KakaSaku Fic
An old, old Kakasaku fic i posted to Kakasaku community, and now to my LJ :)
Title: Prize
Rating: M
Summary:
Prize
Play my game
And I'll play yours
Winner takes all
Sometimes.
The Jounin recreation room was not a place where she should be. For one thing, she wasn't a Jounin. For another, the rec room was his space; where he went to get free coffee and pick up missions. Where he went on the meandering walks before meeting his team- being late took skill occasionally-- and where he went to stay in tune with the latest happenings of Konoha ninja. Lately, it was where he went to hide from his students. Or student. The other two weren't nearly this…frustrating.
But she was here, in his space. Here in the small room with the full dartboard and the hissing coffee machine, the few cracked tables and chairs and the moth-eaten cushions on the sagging sofa. It occurred to him that someone should bug someone else about getting the place cleaned up. But not him, because he was a very busy man, with books to read and people to avoid and other important business. He was trying to read his book right now, but it was difficult. She was here.
She'd been making things difficult for a while now.
Sound hits the air and he has to struggle to stop his mind from com-busting, to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, to keep his arms strapped to his sides. But control and blank thoughts aren't going to work this time.
"Sensei?"
Coy and demure and infectious.
A bitten lip and twisting hands that clutch in the hem at a thin crimson-pink training shirt that is limp and sticky with sweat and he is not fooled. No.
(Not fooled like that time where she sat next to him in the bar at Naruto's birthday party and had played with the hem of her creamy cable knit sweater that flashed freckles when it slipped from her shoulder until he couldn't take his eyes away and sat like a statue while downing beers, trying to not look. And he had thought she didn't notice, thought she was unaware the whole time. Idiot.)
Not fooled. He knows better now. He grabs her upper arms, white-marked edges forming under his bruising fingers, and turns to push her up against the wall of the Jounin rec room, because his mind might burn away if he doesn't touch her, somehow. He lets her head knock back against the brick with a sick thump and leans in to smell her bright rose-oranges scent, buries his face in it clouding around her neck as she gasps in surprise.
"Sensei!"
(Like that time when she had gasped in shock-happiness-pleasure as he'd dumped the icily cold contents of his water bottle on her head-because she'd just done the same to him. Only she had gasped, like it was nirvana and aphrodisiac and fucking sex in a bottle and he had questioned his sanity when she flung her wet hair over her shoulder and little drips had run along between her shoulder blades. Then he questioned his life when drips ran down the front of her shirt, goosebumps rising along the exposed curve of her breasts and she smiled, like she knew exactly where his eyes had just flicked to.)
He is raging; a man on fire and unable hold onto shattering rock precipice's for a second longer. She was addictive, deliciously teasing, and she knew what she was doing. Since this was firmly established and utterly unable to be ignored for a moment longer, by the gods on high, all hell was going to break loose.
Much as he didn't want it too, it was happening anyway, so dammed if he wouldn't go down fighting.
His teeth are gritted, the stark line of his jaw accented even through the mask. "Sakura, stop this."
But last ditch attempts to curb an incoming flood never worked, and he doesn't expect it to now either, a dying man on the stake. He can't help but negate his own words when his sluices down the mask and slants his mouth over her's roughly, ignoring her squeak. He feels lips softer than silk giving under his own and revels in the triumph that sweeps over him hot and bright and filling everywhere from the ignited ends of his fingers on her arms to the tips of his toes on the rock-solid floor.
(Like when he'd felt the heat as they bunked down for camp in the night during a mission and he was standing watch while she'd walked only a few feet away to change into a new uniform. She'd turned her back, but what difference is that when she's unsnapping a the sports bra and he can see all her skin, shoulders and angel bones and slender waist and delicate neck, bending and flexing as she moves. She shines like amber and jewels under the lantern light. A glance over her shoulder, the plane of her cheek glittering as if faery-dusted, turning around so quickly it was only a flash as she picked up an item of clothing that had dropped. But she did turn, her arm clasped around her chest. He had no idea what the fuck she thought was happening as she turned back again, calm as unruffled snow; he had almost taken two strides, shoved her onto the tree, cupped those small breasts he had seen the plush velvet curve of in his hands and passed some of the fevered scorching heat in his head to her through her mouth. Almost. The rest of the watch had been torturous.)
She is gasping again when he pulls away, like caught deer under a flash of lightning sky, and he runs the pad of one thumb over her lower lip, roughly caressing. He is nose to nose and chest to chest-he can feel her breath heaving through through her ribcage, quick pants of ventilation, - and his hands move to curl possessively on her hip and the smooth column of her neck, one thumb holding her chin upright .
"Sensei…"
He is going to burst, going to die, going to shove her long, long legs apart and fuck her where she stood on the wall if she doesn't look him in the eye, this confusing, exasperating, teasing little girl speaking in a trembling tiny voice. He murmurs in his throat, almost a growl, practically a groan, pushes commandingly at her hips, and digs his nails in to hold because he was going to finish this circling dance and playful game now.
