naruto: slow & easy
slow & easy
Shikamaru/Temari. Shikamaru makes plans.
Note: 'after the rain'. inspired by netpoet's song "a new start brings it all", which is available for free download! <3
Shikamaru says from across the street, "Hey--" and then the rain predicted suddenly starts falling, quick and heavy, on the world unaware. Temari looks up in momentary shock, the sound of rain a stranger to her (that hiss, that growl, that steady pit-pat-drip), and Shikamaru curses under his breath.
"You have an umbrella?" Temari asks, face upturned into the sky, recognizing him with a lift in her voice.
"No," Shikamaru answers, calling out to her over the noise. He pats his pockets, looking for a miracle. "I didn't think it would pour this early." He wrinkles his nose at the sky. A plop of rainwater drops on his eyelid, the rest scattering across his face. He shivers. "Awful weather."
"Too bad." Temari wipes some of it off her hair with her fingers as Shikamaru crosses the streets over to her in a few wide, hurried strides. Grins at him. Her teeth are white and dazzling and Shikamaru blinks.
"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" he asks accusingly. He takes off his vest and offers to her as some sort of overhead protection, but she refuses it with a casual wave of her hand.
She says, "It's okay, it's just a little water." Shikamaru thinks about arguing, then gives up, pulls his vest back on with wet fingers. It's not as if Temari would listen anyway, and he's getting cold and wet out in the street the way they are. The streets have all but cleared off of people, but Temari is unwilling to move, her feet planted firmly against the ground, resting her gigantic fan on the ground beside her. Bodily moving her would be a good idea, he thinks to himself, and laughs drily. She would probably be too heavy.
Instead he grabs her elbow and drags them both under the eaves of the store they're standing by. It's a barbershop, Shikamaru takes notice, and habitually scans for anything dangerous around--flying scissors? He doesn't know. Temari wrestles her elbow away lightly, the touch of her skin paper-thin and dry on his fingers.
"Sorry," he says absently, brushing water off his clothes.
"You're fine," she murmurs. Her head is turned towards the image of the water rushing down the gutter in a quick-paced trickle. Another smile, full of enamel and proficiency. She remarks, "We should go out into it and--" Stops, rethinks, and turns back to the empty street without another word, still smiling and just a faint bit off-kilter. The back of Temari's hand runs against Shikamaru's wrist when she takes off into the middle of the rain. Shikamaru shrugs, looks away as the water streams down her neck, behind her ear, into the crevices of her hair, flooding small inches of her at a time. He considers telling her that she'll get sick if she stays out there too long.
The rain beats down around them as they stand silently, a stoic pair without nervous movement, their shoulders stiff, eyes open, backs straight and firm like soldiers, though no one is watching.
;
When the rain stops Shikamaru asks Temari if she'd like to drop by his house first to get a change of clothing and maybe get a shower.
"You know," she says, fingering her wet hair with a wicked smile, "you like me, don't you. Really, you do."
He stares for a long time, then laughs. "Women," he says, with no small degree of disgust, but it's mixed in with amusement and light refusal so that he knows it doesn't come out in malice. "If you don't want to, don't come." He steps out from his shelter in the rain, the last of the water slipping down the roof to fall onto his shoulders.
"It doesn't bother me," Temari answers. She picks her clothes away from her body and lets them slap wet and noisy back against her skin. "I'll come." She starts her way down the road, hefting her fan over her back, a construction worker hidden in a slim body, and Shikamaru falls into step behind her, shaking his head.
She knows, of course, where she's going.
;
Temari has no shame and strips down naked with the bathroom door still open. Shikamaru is helping his mother take in the laundry that had gotten wet in the rain outside. He catches sight of Temari in the reflection of the mirror and rushes over to slam the door shut before his mother can notice. "Never seen a naked woman before?" Temari calls through the door, laughing at him, the rustle of her feet moving past her the fabric of her pants.
"You don't count either," he answers, half angry and half embarrassed.
The laundry he's carrying leaves a wet spot on his shirt. Shikamaru hangs a pair of pants on the makeshift clothesline in the living room, watches the other clothes sag as the line compensates for the weight.
"You know, showers fascinate me," she says, just as she turns on the water, as if they were both seated on Shikamaru's couch and she wasn't almost completely naked--for what Shikamaru knows, anyway--and about to wash herself off. "In Sand Country, sometimes we would just stand naked in the sand and take handfuls of it and scrub ourselves with it. Painful stuff." Her voice, getting swallowed by the shower spray. "Water is much better. And soap. And shampoo. Ouch. Too hot."
Shikamaru imagines Temari standing in a makeshift rocky, sandy background, the best he can imagine the desert. Imagines Temari bathed in a cloud of dust, her hands grainy with handfuls of sand, her skin alternately pink and bronzed. Imagines particles of Temari's skin in the sand, and Gaara later killing people with that same sand. Imagines dry heat, and thirst.
