Fic: look:see (naruto/gaara)
look:see
Pairing: NaruGaa
Words: 2084
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete (oneshot)
Summary: Nothing but this is ever certain--this grand, sweeping feeling.
Notes: It’s been several months of grueling papers, and I just…I had to write creatively. I HAD to. But it’s been a while, so I offer this up humbly as something that just sort of happened.
It's summer, and the sun is breaking into the room with violent insistence. Clothing clings, dragging slowly across skin, and each turn, each shift, each incline of the head or crossing of the arms becomes something brutal and slow.
It is not always like this. Certainly, the heat is nothing new, but the thick damp in the air is near-torturous, drawing listless sighs from those seated around the table. Gaara can feel his patience steadily diminishing, collecting in small beads that roll down his temple only to evaporate. What time is it? Whose turn is it to speak? Does anyone actually want to be here? Such questions rotate through Gaara's mind, briefly arresting his attention like images in a View-Master. Someone is speaking, and he should recognize the voice-should, more importantly, be paying attention, but he isn't. Or at least, his attention is focused elsewhere.
On him. On Naruto. On the way he's carrying on his own private conversation across the table with a bright-eyed young nin who shouldn't even be here, but who is here, nonetheless. Because someone needs to be there to pick up after everyone, to carefully re-arrange the scrolls into some kind of order, and to see if anyone would, perhaps, care for something to drink, and if not that then something to eat? Except that no such inquiries fall from her lips, and they haven't for the past thirty minutes-ever since Naruto stumbled in with his sheepish apology and his sun-kissed skin and some excuse that Gaara probably would have been able to recall were it not for this blasted heat.
He is…uncomfortable, to say the least, but it has little to do with the elevated temperature and a lot to do with the scene playing out before him. Naruto, with that inevitable grin and the refreshing blue of his eyes. Naruto, who knows just what to say, to her, and to Gaara, too. Naruto, who for some inconceivable reason looks blissfully unaware of the humidity and possibly even content with it. Only once does he look up, his cerulean gaze gliding over the room and its occupants to rest finally on the Kazekage, but it is brief, far too brief, and when Naruto looks away, the empty feeling Gaara is left with makes him wonder if he was better off never having met his eyes at all.
On the surface, he is stoic as always. Except for the minute twitch of his lip each time he shifts in his chair, Gaara appears as unruffled as Naruto. In a way, it's almost funny. In many other ways, it's not funny at all. His apparent apathy is something that comes easily; it's the default. Anything else is potentially (and probably) dangerous.
Namely: that possessive, all-encompassing want engendered by Naruto and Naruto alone. That desire to look, which always evolves into the desire to touch. Because Gaara can't satisfy the latter-at least not presently-the former must suffice. But he is used to looking, to seeing. To letting that be enough.
And it is enough. It is more than enough. Almost too much. That hair, that lazy slouch. Naruto's nail running over his bottom lip as he pretends, momentarily, to pay attention. That mouth, twisting into yet another grin. That carefree look in his eyes, even though he's been gone for several months, purposefully putting himself in harm's way to achieve his goals. Looking for trouble. He's grown a little-an inch or so, Gaara can tell-and he's picked up some new mannerisms that were lacking before. There's a little tilt to his face and an unbalanced lean to his smile that evokes a playful, "Oh, really?" and he's taken to clucking his tongue every so often as if everyone else in the room can't hear him. And his gaze is just a little harder than it was, a little less undiscerning, and it translates in his voice each time he arches a slim brow and asks, "What do you mean by that?" as if he's wholly invested in the conversation, which he is certainly not. Not entirely. After all, the room is filled mostly by elders and anyone patient enough to spend several hours arguing about land grants. Naruto is neither an elder, nor has he ever been especially patient. But he is here, and here is where Gaara is, so here is where he must be.
"Kazekage-sama, can I get you something to drink?"
Gaara just barely hears her, as evidenced by his proceeding, "Hm?"
She repeats the question, and suddenly all eyes are on Gaara, including his, of course-brilliant gleam and all, and what can Gaara do but look back at him? His lips part slightly, as if he's been caught, and that's how he feels: trapped and small and utterly at the mercy of those blue eyes.