(Like when she'd started that kunai-throwing game and let him win because the winner got a massage. Her fingers had slid over his skin like silk, her hair had brushed on the back of his neck and made his nerves shiver. She wore short stringy jean shorts that bared all of her toned muscle pressed into his back as she kneeled, and he could feel them riding higher on her thighs, feel her hair swinging to the side to let the sweet skin of her neck become sun kissed and gently freckled. He'd ended the massage early, and ignored her tinkling laugh.)
When she finally looks up, he feels a surge of lush, slick pride coat through his stomach and simmer into his throat, narrowing his senses to her, just her, with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks. A sly little smile has crept over her lips--sharp, biting like a blade. She blinks at him and has the nerve to lick those lips, slow and savoring and her eyes locked onto his pupils.
(Like she'd licked those rainbow popsicles during a break at practice, all multicolored tongue and dripping fingers and white sports bras because "it was hot Sensei." He'd watched her slick her tongue along the ice cream, watched the sweat slide down her freckled shoulders and into the hollows of her collarbones, and he'd watched her suck her pinkbluered fingers clean, seen her glance up to notice him and slide her finger out of her mouth with a swirl of tongue and a secret smile. He watched it all, and then ended practice early to hit the showers and curse his existence.)
He reaches to hike her higher in his arms, wrapping her smooth legs around his waist and pulling her hands above her head to trap them in his wrist as he crashes his lips onto the arch of her collarbone. He thrusts against her hips, rocks them together like an electrical current. He groans as her legs squeeze around him and her fingers scrabble at his wrists, searching for an anchor.
He smiles his needle-sharp lips, drags his teeth against her skin and inhales deep lungfuls of peeled oranges, humid rain thrumming against lilacs, rolling in waves from hot skin. He twists them toghether, harder, and she gasps, right there against the wall in the jounin recreation room with an unlocked door and a busy hall outside, arching her back like the sleek bend of a bow.
Her face is surprised, hazily startled, maybe a little overwhelmed. He feels a tendril of amusement behind the blur of heady anticipation in his skull. The purple-red color spreading over her cheeks and neck, her eyelids fluttering closed with innocent rapture is far more fitting on her pointed little face than the gilt of the shameless.
He grins a little hell-loosed grin, bites her chin and rolls his hips again, now languidly, playfully purposeful.
(Like all those times where she'd teased and he strained against his hand, cursed and dreamed of cherry-bright hair, lantern bright skin and sinful smiles; only now it was real and she was loving him, moaning for him, and all the teasing was over. It had never really been about the game anyway. Only the prize.)
Maybe he would fuck her right here where she stood after all.
Fin
Thank You for Reading!
Title: Prize
Rating: M
Summary:
Prize
Play my game
And I'll play yours
Winner takes all
Sometimes.
The Jounin recreation room was not a place where she should be. For one thing, she wasn't a Jounin. For another, the rec room was his space; where he went to get free coffee and pick up missions. Where he went on the meandering walks before meeting his team- being late took skill occasionally-- and where he went to stay in tune with the latest happenings of Konoha ninja. Lately, it was where he went to hide from his students. Or student. The other two weren't nearly this…frustrating.
But she was here, in his space. Here in the small room with the full dartboard and the hissing coffee machine, the few cracked tables and chairs and the moth-eaten cushions on the sagging sofa. It occurred to him that someone should bug someone else about getting the place cleaned up. But not him, because he was a very busy man, with books to read and people to avoid and other important business. He was trying to read his book right now, but it was difficult. She was here.
She'd been making things difficult for a while now.
Sound hits the air and he has to struggle to stop his mind from com-busting, to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, to keep his arms strapped to his sides. But control and blank thoughts aren't going to work this time.
"Sensei?"
Coy and demure and infectious.
A bitten lip and twisting hands that clutch in the hem at a thin crimson-pink training shirt that is limp and sticky with sweat and he is not fooled. No.
(Not fooled like that time where she sat next to him in the bar at Naruto's birthday party and had played with the hem of her creamy cable knit sweater that flashed freckles when it slipped from her shoulder until he couldn't take his eyes away and sat like a statue while downing beers, trying to not look. And he had thought she didn't notice, thought she was unaware the whole time. Idiot.)
Not fooled. He knows better now. He grabs her upper arms, white-marked edges forming under his bruising fingers, and turns to push her up against the wall of the Jounin rec room, because his mind might burn away if he doesn't touch her, somehow. He lets her head knock back against the brick with a sick thump and leans in to smell her bright rose-oranges scent, buries his face in it clouding around her neck as she gasps in surprise.
"Sensei!"
(Like that time when she had gasped in shock-happiness-pleasure as he'd dumped the icily cold contents of his water bottle on her head-because she'd just done the same to him. Only she had gasped, like it was nirvana and aphrodisiac and fucking sex in a bottle and he had questioned his sanity when she flung her wet hair over her shoulder and little drips had run along between her shoulder blades. Then he questioned his life when drips ran down the front of her shirt, goosebumps rising along the exposed curve of her breasts and she smiled, like she knew exactly where his eyes had just flicked to.)
