with a dirt-smudged hand. When he reveals them again, they are black.

Perhaps closer to a dark gray, this close .

“I cannot kill you, and you will not kill me,” he continues, breaking her away from her wandering thoughts. “Your darling honor makes it so. What will kill us is the storm brewing–we must find shelter. Build fire.”

Sakura can only blink down at him for a long while. Then a chill creeps under her skin while a peculiar burn starts in her belly and she decides to drag herself in a standing position, watching warily, but following willingly as he leads her deeper into the woods.

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Twenty-two

For as long as his memory serves, Sasuke has known this place to be a home away from home. A tiny bit of paradise where danger was far too afraid to come near, whether that be from the enemy or from within his own household.

His brother had brought him there once to hide away from a battle that had turned south even before it had truly begun. Another time they visited was when his father was raging at another loss and took to lashing out his anger on his smallest child. As the years crept by and he grew strong enough to hold his own in battle and in domestic affairs, Itachi had stopped escorting him to this little haven.

“This way,” he mutters in a low voice, swerving to the left and reaching to push aside a thick blanket of handing vines. He holds still as she slips past him through the opening, the scent of soil and water doing very little to camouflage her own scent.

Fragrant oils like lavender and rose waft from her skin, underscored with something deeper, like jasmine leaf and sweet, juicy fruits.

He is horrified to find that his mouth waters.

It is pitch black inside the passageway and so he takes hold of her elbow, engaging his doujutsu to guide them through safely. Once they enter the heart of the hovel he breathes fire to the lanterns set at the edges of the room, casting it in a sudden, orange glow.

“This is…,” Sakura’s whisper trails off as she pivots on her heel to take in her surroundings.

Weapons and small wooden carvings grace most of the walls, baskets of dried and preserved food anchored to the ceiling. Deep in the space a fire pit is dug out, a makeshift chimney curved upward toward ground level to let smoke filter out somewhere it is likely for others to find.

“We can warm ourselves and shelter here,” he states, swinging damp locks away from his face. “And then…”

He trails off as their eyes meet, jade green and blood red. He knows not what will come next and it appears, neither does she.

What will this temporary truce, if it can be called such, bring?

A visible shiver wracks through his captive-turned-companion’s form and he shakes himself from dooming thoughts and steps toward a pile of quilts. They had been stowed away to this place one-by-one over many years.

“Undress,” he orders, voice edging on too-sharp. He supposes his peacefulness does not have to come with kindness. “You must get dry and warm else you will come down with a devil of a fever. And then all of the drama of me sparing you will be for naught.”

A soft, husky chuckle causes the tips of his ears to heat despite the cold water dripping from his hair.

“Goddess forbid I think you a benevolent soul,” she drawls. “You worry for no reason. I am not susceptible to sickness, nor disease. But I do not enjoy being wet and cold, either.”

Sasuke nearly turns to throw her a bemused glance when the sound of wet fabric slapping onto the stone ground causes him to freeze. The sound comes again, again, again and again for what seems like an eternity as she peels what he imagines is nearly one hundred layers of clothing from her body and drops them to the floor.

His neck heats and a thickness forms in his throat as the wet thwack sounds once more, and then silence. He realizes then that the woman he has just kidnapped, who he had at many times between this day and years before tried to kill is standing behind him– nude.

Worse yet, unarmed. It is humbling and startling in equal measure.

“Here,” he fists a handful of blankets and shoves them behind him in her general direction. Cold fingers brush against his as she reaches for them and he jerks his hand away as if he had touched hot metal.

“Arigatou,” she murmurs. More rustling sounds and she clears her throat before stating in a small voice, “I am decent. I shall turn so you may change as well.”

Sasuke grits his teeth as he slacks off his own wet clothing, shivering as he bundles a thick blanket around his waist.