"No," he replies, glancing downward, away. Naruto's jacket is unzipped at the top and Gaara can see the sharp curve of a collarbone. Immediately, his fingers twitch into a fist and he clears his throat, wondering why on earth he didn't ask for water. "I'm all right, thank you," he says. And the conversation continues.
Only now, Naruto is the one watching him. Gaara can feel his eyes.
"I didn't think we'd ever get out of there," Naruto sighs, exasperated. His forearm is draped across his eyes and he's stretched out on the couch, one leg dangling over the side and swaying to an indistinct rhythm.
Gaara says only, "You didn't have to stay," before pulling his cloak away from his neck in some halfhearted attempt to cool down. Some new documents require his signature, and as the pen slowly sweeps across the page, Gaara can see the ink bleed briefly and then rest. His room is only slightly less unbearable than the meeting room was.
As always, Naruto looks infuriatingly comfortable, but there must be some disjunction between appearance and reality, because it's not long before he's on his feet, unzipping his jacket the rest of the way. "You're funny," he says, smiling a little.
Gaara doesn't ask what he means or why. He continues to sign off on things he doesn't entirely understand because Naruto was in the room then and Naruto is in his room now. And now they are alone. Unsurprisingly, Naruto undressing does nothing to improve Gaara's meager attempts at comprehension.
"Are you upset?" Naruto asks.
"No." It's too quick, but it's too late, and Naruto's grin is already widening.
"Why are you upset?"
Gaara does look up then, briefly, if only to prove the fact that no, he is not upset; no, he is not anything but distracted now that Naruto is only a few feet away, having shed his jacket so that his black undershirt reveals more of that golden skin as it hitches upward, just a fraction. A mere fraction is enough. "I'm not upset," he says, letting his pen rest in an inkwell. "I'm busy."
"I could leave."
"No." That, too, is too quick, and Gaara lowers his eyes, seeking refuge in the stack of papers. "That isn't necessary." It should sound formal, but there's an element of underlying vulnerability in the words.
"All right." And that should be the end of the conversation. It isn't for several reasons, but mostly because this is Naruto and he's made a habit of challenging what should and should not happen. "You were though, weren't you?"
Regretfully, Gaara looks up again. "Upset?" Naruto nods, and Gaara asks, "Why would I be upset?"
"I dunno." He's smirking now. "Why would you be upset?"
Now Gaara is. Now he can feel a line surfacing between his brows as his lips twist downward into a grimace. He doesn't like to be pushed. Naruto, conversely, likes to push him. His grimace is very quickly threatening to shift into a glare, and the perfect balance of his face is only further threatened as the blond steps forward, flattening his palms on the desk and bringing them that much closer.
"I wasn't-I'm not-" It's not like him at all, this fumbling through words, but then again, Gaara is never himself around Naruto. Or he is too much himself. There is too much of that need to just act. To do; to say; to feel. To reach out and slip his fingers beneath that hem and inch them upwards, or downwards. To pull him closer until they resemble one and not two.
"Yes?" Naruto says expectantly, waiting for him to continue, but Gaara just stares flatly, trying ever-so-diligently not to look at the edge of the seal that has just begun to peek out from beneath the other's shirt. The wall is far behind him, but already he feels cornered, pushed. Desperate.
The words are in his throat, and then he's speaking them before he can stop himself.
"Look only at me."
It fluctuates between a strict demand and a moody pout, and Gaara feels better rather than worse after having said it, because it is what he has wanted to say for the past three hours. Naruto, on the other hand, looks positively surprised, his sureness shaken, before that compulsory amusement supersedes his expression.
"You get jealous."
"Yes." The danger has not yet left Gaara's face, not completely. "I get jealous."
"I get jealous, too."
Now Gaara looks surprised, or at least doubtful. "Of whom?"
"I don't know." A noncommittal shrug. "People. Kankurou-"
"Kankurou?"
"Well, yeah, sure. He gets to be with you."
Gaara doesn't know what to say to that. It's not often that they see one another, and words do not always come easily. At least not the right words. It doesn't matter that they share a bond, and, periodically, a bed, or that they converse more in looks and touches than anything else. Words have always been difficult.
When Naruto suddenly laughs, it's nothing like the usual sound but more of a quiet hum, an afterthought that resonates in his throat. "Kankurou's right, you know."
"About?"
