Archive of Our Own ^beta

Most of Suna’s lifelong residents would have attested that it’d been a wonderful day. The winds were mild, and the sky had been a peerless shade of blue with sparse, puffy white clouds that leapt over the village like frolicking sheep. Now that the sun was on the decline, the pleasant temperature they’d enjoyed was quickly dissipating, leaving the streets to cool. To the relief of most, war and times of crisis were for the time being, a far-off worry without distinct shape.

Financially and politically, Suna’s fortunes were so improved that they finally had the monetary surplus to afford a much-needed overhaul for their flagging health system. It’d taken a few years of negotiations and much back and forth, but the efforts of their prior administration had finally borne fruit. For nearly a year, Konoha had loaned out one of their foremost medics to revitalize their ally’s hospital protocol, conduct advanced training, and generate interest among academy students.

On the surface, the exchange was merely about Suna’s enrichment, another cord connecting them to their confederate village with more ties to come if all things went to design.

Such as it was, it was nearly the best of times.

…Except for the way their former Kazekage was stalking the streets. That year, it’d become an increasingly rare sight and the sudden resurgence sent alarm bells off in all who saw it.

Frustration simmered beneath his blank expression. The dark intimation rolled off him so strongly that villagers hurriedly crossed the street well before his approach. ‘Haven’t I done enough for this termite mound of a village?’ Certainly, far more than Sasori envisioned a decade ago. ‘Yet no matter what I give, they scratch and peck like chickens looking for more.’ If they only knew how lucky they were, they’d have erected a shrine in the village hub for their pink-haired savior.

‘They threw such a fit when I stepped down; there’s no way they’re under the delusion I’m still the Kazekage,’ Though their behavior had Sasori wondering if collective senility had set in. ’They’re certainly old enough.’ The council could dress their appeals in all the niceties they liked, but Sasori saw their so-called patriotic efforts for what they were: desperate, thinly veiled attempts to tighten their grip. Their sense of control waned every year, first tramped beneath his feet only to be continually crushed by the pair that followed him. 

All our success is due to you. Is it wise to have someone…unseasoned in office? Gaara may be stable now, but one never knows what lies ahead on life’s twisting path. A Kazekage should serve until infirmity, as in the case of the 3rd, or to the death as all the others have—it is only proper. Think of all you could do in office, anything you want…within reason, of course, whatever marriage partner you desire—although we have just a few criteria for your consideration…

Their lines were rote, intentions transparent. Perhaps Gaara, in his calmer state, found comfort in acquiescing to their whims, but that had never been a path Sasori could walk. ‘The hubris in thinking they could manipulate me.’ Sasori may have shed the ceremonial robes and title, but oh, their strings were still his. Given how stupid most of them were, it nearly astounded him that they’d lived as long as they had. ‘No matter what I wish, death is indiscriminate. It takes the imbeciles and the adept alike.’ If he had his way in that moment, there would be a lot more dead people.

Of course, he had his spies and the little bugs he’d planted here and there, but grating as it was, the best way to prevent their plotting from ruining his was to be in the room where it happened. By the time he’d escaped their incessant droning, the damage had been done, and he’d missed picking Sakura up after her hospital shift. ‘And now she’s…’ Missing wasn’t the word, nor was it misplaced. ‘Stolen by thieves who call themselves her friends.’ In his ever-expanding mental ledger, Sasori marked down the interference of each party for future retribution.

‘Intrusive vermin.’ Was what Sasori called them. They’d arrived an entire day earlier than expected and absconded with her. ‘If not for that banal meeting, I could have controlled the environment.’ Now he’d lost the territorial advantage. Someone would pay the price for his troubles in the future. The council, the interlopers, Deidara—whenever he next showed his face. For now, it was the random kid skipping on the opposite side of the street who fell flat on their face at the mere twitch of his pinky. ‘Who cares if Gaara marries? No one will want him. He’s about as interesting as that roadside rock.’ The rock he referred to was smooth and an unassuming, boring shade of beige. Most importantly, the only nuptials Sasori cared about were his own.

Figuring out where Sakura had gone off to wasn’t a complicated matter for him. ‘Sakura is the type who finds places she likes and frequents them.’ She could be adventurous if the opportunity presented itself, but preferred her staples and none of her favorites were secret to him. ‘My house, the archives and bookstore, the hospital…that stupid cat cafe.’ If she wanted to pet something, he wasn’t sure why it had to be felines. He was free and available.

There was also the bath-house with its cold swimming pool and jewel-toned mosaics. ‘The old witch’s and any of the greenhouses.’ She also enjoyed the view of the desert from a rock that stuck straight out of the endlessly shifting dunes like a solitary tower. ‘But she’s not at any of those places.’ In the wake of daylight’s death, the red glow of the lanterns in the narrow side alley he’d turned down burned like embers hung in suspension. Sasori knew the hole in the wall he was standing in front of. ‘I’m the one who brought her here.’ While he preferred to dine at home it was one of the few venues he tolerated.

“Alright, it’s my turn!”