Without a word, he stalks over to the fire-pit, ignoring Sakura’s suspicious eyes and the way she turns to ensure her front is always to him, a few feet of distance keeping them apart. Inhaling deeply, he exhales a stream of flame, maintaining it until the dried logs catch fire and it spreads to a roaring blaze.

“Convenient,” she mumbles from her spot near the wall.

He scoffs as he goes about ruffling through a bamboo bin for bed rolls, shaking them out onto the floor with more force than is strictly necessary. The skin at his back warms as it faces the fire, but his toes flinch away from the icy stone ground.

As he draws nearer to Sakura, arranging the larger bed roll slightly further from the fire with the intent to create a safe boundary, his ears pick up the sound of her teeth chattering.

“Move closer to the fire, Senju,” he grumbles. “It will not warm you from over there.”

“I am not a Senju,” she retorts pausing briefly before amending, “Not by blood or name, at least. I am Haruno . Sakura. You may call me either of those things.”

“Haruno? Is that even a known house?” Sasuke shakes his head and says, rather nastily even to his own ears, “I suppose you are indeed common.”

“You sound like my betrothed,” she scoffs, kneeling down so close to the fire he for a moment wonders if her blanket will set ablaze. Her back stiffens and she glances over her shoulder with a faraway look in her eyes. “He used to call me common. Lowly, too.”

“Charming,” Sasuke says dryly. “I wonder what other sweet nothings he liked to whisper in your ear.”

Sakura only cuts him a sharp glance before rotating back toward the flames, huddling into herself for warmth. A sharp chill causes Sasuke to move forward despite himself, drawing closer to the fire as well.

“My mother is favored by Tsunade-shishou,” a quiet voice suddenly murmurs. “She was her companion when she was a young girl, a lady in waiting by the time she was my age. When she fell pregnant with me for a traveling merchant, Tsunade shielded her. Mama was stripped of her status and privilege, but remained by her mistress’ side.”

Sasuke finds himself torn between cutting her off and demanding silence so he might concentrate on organizing his wayward thoughts and blocking out her scent, her nearness. A larger part of his being perks in curiosity, hanging onto each word spoken in her soothing, lilting voice.

“When she gave birth to me,” Sakura inhales shakily before expelling a tiny laugh. “Tsunade saw me, and said that she would take charge of me. I was from then on heiress to the Senju clan, future inheritor of the Strength of One Hundred Seal– but I was not her daughter. I was not my true mother’s child, either. Just a lowly, common girl provided with the privileges and opportunity of a princess.”

“And was the honorable Hyuga Neji terribly displeased when he learned the origins of his destined bride?” Sasuke speaks without thought.

Kidnapping, battling and then finding a shaky truce with the enemy was one thing. Fraternizing, conversing about her history and inquiring for details regarding her life was another completely.

The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across her cheeks as they curve with a small smile. “Hyuga-san was disgusted with me for much of our early years. It was not until we nearly died together in battle that he seemed to see me in a different light.”

“You love him dearly,” Sasuke mutters, voice gruff. Why do you care?

Silence reigns for a while. He watches her profile unabashedly, tracing his gaze over the curve of her forehead, the ridge of her nose and slopes of her full, pouty lips. At some point he forgets that he has even made a statement, no longer expecting her to respond as he conducts his distracted perusal of her visage.

“I do not love him,” she whispers, jerking him to the present. “I respect him. I care for him. Deeply . I would lay down my life for him.”

“But you do not love him,” he murmurs, shifting slightly on his feet and wrapping his arms around himself. Despite the crackling flames, the air in this hovel is icy-cold. “You did not wish to marry him. So why today were you walking so beautifully to the altar to do just that?”

He chooses not to acknowledge the compliment that managed to sneak past his lips, and is shamefully glad when Sakura seems to miss it altogether.

“Because it was my duty,” she whispers. “It is my duty. Our marriage is the key to solidifying the relationship between the Hyuga and the Senju.”