"You…Us…But mostly you. You can see it." He leans in farther, squinting at Gaara's face, only this time, Gaara doesn't feel boxed in, even with Naruto's voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Yep. Right…there." Naruto's sort-of smiling, and Gaara's sort-of frowning, and one or both of them moves and then they're kissing.
It starts like it always does-softly at first, and then more urgently, and it's Gaara who presses forward, curling long fingers around Naruto's upper-arms as if to keep him there. Naruto presses right back, splaying his hand against Gaara's neck and tracing his thumb along the line of his jaw. And then-bliss. Like the release of something, or maybe the acquisition. Nothing but this is ever certain-this grand, sweeping feeling. This need, raw and uninhibited, fulfilled.
It's in Gaara's fingertips as they press into Naruto's shoulders, his nails leaving shallow indents beneath his collar. It's in Naruto's voice as a low moan vibrates against Gaara's lips. It's hot, and it's a bit awkward with the desk between them, but it doesn't matter. There is only this.
As they shift and turn and rake needy fingers over one another, Naruto murmurs something that is lost against the other nin's skin, and Gaara somehow musters up the strength to pull back, though they're still relatively close. Naruto looks sleepy and content, charmingly ruffled, and his fingers gently knead the nape of Gaara's neck, making it damn-near impossible for Gaara to look as neatly put-together as he hopes to (and as he ever hopes to around Naruto). It takes another moment for him to find his voice, and even when he does, he can only manage a weak, "What?"
"You can have me," Naruto says again, clearly, so there's no question. Even though there was never any question.
Gaara can't decide how to react or what to say, if anything, but that's all right, because Naruto does not expect a response-certainly nothing spoken. The blond can't help but smile, though, as he surveys the teetering shifts in Gaara's expression. Naruto has always been much more open, more forthright, Gaara being the more reserved of the two, and he wonders if it will always be like this. And then he knows that it will.
"That's new," says Naruto, pulling another puzzled expression onto Gaara's face.
Again: "What?"
"That look."
Gaara fails to mask his surprise, or maybe by now he's no longer trying. "You noticed."
"Well, yeah," Naruto almost laughs, as if it's obvious. "Because it's you."
Pairing: NaruGaa
Words: 2084
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete (oneshot)
Summary: Nothing but this is ever certain--this grand, sweeping feeling.
Notes: It’s been several months of grueling papers, and I just…I had to write creatively. I HAD to. But it’s been a while, so I offer this up humbly as something that just sort of happened.
It's summer, and the sun is breaking into the room with violent insistence. Clothing clings, dragging slowly across skin, and each turn, each shift, each incline of the head or crossing of the arms becomes something brutal and slow.
It is not always like this. Certainly, the heat is nothing new, but the thick damp in the air is near-torturous, drawing listless sighs from those seated around the table. Gaara can feel his patience steadily diminishing, collecting in small beads that roll down his temple only to evaporate. What time is it? Whose turn is it to speak? Does anyone actually want to be here? Such questions rotate through Gaara's mind, briefly arresting his attention like images in a View-Master. Someone is speaking, and he should recognize the voice-should, more importantly, be paying attention, but he isn't. Or at least, his attention is focused elsewhere.
On him. On Naruto. On the way he's carrying on his own private conversation across the table with a bright-eyed young nin who shouldn't even be here, but who is here, nonetheless. Because someone needs to be there to pick up after everyone, to carefully re-arrange the scrolls into some kind of order, and to see if anyone would, perhaps, care for something to drink, and if not that then something to eat? Except that no such inquiries fall from her lips, and they haven't for the past thirty minutes-ever since Naruto stumbled in with his sheepish apology and his sun-kissed skin and some excuse that Gaara probably would have been able to recall were it not for this blasted heat.
He is…uncomfortable, to say the least, but it has little to do with the elevated temperature and a lot to do with the scene playing out before him. Naruto, with that inevitable grin and the refreshing blue of his eyes. Naruto, who knows just what to say, to her, and to Gaara, too. Naruto, who for some inconceivable reason looks blissfully unaware of the humidity and possibly even content with it. Only once does he look up, his cerulean gaze gliding over the room and its occupants to rest finally on the Kazekage, but it is brief, far too brief, and when Naruto looks away, the empty feeling Gaara is left with makes him wonder if he was better off never having met his eyes at all.
