Chapter Text
Kissing is wonderful. Itachi’s lips are soft and smooth and soon their tongues are tangling. Her fingers are in his silky hair, chests rising and falling, everything calm. Sakura strums fingers over the slight dip of his v-neck, tracing over his collarbone just before the mesh panel begins.
She hums into the kiss, thumbing over the bob of his throat as he swallows. It’s a tell that would be difficult to notice with any less distance, closeness. Tactility. Sakura can practically feel a slight buzz beneath his skin, because she’s feeling the same. But she’s not nervous, she’s excited. Dipping her tongue deeper into his mouth, she tastes white tea, and leans over him. Tall thing he is, it’s not much of a stretch. Her fingers ache with desire to tighten in his hair, pull. But it’s early yet, best to ease into things.
His hands tighten on her hips instead, an instinctive flex that turns into a grip. She crawls into his lap and prays they don’t break the chair.
Palming over his chest, fabric simultaneously dulls and heightens the sensation of touch. It drags against her hand, bunches, but he’s so firm beneath, so solid and strong. Could break her body with a flick of the hand, break her mind with a glance of those eyes. But he doesn’t. No. He’s tugging her closer, further up his thighs until they’re pressed as close together as her breasts will allow.
It’s a rough jerk she gives to the zipper on her flak jacket, tossing it off to the side. The thought that it might be Itachi who’ll be the one to pick it up and tidy later lights something hot and explosive in her belly.
Sakura keeps her blinds shut by default like any ninja worth their salt does, so she has no compunction in whipping off her turtleneck, too. Normally she wouldn’t remove even that much, to hide the target painted on her back.
Itachi’s eyes are bleeding red again to watch, to see. She doesn’t remove her sports bra or the tape wrappings she wound over it to avoid unnecessary jiggling.
“You sure you want to do that?” she asks in earnest. “Could be one of the last times you have a - natural blindfold.” Sakura’s smile slips into a bit of a smirk. “Could be kind of kinky.”
His face registers muted surprise and he pauses to consider. “I want to see you.”
Sakura chuffs. “If you say so.” Leaning closer again, she nips and tugs at his lower lip with her teeth. Sucks a gentle biting kiss under his jaw, next to the inky black of the soulmark. Mmmm they look good together. She says as much aloud.
He blinks at her, then slowly lifts a hand to pull her closer, mirroring the posture to do the same. “Lower. It needs to be concealable.” His lips slip down the side of her neck to her shoulder, where he sucks, laves, and then bites. Pain tolerance fairly insane even for a kunoichi, Sakura barely registers discomfort. Instead, she just feels warm. Nurturing almost. It’s a difficult emotion to define.
Grinding her hips in a circle is natural, an instinct she doesn’t second guess. She smothers a smile into his neck at the humming emanating in his chest from the movement. “You like that?”
It’s blatant pillow talk, but she literally can’t seem to help herself. He hums affirmative, hand rubbing over her back, skin to skin and delightful. She grinds down on him again, again, again. Until they find their rhythm, until Sakura’s breathless not from exertion but exhilaration. Moaning, she wraps arms around his shoulders and holds on as he grinds up, following the rhythm still as she indulges in laziness and lets him do all the work. “Good, you’re doing good, keep going,” Sakura murmurs in his ear, tugging on the lobe with gentle teeth. Then she tilts her head to press a love bite at the corner junction of his jaw and neck. Mine.
Itachi’s hard beneath her even through a few layers of clothing, warm and wonderful. “Why don’t we get you out of those clothes? Hm?” When she says it, it’s genuinely sweet, coaxing. Sakura knows she doesn’t need to, that he’s big and strong and could probably handle anything she can throw at him. But something about this moment is so delicate, gossamer. It’s instinct to nurture it, hope that drives her to be gentle with him. Hope that she can be a positive, too, and not a negative. Trustworthy.
She slips off his lap and tugs at the hem of his shirt. Itachi pulls it over his head with no complaint, but doesn’t stand. Almost like he’s . . . Oh my god.
Sakura plays it cool for once in her life. “You can stand.” He stands. The lit match in her belly fans into an inferno. Her eyes are shining, she’s sure. Not with tears, but with . . . joy. Or something like it. Something close enough.