He hangs another pair of pants, his father's this time, on the clothesline just as Temari steps out. She's in his mother's shirt and surprisingly a pair of what he suspects used to be his mother's shorts. Her hair is down and wet on her shoulders. It's longer than he thought it would be; hard to see when it's up in small puffs on her head. She has a towel around her neck, smiles, says, "I used up all your hot water. Sorry."
"It's okay," he says, and turns back around. She is barefoot, kicks her wet clothes up from the ground and into her hand. She hangs her clothes on the clothesline, right beside his hand, smiling up at him as if they had known each other for forever. He can't imagine her being the same person who saved him, bold hands gripping the wood of a gigantic fan. Mouth open, screaming.
;
Shikamaru finishes hanging up the laundry. His mother goes to make dinner. Temari sits with him in their living room, surrounded by the smell of newly washed clothes and the rain. It's a fresh smell. The laundry hangs thin and white and damp around them.
Temari asks, "Can I stay for dinner?"
"Do whatever you want," Shikamaru answers, kicking up his feet. "It doesn't matter to me."
"You're not going to kiss me after all, are you?" Temari asks. She manages to convey severe disappointment, though she's laughing, and Shikamaru turns red, looking away. Hard to take her seriously, he thinks. That emotional training or whatever that she's been through.
"You're so bothersome," he finally says, after his face cools down and he can look at her straight in the eye, though he doesn't. "Not worth the effort--should've let you drown." Thinks of how it was raining outside, smooth and gentle, Temari getting wet in the middle of the street.
She doesn't say anymore, crosses her legs at the knees instead, and spreads out her fan beside her, huge and silent, a paper butterfly with a wooden skeleton. He remembers meeting her in the middle of the final Chuunin exams. The sky was blue then, and there were clouds, and he had reminisced in the middle of their fight--waiting for shadows, the sun, those walls--about the life he wanted afterwards: a peaceful life, with a woman who was not pretty or ugly, no blood, no violence, no tension. He considers, now, the possibilities of what his life has turned into: a blonde girl sitting beside him with white ankles, a trust he founded on a few seconds of instantenous relief, friends who depend on him to lead them in the face of unquestionable death, a village of people waiting for the armageddon of children.
Next time, Shikamaru thinks, he'll take Temari to that waterfall where the girls always go during the summer. He vaguely remembers natural, pebble-lined pools there where the water is deep enough so that you can't touch the bottom. He thinks that maybe Temari will like that. He makes a note to ask. For the moment, lazily, he closes his eyes. Mutters the word 'later' to himself. Smiles, and doesn't know why. But doesn't care.
Shikamaru/Temari. Shikamaru makes plans.
Note: 'after the rain'. inspired by netpoet's song "a new start brings it all", which is available for free download! <3
Shikamaru says from across the street, "Hey--" and then the rain predicted suddenly starts falling, quick and heavy, on the world unaware. Temari looks up in momentary shock, the sound of rain a stranger to her (that hiss, that growl, that steady pit-pat-drip), and Shikamaru curses under his breath.
"You have an umbrella?" Temari asks, face upturned into the sky, recognizing him with a lift in her voice.
"No," Shikamaru answers, calling out to her over the noise. He pats his pockets, looking for a miracle. "I didn't think it would pour this early." He wrinkles his nose at the sky. A plop of rainwater drops on his eyelid, the rest scattering across his face. He shivers. "Awful weather."
"Too bad." Temari wipes some of it off her hair with her fingers as Shikamaru crosses the streets over to her in a few wide, hurried strides. Grins at him. Her teeth are white and dazzling and Shikamaru blinks.
"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" he asks accusingly. He takes off his vest and offers to her as some sort of overhead protection, but she refuses it with a casual wave of her hand.
She says, "It's okay, it's just a little water." Shikamaru thinks about arguing, then gives up, pulls his vest back on with wet fingers. It's not as if Temari would listen anyway, and he's getting cold and wet out in the street the way they are. The streets have all but cleared off of people, but Temari is unwilling to move, her feet planted firmly against the ground, resting her gigantic fan on the ground beside her. Bodily moving her would be a good idea, he thinks to himself, and laughs drily. She would probably be too heavy.
Instead he grabs her elbow and drags them both under the eaves of the store they're standing by. It's a barbershop, Shikamaru takes notice, and habitually scans for anything dangerous around--flying scissors? He doesn't know. Temari wrestles her elbow away lightly, the touch of her skin paper-thin and dry on his fingers.
"Sorry," he says absently, brushing water off his clothes.
"You're fine," she murmurs. Her head is turned towards the image of the water rushing down the gutter in a quick-paced trickle. Another smile, full of enamel and proficiency. She remarks, "We should go out into it and--" Stops, rethinks, and turns back to the empty street without another word, still smiling and just a faint bit off-kilter. The back of Temari's hand runs against Shikamaru's wrist when she takes off into the middle of the rain. Shikamaru shrugs, looks away as the water streams down her neck, behind her ear, into the crevices of her hair, flooding small inches of her at a time. He considers telling her that she'll get sick if she stays out there too long.