Sakura’s eager voice was like bait, he bit and went reeling after it through the halves of the noren’s illustration of a split-open pomegranate. The space was larger than the noodle shack in Konoha but small enough to service only a few tables and the people sitting at the counter. The open, unobstructed view of the bar and kitchen played a large part in Sasori’s tolerance for the fare.

“Akasuna-sama!” The hostess went still and bowed her head as he passed. ‘It just doesn’t feel right to call him by name.’ Not too long ago he’d been Kazekage, but far before that, most people had opted to refer to him by his moniker. “I’ll have the kitchen prepare the—” He breezed by her without acknowledgement. ‘What am I, a ghost?’ She nearly pouted.

The quarry he’d been seeking peaked her head out from behind a column. “Oh, Sasori! Look who showed up!” Sakura greeted and gestured towards her companions, ignoring the shushing of the woman across from her. “Did you get my note?” On the chance that he'd come looking for her, she’d left one behind at the nurse’s station. “Ino insisted we go straight out to dinner. Otherwise, I would have popped home to let you know.”

From the first time and even now, whenever he heard her refer to his house as home, warm rays of pride radiated through Sasori’s chest. Sakura’s face was pleasantly flushed, her jade eyes heavy-lidded as she stared up at him. The culprits: empty sake cups and cocktail glasses  scattered across the table. “I did. What a coincidence that we’ve chosen the same venue.” The note had been vague enough to chalk his arrival up to chance.

“A very unfortunate coincidence,” Ino mumbled, sipping her citrusy, herbal cocktail. “Why don’t you go sit at the bar like all the other lonely old men?” She didn’t care how pretty he was. ‘I’m a very empathetic person, but that’s one head I absolutely don’t want to peer into.’ His aura was intense and whenever he was around, he hovered over Sakura like a scavenger waiting to feast on the recently deceased. A shudder worked its way down her back. “Cold.” She complained, pressing closer to her lover. A chill was beginning to sweep through the streets of Suna. ‘February here is cooler than I expected.’

Sasori observed her with the dispassion of a researcher watching bacteria multiply without purpose. ‘And here I am, unable to incinerate her.’ A bout of fire would surely have fixed her complaints. “One would think you’d be better insulated.” He left the comment there to hang.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Ino’s cup gave a sharp clack as she sat it down with force. ‘Was he calling me fat or unprepared?’ Either way, she hated him.

Looking at the bar, Sai saw that every seat was filled. “On the subject of fate...” The elbow jabbing into his side confused him. “Would you care to join us?” He flinched as the strikes intensified, twisting in. “Do you want my jacket?” He asked, hoping the answer was no. ‘I’d have to find a way to move it without her noticing and she’s rather sharp.’ he knocked back another cup of sake to chase away the cold.

“Ugh. No, it’s fine,” Ino grumbled. ‘He’s been so weird the last few days.’ Since they left Konoha he’d been fidgety, a tad absent minded as if his thoughts were miles away. ‘He said he was fine and I’m sure he’ll tell me what’s bothering him soon.’ Unless it was work-related, Sai never had trouble speaking his mind. ’Now, if only Sakura were that simple.’ The older they got, the less candid she seemed to become.

Not that it was a monumental compliment, but of Sakura’s cadre, Sasori found Sai to be the least annoying. ‘One of the more competent individuals.’ The man’s penchant for odd, intrusive remarks aside, He knew when to be silent and his art was preferable to Deidara’s eye blistering vision. Peering beneath his lashes toward the creature he coveted, in silence, Sasori implored her to speak.

“Great idea!” Sakura scooted further into the heavily cushioned nook they were seated at and patted the space next to her. ‘He must have been busy today.’ He’d been strangely absent for someone who could be found loitering in the lobby or traversing the same path she usually took home.

Settling in beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her thigh, Sasori allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. ‘This is where I belong.’ The only seat he’d ever truly wanted. The booths were high and deep, full of plush, embroidered cushions. A thick maroon tablecloth cascaded over their laps to ward off the chill.

“Since you’re sitting, you’re drinking.” Ino ensured the ochoko was so full the liquid spilled over the rim and pooled into the wooden masu beneath it. Sakura’s general evasiveness about him was downright suspicious—and Ino didn’t do well with mysteries. ‘I am going to figure out what’s up, one way or another.’ Secrets were her bread and butter.

Sasori stared at the offering for a long, unblinking moment.

“Don’t worry,” Sakura giggled next to him. “I would never let her poison you.” She edged the cup towards him with a green painted nail. “That honor can only be mine.” She teased, barely above a whisper. Sasori’s lips canted and the subtle shift in curvature made Sakura feel pleasant and floaty in ways alcohol never did. ‘Be careful.’ She warned herself.

‘Haven’t I already been poisoned?’ Or perhaps she was merely the cure to the malaise that’d afflicted him for as long as he cared to recall. Either way, Sasori drank from the cup willingly. Subtle and sweet, the heat of it slid down his throat easily.