He rolls his eyes, “Your clans have been allied for nearly a century. Longer, depending on who one asks. Marrying off the sole heir of the Senju to the Hyuga would only serve to fan their hubris and stoke their pride. That is their lifeblood, of course.”

“And the Uchiha are not prideful?” green eyes land on his face, tinted orange from the flames. “Is it not your clan who refuses to permit women and lower-class members to participate militarily despite your dwindling numbers?”

“We do not need to rely on women and servants to aid us in war,” Sasuke’s retort is knee jerk, but weak-willed. He has questioned these choices on his own, many times–has challenged the idea of his clan setting itself at an inherent disadvantage for something so fallible as ‘tradition’.

“Ah, because women are too weak and commoners’ blood is not worthy to be spilled,” she drawls. Her tone is biting, but her voice is frustratingly musical to his ears.

“That is the belief of the clan,” he mutters, watching her gaze swim with deep disappointment. His chest tightens and he shakes himself mentally. “Whether I hold the exact same beliefs as my clan is neither here nor there.”

Why he feels the need to defend himself to this woman is beyond him. He wonders in a moment of restrained exasperation if perhaps his father was correct and the Senju women were indeed mistresses of trickery.

It would explain the lump that forms in his throat each time her long lashes flutter and her gaze meets his own. It would provide an excuse for his constant staring, his horrendous desire to draw close and inhale her scent of fruit and flowers once more. Perhaps it would make it clear the reason he finds himself stiffening with an emotion he refuses to call concern when he notes that the edges of her mouth are blueish and her hands and legs are shaking.

“Why did you take me?” her voice draws him out of his frantic musings.

“You are a valuable hostage,” he says flatly.

“And when I am no longer that?” she questions. Her voice is softer than it was before, less accusatory and more resigned. “When I am eventually found to be useless for information, and end up being killed…what will the point have been? How was it worth the risk?”

“Any risk is worthwhile when it could be the key to turn the tides for my clan,” he growls, the sound rumbling low in his throat. “ Anything is worth an end to this war.”

“Does one side have to come out victorious for the war to reach an end?” she sighs, drawing her knees to her chest.

“Are you a pacifist then?” Sasuke questions, a cruel edge to his tone that something deep within him manages to regret. “After taking the lives of hundreds of men, of my kin , you yearn for a peaceful end to it all?”

“I bled to the blade before I bled to become a woman,” her voice is tight, as if she is just-barely reigning in her frustrations. “That is not the kind of life I would wish for my own children. This fighting…there is no joy in it. No victory, either. Only death, and pain.”

Sasuke prepares to retort, but then Sakura’s face screws in a pained expression, eyelids drooping as her shoulders quake with a violent shiver. He hesitates for a moment, before moving to drag the bedrolls he found and his remaining quilts closer to the fire.

Then he sits beside her, so close that their covered arms brush. Her head whips to the side and she peers up at his face with a squint.

“What are you doing?” she asks weakly. Her voice is small, her lips pale and quivering.

Yet a deep flush has residence on her cheeks, crawling over the lightly freckled bridge of her nose.

“Sharing warmth,” he mutters.

Ignoring his own trepidation and her small gasp, he reaches an arm around her shoulders, slowly, drawing her slightly closer until her head is underneath his chin. When she shifts, tilting her chin to look up at him with wide eyes, her cheek brushes against his and he jerks.

“You are feverish,” he murmurs, cupping his palm over her forehead before he can gather his suddenly racing thoughts. “I thought you could not fall ill.”

“I do not-,” her voice breaks off on a violent shudder and a feeling like needles piercing his skin washing over him.

He inhales to speak again when her scent floods his senses, somehow more intense than before. It is almost cloying, thick and…alluring. Sasuke exhales harshly, clasping a hand tightly to her shoulder before shifting the hand at her head down to rub briskly at her arm, gathering the covering closer around her form. By the moment, the weight of her feels heavier against him and alarm spikes through him when her lashes flutter sluggishly and her virident eyes gaze up at him with a glittering sheen.