The rain beats down around them as they stand silently, a stoic pair without nervous movement, their shoulders stiff, eyes open, backs straight and firm like soldiers, though no one is watching.
;
When the rain stops Shikamaru asks Temari if she'd like to drop by his house first to get a change of clothing and maybe get a shower.
"You know," she says, fingering her wet hair with a wicked smile, "you like me, don't you. Really, you do."
He stares for a long time, then laughs. "Women," he says, with no small degree of disgust, but it's mixed in with amusement and light refusal so that he knows it doesn't come out in malice. "If you don't want to, don't come." He steps out from his shelter in the rain, the last of the water slipping down the roof to fall onto his shoulders.
"It doesn't bother me," Temari answers. She picks her clothes away from her body and lets them slap wet and noisy back against her skin. "I'll come." She starts her way down the road, hefting her fan over her back, a construction worker hidden in a slim body, and Shikamaru falls into step behind her, shaking his head.
She knows, of course, where she's going.
;
Temari has no shame and strips down naked with the bathroom door still open. Shikamaru is helping his mother take in the laundry that had gotten wet in the rain outside. He catches sight of Temari in the reflection of the mirror and rushes over to slam the door shut before his mother can notice. "Never seen a naked woman before?" Temari calls through the door, laughing at him, the rustle of her feet moving past her the fabric of her pants.
"You don't count either," he answers, half angry and half embarrassed.
The laundry he's carrying leaves a wet spot on his shirt. Shikamaru hangs a pair of pants on the makeshift clothesline in the living room, watches the other clothes sag as the line compensates for the weight.
"You know, showers fascinate me," she says, just as she turns on the water, as if they were both seated on Shikamaru's couch and she wasn't almost completely naked--for what Shikamaru knows, anyway--and about to wash herself off. "In Sand Country, sometimes we would just stand naked in the sand and take handfuls of it and scrub ourselves with it. Painful stuff." Her voice, getting swallowed by the shower spray. "Water is much better. And soap. And shampoo. Ouch. Too hot."
Shikamaru imagines Temari standing in a makeshift rocky, sandy background, the best he can imagine the desert. Imagines Temari bathed in a cloud of dust, her hands grainy with handfuls of sand, her skin alternately pink and bronzed. Imagines particles of Temari's skin in the sand, and Gaara later killing people with that same sand. Imagines dry heat, and thirst.
He hangs another pair of pants, his father's this time, on the clothesline just as Temari steps out. She's in his mother's shirt and surprisingly a pair of what he suspects used to be his mother's shorts. Her hair is down and wet on her shoulders. It's longer than he thought it would be; hard to see when it's up in small puffs on her head. She has a towel around her neck, smiles, says, "I used up all your hot water. Sorry."
"It's okay," he says, and turns back around. She is barefoot, kicks her wet clothes up from the ground and into her hand. She hangs her clothes on the clothesline, right beside his hand, smiling up at him as if they had known each other for forever. He can't imagine her being the same person who saved him, bold hands gripping the wood of a gigantic fan. Mouth open, screaming.
;
Shikamaru finishes hanging up the laundry. His mother goes to make dinner. Temari sits with him in their living room, surrounded by the smell of newly washed clothes and the rain. It's a fresh smell. The laundry hangs thin and white and damp around them.
Temari asks, "Can I stay for dinner?"
"Do whatever you want," Shikamaru answers, kicking up his feet. "It doesn't matter to me."
"You're not going to kiss me after all, are you?" Temari asks. She manages to convey severe disappointment, though she's laughing, and Shikamaru turns red, looking away. Hard to take her seriously, he thinks. That emotional training or whatever that she's been through.
"You're so bothersome," he finally says, after his face cools down and he can look at her straight in the eye, though he doesn't. "Not worth the effort--should've let you drown." Thinks of how it was raining outside, smooth and gentle, Temari getting wet in the middle of the street.
She doesn't say anymore, crosses her legs at the knees instead, and spreads out her fan beside her, huge and silent, a paper butterfly with a wooden skeleton. He remembers meeting her in the middle of the final Chuunin exams. The sky was blue then, and there were clouds, and he had reminisced in the middle of their fight--waiting for shadows, the sun, those walls--about the life he wanted afterwards: a peaceful life, with a woman who was not pretty or ugly, no blood, no violence, no tension. He considers, now, the possibilities of what his life has turned into: a blonde girl sitting beside him with white ankles, a trust he founded on a few seconds of instantenous relief, friends who depend on him to lead them in the face of unquestionable death, a village of people waiting for the armageddon of children.
Next time, Shikamaru thinks, he'll take Temari to that waterfall where the girls always go during the summer. He vaguely remembers natural, pebble-lined pools there where the water is deep enough so that you can't touch the bottom. He thinks that maybe Temari will like that. He makes a note to ask. For the moment, lazily, he closes his eyes. Mutters the word 'later' to himself. Smiles, and doesn't know why. But doesn't care.