Guiding him to step out of his pants and underwear, she admires his form in full. He’s a handsome devil, that’s for sure. Wiry strength, arms corded with temptingly raised veins. Legs bound in lean muscle. A body honed for constant war. It’s shocking, the lack of scarring or evidence of wounds. A proclamation of power in its own right. She strokes a hand down his strong chest. “Let’s go to the bedroom. You ready?”
“Yes.” His expression is as impassive as ever, but she can still feel that slight but undeniable frisson of energy from him that feels oh so very much like excitement, muted and yet there.
You sure? she wants to challenge
Show me.
Beg.
She doesn’t. It’s too soon.
Instead she slips off her pants and ankle tape, underwear. Sakura leads him through the apartment into the shadowed bedroom, glancing back only once. His cock bobs between his legs, heavy, hard, swinging. It warms something at her core, something at once dear about it and also arousing. She’s never seen one of those in an intimate context. It’ll be fascinating to test the difference between it and a dildo.
Her eyes snap up to his and she smiles. Sakura couldn’t say whether it’s a nice smile or a filthy one, but either way she’s trying here.
Guiding him over to the bed, she climbs on over on the far side and pats the expanse in front of her. “Come on, lie down.”
The compliance is as sweet as it was the first time, a pulsing rush of blood going straight to her head. His body is laid out in front of her, flat on the bed and waiting rather than lounging or sprawling. Even that’s endearing. She pulls his legs apart and he voices no complaints.
Then she situates between them on her knees, leans over, and sucks his cock down as deep as she can without it passing into her throat.
Itachi’s body lightly seizes, a full body twitch with the world’s most subtle aborted thrust. His eyes look liable to roll back in his head. Sakura’s mouth is smirking around the dick inside it as best it can. She bobs her head and hums mercilessly, tucking a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. His body shifts below her, latent energy and need for movement contained just beneath the surface of his skin. Combing her fingers through the thatch of dark hair at the join of his legs repetitively, the other reaches down to stroke gently at his balls. Sakura’s never had sex with someone with his biology, but she’s read and watched enough porn to feel confident about what she’s doing. There’s also been a fair bit of practice on silicone replicas with other partners. And the way he’s responding . . . it leaves little room for misinterpretation. Still, she pulls off, hands still softly moving and touching but mouth free to ask: “Okay?”
“Ah - yes.” Itachi’s jaw ticks once, then he seems to forcibly relax his face and tense muscles. Bravado, machismo, or obedience to some imagined unspoken order, the world may never know.
“You like it.”
He nods evenly.
“Want more?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
He pauses, then adds: “Please.”
Sakura smiles. Patting his thigh, all she says is, “Good.” Then she’s swallowing him down again, sucking in her cheeks and tongue swirling around the intrusion where it can.
His body’s racketing with tension again, then relaxing on an upstroke of her head, only to tense again as it moves downwards. The texture of the skin in her mouth and under her hands is strange, unfamiliar and unusually soft, pliant. Not unpleasant, just foreign.
It’s crazy intimate, the way he’s bowing to her whims, the feel of him inside, the tastes on her tongue, the minute twitch of powerful muscle bunching and releasing under her hands. She bobs her head in earnest, new at this in some ways and old hat in others. It’s strange to think of come, of semen and messiness and pregnancy risk and UTIs and all of it. This kind of sex is risky in unfamiliar ways. But somehow . . . emotionally secure in ways equally foreign.
Giving head like this is goal oriented in a fresh new sense and she pursues that relentlessly. He’s good for her, holds still very well, and she can see him fighting not to fist the duvet in his hands as they clench.
Maybe he thinks he’s not supposed to come. But with the way she’s going for it, there’s no mistaking the intent, surely. Sakura looks up at him and tosses him a saucy wink, hoping to communicate with that. It’s okay. Come for me. I want you to.
She runs a hand soothingly up and down the length of his stomach and chest, looks at him with unbidden warm affection that she has no clue about the origins of, and strokes over his balls again.
Then his eyes really do roll back in his head and come streams out of him, hitting the back of her throat unpleasantly but not so different in flavor or feel, so she swallows around the unfamiliarity of it and sits back. Itachi looks dazed, not all there, body still twitching. Did he white out? Black out? She’s never seen someone do that before.
Sakura lays down to cover one side of him, arm wrapped over his torso. Head propped on her fist, she watches him slowly come back to himself. His eyes slit open after several moments, just a sliver of red, black, and white. He turns his head towards her and she waves her fingers cheekily. “Morning, sunshine.”