“Stay awake, Sakura,” and he shivers, too, because somehow he can taste the syllables of her name against his tongue. “Tell me what I can do. I am no healer.”

“You wish to care for me, Sasuke-san?” her lips curve in a lazy, tiny smile. The expression falters and her brow furrows. “Perhaps this is…your repayment for me saving your life?”

Her words become more slurred as she goes on.

“Call it what you wish,” he snaps, gathering her closer until she is all but in his lap. Her scent is dizzying, spurning something within that he cannot understand. “Simply tell me what to do .”

“You know, I dreamed of you after that day,” she is panting now, beads of moisture gathering at her temples. “And when…when I kissed my betrothed, I thought of your eyes. Red like rubies.”

“ Sakura ,” he growls. Then he freezes, flaring his nostrils and inhaling deeply again. Fragrance like nothing he has ever known seems to wrap around him, seep into his insides and curl around his vital organs. “It is heat. You are…you are going into heat.”

┍━☽【❖】☾━┑

Twenty-two

Sakura feels strange, each of her thoughts cycling slowly as if through a heavy, suffocating fog. Outside stimuli struggles to reach her through the sensation of her pulse pounding in her ears and the chills creeping over her flesh.

When the word ‘heat’ filters through her consciousness, though, her entire being freezes and time seems to come to a halt.

“What?” she breathes. Rather, she tries, as her air is caught and held hostage in her chest.

“You have begun going into heat,” the man holding her against his chest replies. She can hardly remember how he got to be so close.

“No,” she mumbles. Pulling herself away is like attempting to move a mountain, and her head spins when she manages to peel herself away by a meager inch. “I cannot.”

“You are,” he whispers huskily. “I can smell it on you.” Distantly, she wonders why he bothers to speak so low.

“I cannot ,” Sakura rasps. A sudden cramp in her lower abdomen like no other pain she has felt, even during her monthly courses, takes her breath. “I have not been marked. This is…it is not–”

Her voice breaks on the precipice of another contraction, pain radiating from her pelvis down the backs of her thighs. She clenches her legs together in response and feels a surge of wetness between them as if she has soiled herself.

Sweat trickles over her brow and a low whine falls from her lips. She has never made such a sound.

“What is happening to me?” she asks, looking up at his face. Heat builds in the pit of her stomach, making the pulsing pains more acute.

“Did no one teach you of these things?” Sasuke’s dark brows furrow, his irises slowly bleeding into red. For once, her instincts do not urge her to look away, and she is almost ready to beg him to pull her into a genjutsu, into a world in which this is not happening to her.

“I have not been marked yet,” she gasps around a sob, water building in her eyes and blurring her vision. She reaches out a shaky hand for something, anything and finds the fabric of her quilt, suddenly suffocating and near painful where it brushes against her flesh.

“It seems that it does not matter,” says he, his voice both quiet and somehow booming in her ears. Strong fingers wrap around hers and she chokes, nearly crying out when that small touch brings minute relief. “Heat is only spurned by marking when a mating has been...manufactured between partners.”

Sakura struggles to maintain their eye contact and so allows her lids to squeeze shut, slumping down until her weight is entirely pressed against the man who she calls enemy ’s chest. She wishes to rip off her coverings, to flay her flesh from her bones and crawl outside of herself, if only to escape the contradicting sensations of hot and cold, of pain and–

And something boiling to the surface from somewhere deep inside, from a place she has yet to fully explore. Something that shallows her breath, slickens her thighs and draws her aching breasts into swollen, tight peaks.

“Sakura,” a deep voice calls softly and she peels her eyes open to stare, to drown in vibrant pools of red. “Listen to me, and hear what I will say.”

A warm palm slides over her flushed, dampened cheek and she lets loose a guttural sound, halfways between a growl and a moan. She experiences a sudden reprieve from the clenching pain, a soothing rush flooding her body, beckoning her to tilt her head into the caress, seeking more of the blissful contact.