On the surface, he is stoic as always. Except for the minute twitch of his lip each time he shifts in his chair, Gaara appears as unruffled as Naruto. In a way, it's almost funny. In many other ways, it's not funny at all. His apparent apathy is something that comes easily; it's the default. Anything else is potentially (and probably) dangerous.
Namely: that possessive, all-encompassing want engendered by Naruto and Naruto alone. That desire to look, which always evolves into the desire to touch. Because Gaara can't satisfy the latter-at least not presently-the former must suffice. But he is used to looking, to seeing. To letting that be enough.
And it is enough. It is more than enough. Almost too much. That hair, that lazy slouch. Naruto's nail running over his bottom lip as he pretends, momentarily, to pay attention. That mouth, twisting into yet another grin. That carefree look in his eyes, even though he's been gone for several months, purposefully putting himself in harm's way to achieve his goals. Looking for trouble. He's grown a little-an inch or so, Gaara can tell-and he's picked up some new mannerisms that were lacking before. There's a little tilt to his face and an unbalanced lean to his smile that evokes a playful, "Oh, really?" and he's taken to clucking his tongue every so often as if everyone else in the room can't hear him. And his gaze is just a little harder than it was, a little less undiscerning, and it translates in his voice each time he arches a slim brow and asks, "What do you mean by that?" as if he's wholly invested in the conversation, which he is certainly not. Not entirely. After all, the room is filled mostly by elders and anyone patient enough to spend several hours arguing about land grants. Naruto is neither an elder, nor has he ever been especially patient. But he is here, and here is where Gaara is, so here is where he must be.
"Kazekage-sama, can I get you something to drink?"
Gaara just barely hears her, as evidenced by his proceeding, "Hm?"
She repeats the question, and suddenly all eyes are on Gaara, including his, of course-brilliant gleam and all, and what can Gaara do but look back at him? His lips part slightly, as if he's been caught, and that's how he feels: trapped and small and utterly at the mercy of those blue eyes.
"No," he replies, glancing downward, away. Naruto's jacket is unzipped at the top and Gaara can see the sharp curve of a collarbone. Immediately, his fingers twitch into a fist and he clears his throat, wondering why on earth he didn't ask for water. "I'm all right, thank you," he says. And the conversation continues.
Only now, Naruto is the one watching him. Gaara can feel his eyes.
"I didn't think we'd ever get out of there," Naruto sighs, exasperated. His forearm is draped across his eyes and he's stretched out on the couch, one leg dangling over the side and swaying to an indistinct rhythm.
Gaara says only, "You didn't have to stay," before pulling his cloak away from his neck in some halfhearted attempt to cool down. Some new documents require his signature, and as the pen slowly sweeps across the page, Gaara can see the ink bleed briefly and then rest. His room is only slightly less unbearable than the meeting room was.
As always, Naruto looks infuriatingly comfortable, but there must be some disjunction between appearance and reality, because it's not long before he's on his feet, unzipping his jacket the rest of the way. "You're funny," he says, smiling a little.
Gaara doesn't ask what he means or why. He continues to sign off on things he doesn't entirely understand because Naruto was in the room then and Naruto is in his room now. And now they are alone. Unsurprisingly, Naruto undressing does nothing to improve Gaara's meager attempts at comprehension.
"Are you upset?" Naruto asks.
"No." It's too quick, but it's too late, and Naruto's grin is already widening.
"Why are you upset?"
Gaara does look up then, briefly, if only to prove the fact that no, he is not upset; no, he is not anything but distracted now that Naruto is only a few feet away, having shed his jacket so that his black undershirt reveals more of that golden skin as it hitches upward, just a fraction. A mere fraction is enough. "I'm not upset," he says, letting his pen rest in an inkwell. "I'm busy."
"I could leave."
"No." That, too, is too quick, and Gaara lowers his eyes, seeking refuge in the stack of papers. "That isn't necessary." It should sound formal, but there's an element of underlying vulnerability in the words.
"All right." And that should be the end of the conversation. It isn't for several reasons, but mostly because this is Naruto and he's made a habit of challenging what should and should not happen. "You were though, weren't you?"
Regretfully, Gaara looks up again. "Upset?" Naruto nods, and Gaara asks, "Why would I be upset?"