He’s not offended. Instead, he’s trying to pull her closer for a kiss like that’s what he’s craving above all.
Indulging him, she leans up and plants one on him, then another more lingering press. “Want your own come in your mouth, Itachi?” Sakura leaves her mouth close to his, lips just parted, enough for him to practically taste with how closely they’re sharing air.
He closes in on her instead of answering with words, folding closer in, hand cupped behind her head, tongue questing, searching. Like he’s actively seeking the taste of it. Sakura practically purrs. She couldn’t help it if she tried.
Settling more overtop of him, they dive into each other's mouths, hands holding each other close, hands everywhere. They kiss like they can’t stop, like their lives depend on it. It’s ridiculously tender, soft and intimate without justification, a blatant misrepresentation of how well they know or even like each other yet. Is this what it is to have a soulmate?
It’s strange to have no bristle of stubble when she’d always expected that with a man, long silken hair where perhaps she would have thought different. Power where she’d imagined feeling feeble and small. No. She feels invincible in a way she’d thought unique to Creation Rebirth. Supercharged with energy surging through her veins, excitement and thrill in the blood, ready for anything.
Having never unwound her tape bindings and slipped off her sports bra, Sakura leaves them on as she makes herself part from him to sit up, saliva webbing between their mouths until it breaks.
Perhaps it’s part of remaining in charge, that she knows her nipples are sensitive, the key to making her weak in the knees. She doesn’t want to be weak in the knees. She wants him to be.
That, and she’s never taken off her shirt during sex before due to the logistical constraints of soulmark secret keeping. Best to start small.
It nearly looks as though he’s going to reach out to her to pull her back, but it’s aborted if it’s there. Sitting up, she feels the beginnings of renewed hardness against her backside. Grinning, Sakura reaches over into the nightstand to grab the very dusty box of condoms at the back of the drawer that Ino had bought her once out of blind hope she’d try men at least once and get over ‘whatever mysterious baggage is keeping you away from dick when we both know you like that, too!’ The payoff day is here. And the box isn’t even opened. Itachi’s eyes track her every movement as she dusts it off, opens the box, grabs a packet, and rips it open. Scooting down, she admires his cock in its earlier stages of arousal, traces a finger down. It’s still wet with saliva, soft and inviting.
She looks up at Itachi with eyes half-lidded and asks honestly: “Do you want your cock inside me, Itachi?”
“Aa.” His face is calm but his body language seems to read ‘attentive’ if not ‘alert.’ Sakura sits back a little further, watching him. “Please, yes.” He knows to add it without prompting, without being asked, and it sears through her, this level of understanding from someone that, when you think about it, she’s only met once before. So she smiles at him, positions the condom and rolls it down. Even that seems to make him feel good and she can see the slightest flush spreading across his chest.
“You’re so easy to please,” Sakura tells him. “I like that.” The words are tacked on warmly, genuine.
Impulsive, she crouches over him on all fours and licks a stripe up his chest, wanting to taste that flush for herself. It doesn’t taste like anything of course, not even sweat, just the salt of skin, but still it riles something deep inside. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, unselfconscious. Pressing her mouth to his throat just for a nip, Sakura pulls back to sit above his cock, angle him up with a hand. That previous suspicion rears up in her mind and looking at him, mentally she’s warning him ’buckle up.’
Sinking down onto him is as natural as breathing, a couple years of practice in bedsport helping and guiding her, along with instinct. He’s softer than she’s had before, more give, warm and flesh and blood and alive. There’s pros and cons to fucking with a dildo that can’t come early but also may not pleasure the giving partner, just to name a couple of the deliberations. But this intimacy . . . Sakura’s never had it before, not like this. Not with someone she thought she might really keep.
Sakura takes him as deep as he goes. Watching his guileless face and body language, his lips parted just so in pleasure, the look in his generally inexpressive eyes, it all just makes her hungrier.
As she rolls her hips forward, internally she’s chanting I’m going to eat you alive.
Itachi doesn’t exactly look like he would mind. She can just spy the stuttering of his chest when she starts to bounce on him, to move in earnest. Her arms fall to hang at her sides as she relies purely on thigh and core strength to keep up the pace. Small muscles shift at work under the surface of her abdomen, still visible in the dim light of dusk from beyond the room.