“Touch me, touch,” she mumbles, nuzzling her face into his broad hand as she has seen foals do against their mothers’ hides. “I ache .”

“ Listen ,” he barks.

Sakura’s spine snaps into rigid attention, her head lifting to peer fully into his face. His hand slips away and she trembles when the pain bites again. He sighs, reaching to cup the side of her neck gently.

“A heat only comes on like this,” Sasuke sucks in a breath, blowing it out unsteadily and Sakura nearly moans again as she is awash with his scent, “when a true mating occurs. Do you know what that is?”

“True mates are the stuff of legends,” she croaks, tracing the line of his jaw and curve of his mouth with her gaze. She continues in a daze, “Just stories.”

“No,” he murmurs, and the movement of his lips is hypnotizing, alluring. “We have simply chosen to forgo our true selves in the pursuit of power. Political arrangements have made matings like this…like ours so rare they sound like fantasy.”

“Ours?” she mouths, her head lolling on her neck as he reaches to grasp at her cheek with the other hand. The secondary touch does wonders against the cramping, but stokes the flames licking at her insides higher and higher.

“A day ago I was your enemy,” his voice sounds rougher, accented with a low rumbling that causes her very bones to quake. “Now, I am the only one who can help you through this. It is my nature to relieve you from this pain.”

Their skin-to-skin contact, while minimal and arousing , has managed to clear her mind enough that she is able to distantly recognize the consequences of her situation.

An array of emotions swirl with the heat building inside–shock, that everything she was told was legend should come to be true, fear that she is weak, vulnerable and literally within her supposed-enemy’s grasp. Shame, because she must admit now that she is not unhappy to be in this situation, to be held in this particular man’s arms.

“You hate me,” she manages to say, lips trembling as if she has chills despite her insides feeling like a cauldron boiling over the rim of her sanity.

“I surely do not ,” he replies, voice rasping. “I hate many things, but somehow I never could hate you.”

Something within her breaks, the pulsing pain spiking in intensity once more in her belly. She disentangles her hands from the thick quilt around her shoulders and claws at Sasuke’s chest, climbing upward and pushing aside his coverings until she can dig her fingertips into the flexing muscles of his shoulders.

Her mouth crashes over his and he growls, tongue slipping in between her lips in a plundering kiss. She moans, whines as he licks at her mouth, sucking at her tongue, one of his arms shackling around her waist.

She detaches for a mere breath of a moment, long enough to gasp, “It hurts. Oh, Goddess, I ache .”

He kisses her more deeply, if possible, smoothing a hand down her back and sliding the quilt down in tandem. The press of his fingers on her bare skin, kneading into her bunching muscles pulls a whimper from her throat. She smashes her breasts to his torso, seeking more points of contact, praying to the goddess that she would douse this fire in her veins and loosen desire’s grip on her lungs.

“Shhh,” he hushes as she whines into his mouth, “I shall take away this pain.”

“Please,” she gasps out, “I hate it. Please, Sasuke- kun .”

Were she in her right mind, she might have balked at using such an honorific. But it hardly matters when the man’s body vibrates with a resounding growl and the word spins around her as he flips her onto her back, shoving her into the pile of quilts haphazardly strewn across the bed roll.

“Show me where the pain is, Sakura,” he pants. Their flesh sticks slightly when he peels away, planting himself on his knees between her splayed thighs.

Her eyes fall away from his beautiful features and stormy expression, tracing down her body to gaze at the elenching muscles of her abdomen, and lower to the slick sheen of wetness spread over her thighs. A sharp clenching inside results in another spilled stream of the clear, viscous liquid and the muscles above her pelvis draw tight.

“Here,” she groans, pressing her hand to the slight curve of her lower stomach.

Long fingers brush hers aside, sliding over the spot with gentle pressure and she gasps in relief. His hand glides over the spot in slow, soothing circles and Sakura’s head falls back heavily, her eyes lowering to slits.