He is raging; a man on fire and unable hold onto shattering rock precipice's for a second longer. She was addictive, deliciously teasing, and she knew what she was doing. Since this was firmly established and utterly unable to be ignored for a moment longer, by the gods on high, all hell was going to break loose.
Much as he didn't want it too, it was happening anyway, so dammed if he wouldn't go down fighting.
His teeth are gritted, the stark line of his jaw accented even through the mask. "Sakura, stop this."
But last ditch attempts to curb an incoming flood never worked, and he doesn't expect it to now either, a dying man on the stake. He can't help but negate his own words when his sluices down the mask and slants his mouth over her's roughly, ignoring her squeak. He feels lips softer than silk giving under his own and revels in the triumph that sweeps over him hot and bright and filling everywhere from the ignited ends of his fingers on her arms to the tips of his toes on the rock-solid floor.
(Like when he'd felt the heat as they bunked down for camp in the night during a mission and he was standing watch while she'd walked only a few feet away to change into a new uniform. She'd turned her back, but what difference is that when she's unsnapping a the sports bra and he can see all her skin, shoulders and angel bones and slender waist and delicate neck, bending and flexing as she moves. She shines like amber and jewels under the lantern light. A glance over her shoulder, the plane of her cheek glittering as if faery-dusted, turning around so quickly it was only a flash as she picked up an item of clothing that had dropped. But she did turn, her arm clasped around her chest. He had no idea what the fuck she thought was happening as she turned back again, calm as unruffled snow; he had almost taken two strides, shoved her onto the tree, cupped those small breasts he had seen the plush velvet curve of in his hands and passed some of the fevered scorching heat in his head to her through her mouth. Almost. The rest of the watch had been torturous.)
She is gasping again when he pulls away, like caught deer under a flash of lightning sky, and he runs the pad of one thumb over her lower lip, roughly caressing. He is nose to nose and chest to chest-he can feel her breath heaving through through her ribcage, quick pants of ventilation, - and his hands move to curl possessively on her hip and the smooth column of her neck, one thumb holding her chin upright .
"Sensei…"
He is going to burst, going to die, going to shove her long, long legs apart and fuck her where she stood on the wall if she doesn't look him in the eye, this confusing, exasperating, teasing little girl speaking in a trembling tiny voice. He murmurs in his throat, almost a growl, practically a groan, pushes commandingly at her hips, and digs his nails in to hold because he was going to finish this circling dance and playful game now.
(Like when she'd started that kunai-throwing game and let him win because the winner got a massage. Her fingers had slid over his skin like silk, her hair had brushed on the back of his neck and made his nerves shiver. She wore short stringy jean shorts that bared all of her toned muscle pressed into his back as she kneeled, and he could feel them riding higher on her thighs, feel her hair swinging to the side to let the sweet skin of her neck become sun kissed and gently freckled. He'd ended the massage early, and ignored her tinkling laugh.)
When she finally looks up, he feels a surge of lush, slick pride coat through his stomach and simmer into his throat, narrowing his senses to her, just her, with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks. A sly little smile has crept over her lips--sharp, biting like a blade. She blinks at him and has the nerve to lick those lips, slow and savoring and her eyes locked onto his pupils.
(Like she'd licked those rainbow popsicles during a break at practice, all multicolored tongue and dripping fingers and white sports bras because "it was hot Sensei." He'd watched her slick her tongue along the ice cream, watched the sweat slide down her freckled shoulders and into the hollows of her collarbones, and he'd watched her suck her pinkbluered fingers clean, seen her glance up to notice him and slide her finger out of her mouth with a swirl of tongue and a secret smile. He watched it all, and then ended practice early to hit the showers and curse his existence.)
He reaches to hike her higher in his arms, wrapping her smooth legs around his waist and pulling her hands above her head to trap them in his wrist as he crashes his lips onto the arch of her collarbone. He thrusts against her hips, rocks them together like an electrical current. He groans as her legs squeeze around him and her fingers scrabble at his wrists, searching for an anchor.
He smiles his needle-sharp lips, drags his teeth against her skin and inhales deep lungfuls of peeled oranges, humid rain thrumming against lilacs, rolling in waves from hot skin. He twists them toghether, harder, and she gasps, right there against the wall in the jounin recreation room with an unlocked door and a busy hall outside, arching her back like the sleek bend of a bow.
Her face is surprised, hazily startled, maybe a little overwhelmed. He feels a tendril of amusement behind the blur of heady anticipation in his skull. The purple-red color spreading over her cheeks and neck, her eyelids fluttering closed with innocent rapture is far more fitting on her pointed little face than the gilt of the shameless.
He grins a little hell-loosed grin, bites her chin and rolls his hips again, now languidly, playfully purposeful.
(Like all those times where she'd teased and he strained against his hand, cursed and dreamed of cherry-bright hair, lantern bright skin and sinful smiles; only now it was real and she was loving him, moaning for him, and all the teasing was over. It had never really been about the game anyway. Only the prize.)
Maybe he would fuck her right here where she stood after all.
Fin
Thank You for Reading!