"I dunno." He's smirking now. "Why would you be upset?"
Now Gaara is. Now he can feel a line surfacing between his brows as his lips twist downward into a grimace. He doesn't like to be pushed. Naruto, conversely, likes to push him. His grimace is very quickly threatening to shift into a glare, and the perfect balance of his face is only further threatened as the blond steps forward, flattening his palms on the desk and bringing them that much closer.
"I wasn't-I'm not-" It's not like him at all, this fumbling through words, but then again, Gaara is never himself around Naruto. Or he is too much himself. There is too much of that need to just act. To do; to say; to feel. To reach out and slip his fingers beneath that hem and inch them upwards, or downwards. To pull him closer until they resemble one and not two.
"Yes?" Naruto says expectantly, waiting for him to continue, but Gaara just stares flatly, trying ever-so-diligently not to look at the edge of the seal that has just begun to peek out from beneath the other's shirt. The wall is far behind him, but already he feels cornered, pushed. Desperate.
The words are in his throat, and then he's speaking them before he can stop himself.
"Look only at me."
It fluctuates between a strict demand and a moody pout, and Gaara feels better rather than worse after having said it, because it is what he has wanted to say for the past three hours. Naruto, on the other hand, looks positively surprised, his sureness shaken, before that compulsory amusement supersedes his expression.
"You get jealous."
"Yes." The danger has not yet left Gaara's face, not completely. "I get jealous."
"I get jealous, too."
Now Gaara looks surprised, or at least doubtful. "Of whom?"
"I don't know." A noncommittal shrug. "People. Kankurou-"
"Kankurou?"
"Well, yeah, sure. He gets to be with you."
Gaara doesn't know what to say to that. It's not often that they see one another, and words do not always come easily. At least not the right words. It doesn't matter that they share a bond, and, periodically, a bed, or that they converse more in looks and touches than anything else. Words have always been difficult.
When Naruto suddenly laughs, it's nothing like the usual sound but more of a quiet hum, an afterthought that resonates in his throat. "Kankurou's right, you know."
"About?"
"You…Us…But mostly you. You can see it." He leans in farther, squinting at Gaara's face, only this time, Gaara doesn't feel boxed in, even with Naruto's voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Yep. Right…there." Naruto's sort-of smiling, and Gaara's sort-of frowning, and one or both of them moves and then they're kissing.
It starts like it always does-softly at first, and then more urgently, and it's Gaara who presses forward, curling long fingers around Naruto's upper-arms as if to keep him there. Naruto presses right back, splaying his hand against Gaara's neck and tracing his thumb along the line of his jaw. And then-bliss. Like the release of something, or maybe the acquisition. Nothing but this is ever certain-this grand, sweeping feeling. This need, raw and uninhibited, fulfilled.
It's in Gaara's fingertips as they press into Naruto's shoulders, his nails leaving shallow indents beneath his collar. It's in Naruto's voice as a low moan vibrates against Gaara's lips. It's hot, and it's a bit awkward with the desk between them, but it doesn't matter. There is only this.
As they shift and turn and rake needy fingers over one another, Naruto murmurs something that is lost against the other nin's skin, and Gaara somehow musters up the strength to pull back, though they're still relatively close. Naruto looks sleepy and content, charmingly ruffled, and his fingers gently knead the nape of Gaara's neck, making it damn-near impossible for Gaara to look as neatly put-together as he hopes to (and as he ever hopes to around Naruto). It takes another moment for him to find his voice, and even when he does, he can only manage a weak, "What?"
"You can have me," Naruto says again, clearly, so there's no question. Even though there was never any question.
Gaara can't decide how to react or what to say, if anything, but that's all right, because Naruto does not expect a response-certainly nothing spoken. The blond can't help but smile, though, as he surveys the teetering shifts in Gaara's expression. Naruto has always been much more open, more forthright, Gaara being the more reserved of the two, and he wonders if it will always be like this. And then he knows that it will.
"That's new," says Naruto, pulling another puzzled expression onto Gaara's face.
Again: "What?"
"That look."
Gaara fails to mask his surprise, or maybe by now he's no longer trying. "You noticed."
"Well, yeah," Naruto almost laughs, as if it's obvious. "Because it's you."