Without her express permission, her lower half begins to shift, hips circling in time with his ministrations. Through the slim line of her vision, she catches his glowing irises fix their focus between her legs and his lower lip slipping between his white, shining teeth.

“Tell me where else it hurts,” he breathes. His hand stops its circular motions, finger tips trailing in a featherlight touch as they descend toward the pink curls at her pubis. “Here?”

She can only nod, the muscles of her thighs tensing and lower back curving as his fingers comb through her curls and make contact with swollen, slick flesh.

Her body screams for more, but her mind combats her instincts, eyes widening and her chest rising and falling rapidly. Anxiety swirls and begins to cut through the haze as his fingers trace a path up and down the weeping slit in her flesh.

“Sasuke?” her voice does not sound like her own, too high-pitched, too shaky. Her mind whirls as her hips curl into his hand as if tethered to some outside will.

“Sweet Sakura,” he whispers, voice just barely audible over her own panting breaths and the crackling of wood burning in the fire alongside them. “You are more than anything I could have conjured in my dreams.”

“Dreams?” she stutters, eyelids fluttering as one of his fingers slips between her folds, sliding up and down slowly. He makes contact with the erect nub of her clitoris and she keens quietly.

“Yes,” he all-but purrs. Then, his form is looming over hers, their foreheads brushing as he speaks quietly, lips brushing her mouth. “Since the day you saved my life, you have haunted me. My enemy turned savior, object of my darkest desires. I should have known it was the beast inside, trying to tell me that you were mine .”

The possessive tone of his voice should have frightened her. Instead, she feels comforted, her own anxieties slipping away bit by bit, being replaced by more of the surging, dizzying heat.

“Let me care for you, as only I can,” his breath brushes against her ear, his teeth catching against the lobe.

Sakura’s voice breaks on a desperate moan when he shapes her pulsing clitoris with his fingers, stroking in small, addicting circles until her hips are pulsing off the ground into the cradle of his hand. A fluttering begins in her most private parts, wetness spilling from her like an over-run fountain. Pleasure like no other washes over her, swelling within her chest, between her hips like a tide and she clutches at the hot skin of his back, pulling him closer.

“I feel…,” she gasps, swallowing his tongue in her mouth as he interrupts her briefly with a languid kiss. “I feel strange.”

“Trust me,” he murmurs. The long fingers strumming her into a frenzy slip down, reaching lower through her folds until they brush against her entrance.

Before she has the time to tense, he sinks into her with one digit, sliding slowly and gently. She inhales sharply at the sensation, her lower half shifting as it accommodates the intrusion and adapts to the stretching sensation.

It takes a beat for her to acclimate, and by the next she is sighing, “More.”

A smile curls his lips and he slides out with his single finger slowly, pushing back in at the same pace. At the second outward stroke, a second digit joins the first at the rim of her opening, sinking inside bit by bit as her back arches and she mewls and writhes.

It feels as if he has slightly filled up a gaping emptiness she did not know existed. Now she hungers for more, to be filled completely to bursting.

His lips trace a line down her jaw and plant themselves at her neck. She hears him inhale deeply, exhaling on a quiet growl as his fingers begin to thrust in and out of her core, stirring up her wetness and mixing up her thoughts. She can only dig her fingertips into his flexing muscles, her inner thighs trembling as she strains to press into his hand in time with each motion. The swelling sensation builds, her body becoming so sensitized she imagines she can feel the smoke wafting from the fire against her dampened skin, the thud of Sasuke’s heart slamming against her chest.

A particularly deep stroke and she is gasping desperately, sucking in air around keening whimpers and shaking moans. His digits curl upward, fingertips grazing over a spot that makes her vision blur, every muscle in her body tensing up for a heart-stopping moment before they all loosen at once, her inner walls pulsing and her hips bucking outside of her control.