Up and down, up and down - she’s relentless. Moving over him, on him, she’s never felt so high on power. He’s fisting the bedspread properly now and she lets her head loll back on a happy sigh. Sakura speeds up, rolling her head back forward and meeting his gaze. The fit of him is amazing, just right, and she tells him so.
His eyes fall shut. She wants to put a starry look on him, wants him to pant, to drool, to cry. It’s unlikely in the extreme, all of it, but a girl can dream. And if she never has him again, if they never do this again, she knows this will be what she dreams of.
Just thinking of it has her slamming down harder; that he would wail or want to, that this may be the only time, that this is what she’ll have to live on from now on. Suddenly she has to know.
“Do you like it?”
Itachi’s chest hitches, his throat moves on a swallow, and he opens his mouth to answer. “Ha - yes.”
“Say thank you.”
All his breath seems to leave him. “Thank you.”
Her mouth curves on a small, heartfelt smile. “You’re welcome.” Then she rams down as hard on him as could be considered pleasant. Bracing a hand on his torso for stability, she goes for it.
Their bodies move together in those moments where he can’t quite keep still, the instinct to thrust clearly strong. One hand migrates from the duvet to her hip, holding rather than grabbing or pushing. She allows it because it’s nice, warm, one tiny way of being that bit closer. Sakura is struck by the sudden desire to crawl inside his body and never leave. “I want to crawl inside you and never leave,” she says bluntly, not even out of breath with the exertion.
His eyes shut again and he almost looks like he’s in pain, turning his head to the side. She slows her movements a bit and palms his jaw, tilting him back towards her. “You okay?”
“Yes, thank you. Sakura - “
She’s never heard him say her name before, and the sound of it in that soft tenor, the context of it all, has her moving faster, faster, keeping him deep inside. “Yes?”
“You . . . “ It’s a funny thing, to see one of the most powerful nin she’s ever met, if not the most powerful, practically winded when she’s up here doing all the work. Sakura raises an eyebrow. “. . . are a beautiful woman.”
Something inside her melts a little at that. It should by all rights be cheesy or embarrassing. It isn’t. She aborts another reach for his face, the act of doing it as instinctive as not letting herself.
But he reaches out himself and plants her hand on his cheek for her, cups it close over the chrysanthemum tattoo that binds them together. The one she had so agonized over, the one that haunted her for seven years. The one flexing under her hand, soft and flesh instead of the glossy cool pages of the Bingo Book. He’s here.
Under her, under her power, under her spell. In her bed. He’s real. She never really let herself believe that before.
The monster under her bed now writhing on top of it.
Sakura smiles to herself a little at the thought and moves faster, shoves herself down harder. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” he says, the word ever so slightly drawn out in pleasure. It’s subtle but god is it giving her a rush.
“Show me.”
Her hips begin to slow and she encourages his to move with hot hands. Just like that, he’s snapping his hips up, hard hard hard. This time it’s her eyes rolling back in her head.
“Haaah, good, keep going,” she encourages him. Itachi’s hands grip her tight as he thrusts, all that coiled strength brought devastatingly to bear.
With him doing more of the work, she’s free to paint her hands all over him, stroking over the silken soft skin of his pelvis, his unresponsive nipples, his corded arms. It’s all so dear somehow. She’s never quite felt this way before, like she just fits into him the way he does her. It’s unreal.
“You want me to love you, don’t you?” she accuses him softly, bodies moving so fast. “Want me all the time. Want me to come home to you.” Itachi’s moving harder, shallower, something shy of desperate but deep in abandon. He doesn’t answer. “You do.” Out of all the exertions of the night, this is the first moment that has her absolutely breathless. “I can tell you do. Come for me, and we’ll see about that. Come for me. Come!” It ends on a shouted command, and like a marionette with its string pulled, he jerks, spilling deep inside, warm, flesh, blood, alive, so alive.
So responsive to instruction, so human panting lightly beneath her. His eyes seem large in his face, his jaw a little slack, his body coated in a tentative sheen of sweat from self restraint. Hair bound, she can’t wait to see it loose, see him wet from the shower, see him relaxed on the couch, see him dressed up, dressed down, silent, sober, happy, sad. See him every day. See him as a whole, a half.
“You came first,” Sakura says from above him, still mounted, instead of saying any of that. “What are you going to do to make it up to me?”
And as he lifts her off, ties up the condom to toss in the bin clear across the room without looking, as he lays her down and crawls in between her legs, all she can think is —
This one. This one’s mine.