She cries out, his name spilling from her lips along with other nonsense words. He hums an approving sound, taking her lips and drinking her sounds until she finally comes down from the euphoric high, blinking away the tears that have welled and obscure her vision.

Her body is buzzing with sensation, her skin practically pulsating as she watches in a daze as Sasuke draws back slightly, allowing her to drink in the sight of his glistening, heaving chest and flexing abdominal muscles.

When her gaze dips lower, she swallows hard. Standing proud between his hips is a long, thick shaft, the reddened end reaching above his navel. Pearlescent droplets linger about the tip of him, a glistening trail marking a path toward his heavy-looking sac.

“I can soothe you with my hands and mouth,” he murmurs, drawing her gaze back to his. Red eyes trace her features, a hungry look to them that sends gooseflesh creeping over her skin. “But it will not rid you of the pain. For that I must…take you. Place my mark on you and satisfy the beast inside.”

Sakura can only stare, her eyes dipping low again to stare at the intimidating organ bobbing with its own pulse between them. Climax has alleviated her symptoms but already she can feel echoes of the cramping in her belly again, sweat trickling between her breasts and slick between her thighs.

“If this is not what you want,” Sasuke says gruffly, drawing her attention to his face once again. “If I am not what you want, we will press no further. I will will return you to your betrothed where he may tend to you–”

“No,” she blurts. Her fingers curl into the blankets at her sides, chest heaving. She can feel herself slipping once more, is forced to hold tight onto her senses as the heat and her hunger for fulfillment attempts to drag her consciousness away. “I want you. ”

The black tomoe in his irises spin faster, the red of his eyes somehow more vibrant, perhaps due to the reflecting light of the dancing flames. She is held captive by his gaze as his palms slide up the side of either of her legs, grasping behind her knees and sliding her across the ground until her lower half is slung over his lap. He hooks her legs behind his waist before leaning over her, brushing their mouths in their most chaste kiss.

“You will suffer no longer, my mate,” he whispers. His mouth takes hers more deeply then, and he rests one hand lightly at her throat while the other slides between their bodies to cup her mound.

She moans into his mouth as he thrusts into her with two fingers once more, coaxing her into wave after wave of release. She crashes each time like the tumultuous ocean tide during a storm.

By the time she feels his engorged length slide over her sensitized folds she is all but begging for him, raking her nails down his back and baring her neck to him, mindless in pleasure and wanting for the final act. The hot tip of him notches at her entrance, burning somehow hotter than she herself and she pries open her eyes, sinking into his gaze as he sinks into her depths. Her insides part and stretch around him, a distant ache settling between her legs while the one in her belly loses its intensity.

He moans, deep and gravelly, pushing forward so slowly an eternity might pass, Sakura becoming lightheaded as she contains her breath.

Air is expelled from both their lungs when Sasuke finally slides all the way inside, the fine hairs at his pelvis mingling with her own. She feels stuffed tight, so full that she might split apart were she to move.

So she simply relaxes in his grasp, tilting her chin toward the wall behind her head when he growls and clasps his fingers at the underside of her jaw. His hips pull back, shaft stroking against her slick walls in a slow, mind-breaking drag before pushing forward again, thrusting him deep inside her until she feels that they will never be separate beings again.

Sage and spice, ash and smoke fills her nose, her eyes bombarded with flashes of his reddened mouth and glowing eyes. The sound of wet flesh meeting filters in her ears, underscored with her own whines and moans, his pants and deep, rumbling groans.

The climax that builds this time rushes over her like a waterfall, yanking her away from the earth for a moment until it is as if she is floating, her soul being brought forth for the goddess to bestow her with a kiss to her face before she tumbles back down to where her limbs writhe and quake, fingers digging into the flesh of her hip and around her jaw as she screams worship and praises to the dark ceiling above.

“ Sakura ,” her mate– mate– growls, slamming so deep that her entire body jolts from the force. His face buries in the side of her neck, hot breath washing over her throat as his mouth opens wide.

Sharp pain pricks at her neck and warm liquid trickles down her skin as he sinks his teeth into her, locking his jaw as he lets loose a series of hungry moans and snarls. Between them, fit snug inside of her core, he begins to pulse and throb, his shaft thickening deliciously until she feels him pressed against every part of her there is.

Then he grows further, a bulging growth at the base of his member pressing hard to the top of her mound and growing to the point of pain, a throbbing ache that sends a confusing spasm of discomfort and acute pleasure rolling through her entire form.

“Sasuke-kun,” she chokes, digging her hands into his back and thrashing in his hold.

His teeth retract from her flesh and her laps at the wounds, mumbling in between, “It will be alright. I am with you.”

Another sudden orgasm takes her sight, so quick and intense that she is left reeling, panting. She feels a powerful spurt of hot, thick liquid spill inside of her in a series of pulses and Sasuke shivers in her arms, latching on to her new mark with his lips and sucking soundly.

She is rocked with wave after wave of pleasure, the throbbing between them near-constant until she is practically sobbing with strain.

“Sweet, sweet Sakura,” Sasuke slurs into her neck, flicking his tongue at frequent intervals at her neck.

Time stretches into what could be many minutes or many hours with them intimately joined and locked together, their skin dripping with sweat and combined essence, clutching each other tight as they lay prone in front of the slowly-dying flames. She is tired, deliciously warm and sated. Yet her mind spins, pondering their fate now that they have both committed treason against their clans. She wonders what sort of future the world beyond this tiny, hidden shelter might hold.

Eventually, Sakura speaks, voice and mind mostly clear, “What happens now, Sasuke-kun?”

Her head is on his chest, leg hitched over his hip as he pillows her waist with his arm. A pulse between them causes her to gasp quietly and he to shiver, his eyes sliding shut.

Forehead bumping against hers he whispers a reply, “I do not know. But I shall not be without you, no matter what the future holds.”

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Twenty-seven

“You were blessed with a lucky catch this day, Haruno-san!” a boisterous voice bellows, and a heavy palm smacks hard at the center of his back.

He offers a tight grin, glancing at the horizon as the sun peeks over the rolling peaks. It grows late, and he hates to be behind schedule.

“Indeed, I was,” he says with a nod to the talkative merchant. “I am blessed to have you as my best customer, as well.”

The flattery rolls ungainly off his tongue but the older man laughs riotously, smacking his back again. Any awkwardness of embarrassment is soothed by the weight of the coin ban he tucks into his coat. His pitiful attempts at socializing–and his skill for fishing–had brought in twice the coins he usually received.

He was wise to take another’s advice, for once.

The sun has risen high in the sky by the time he steps into the clearing filled with wildflowers, forcing him to shade his face with his hand as he squints at the small house nestled among them. The outside is handsome enough although he cannot help but take a mental note of the slightly leaning awning and the tiny tear in the shoji.

When he slides open the door and kicks off a sandal, quiet squealing filters to his ears along with the scent of poppies and sugar. A tiny body slams into his knees and he pretends to teeter off balance, leaning down to scoop the wriggling form into his arms.

“What is this? A wild creature tearing about my house?” he questions with mock seriousness, wrangling the thrashing body around until it goes limp in a fit of giggles.

“It is me! ” the small voice shrieks. “It is Sarada, not a creature!”

“Sarada is a wild creature, anata. Do not fall for her tricks,” another voice sounds from a few feet away. There is a smile in her words. “Okaeri.”

Sasuke lifts his head and inhales deeply, taking in the scent of jasmine, of sweet, perfectly ripened fruits. And there is a hint of himself there as well, a bit of sage and a little smoke.

“Sakura,” he murmurs, mouth curving in an indulgent smile. His eyes fall to her hands, resting on the curve of her belly. They are littered with scars, remnants of a long-abandoned, but never forgotten lifetime.

“I am home.”

┍━☽【❖】☾━┑

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

End.

115 notes · View notes