“Now,” Sakura clapped her hands together. “My. Turn.” She pointed her steepled fingers in Ino’s direction.

“I don’t see the allure. It’s only a piece of paper.” The ink artist said. Unlike his writings and drawings, he doubted their fortunes would come to life. ‘It would be the worst timing for me to break a bone.’ The little box in his pocket threatened to brand him. He was already nervous, if his months of planning were ruined because of a piece of paper, he might never touch one again. ‘That would be bad considering my occupation.’ The medium had always been his way of working through his ever-evolving relationship with feelings, and he feared a backslide if he gave it up altogether.

Ino reached towards the middle of the table and plucked up the novelty she’d folded into shape from a piece of Sai’s sketch paper. Her fingers slipped into their holds with practiced ease. “Color?”

“Wait!” Sakura shuffled, pulling a knee beneath her as she leaned across the table. Tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, she pressed her lips to the apex of the folded points.

Envious, Sasori stared down the childhood plaything. ‘It’s an object.’ Cold and unfeeling, it had no need of kisses. ‘Once, I aspired to be the same.’ He still despised many of the indignities that came with fleshy bodies, but the press of soft, plump lips was not among them.

Sitting properly, Sakura shrugged at the questioning glances. “For good luck and red.” Red, like his hair, her primary favorite color.

Ino’s fingers moved in and out, opening and shutting the folds as she counted the numbers in the word. “Number?” she asked, offering a peek at the available choices: 3, 4, 7, and 8.

“Seven.” It was Sakura’s lucky number.

Ino lifted the flap after carefully counting. “Oof,” she sighed dramatically. “Your love is doomed.” Frankly, she wished Sakura would move on like she had. “Tragic. Well, it’s not as if you can even find the guy—I don’t remember the last time I saw Sasuke…Still hot?” She pondered, finger against her cheek.

“What?!” Sakura snatched the paper. “Stupid thing.” She scowled and grumbled upon seeing the prediction for herself. “I bet you wrote bad things under every segment. Sai’s said he would break a leg!” There was no point in refuting anyone’s opinions on her and Sasuke. ‘No matter what I do, everyone seems sure I’m still in love with him.’ The friendly courtesies Sakura bestowed upon him on the rare occasions they met were misconstrued by everyone, including Sasuke as unending lovesickness. ‘I get the odd feeling some people think it would be wrong of me to move on.’ And while she liked him, it was no longer in the same way most assumed.

Sakura would never forget the bolt of bewilderment on Naruto’s face the day she tried to take that first shaky step forward. ‘I was clumsy and conflicted. I didn’t explain myself very well…’ It’d hurt, and while she knew the fault lay with her, whatever aspirations she had for the two of them died the moment he called her a liar. His rejection hadn’t been cruel, but it had been cutting: a declaration that she couldn’t possibly mean what she was saying. ‘He’d never looked at me that way before.’ Angry, in disbelief as if she’d done something wrong by trying to leave Sasuke behind.

From that moment Sakura had known that whether present or absent, Sasuke would always stand as an impassable wall between her and Naruto. ‘Hinata will have better luck…’ She was exempt from the deadlock of Toads, Slugs and Snakes. ‘Considering the two will be married in a few months, I certainly hope that's the case.’ Even if he was a knucklehead, Naruto deserved all the happiness in the world.

“What a silly question; of course he is!” Tasting of sweet, tart pomegranates, the liquor went down easily. ‘Comments like that make it hard for people to think I could move on.’ She knew that too but the facts were what they were, and Uchiha Sasuke had been blessed. Unbidden, Sakura’s gaze drifted to Sasori.

‘Sure, Sasuke is handsome, dark-haired, tall, and built with muscle…’ Sakura thought he had a sort of moonlit beauty to him whereas Sasori was the embodiment of extremes. ‘Fire in his hair, skin as smooth as porcelain…’ He was cold and searing all at once. Lithe, but deceptively powerful. There was an unnatural perfection to him, as though he had sculpted himself, refining every detail into submission. ‘He’s no less prestigious either.’ From his blood to his accolades, he lacked for nothing.

Privileged enough to see his work and research, Sakura could say with confidence that they far outstripped anything Sasuke had ever accomplished. Where Sasuke was a prodigy, Sasori was a master in a state of constant transformation. ‘Maybe I’m biased.’ After all, Sasuke barely spoke to her and when he did, she worked hard to drive the conversation. ‘I’ve never had that problem with Sasori.’ 

Their conversations came easily and spanned all manner of topics, each exchange between them a meeting of sharp minds. ‘I knew a little about art because of Sai, but I never really considered all its different mediums before I really got to know Sasori.’ Most of what she consumed had been the written word, but she’d come to find that anything could be art—but not everything was. ‘You know it when you see it and some examples are better than others.’ Her views on the subject remained far less strident than Sasori’s, but Sakura often found herself captivated by his vigor.

Sneering behind his cup, Sasori downed the last of the liquid. ‘Another blow to her childhood fantasies.’ Yet he could hardly appreciate the turn of topic. ‘Nor am I the only one.’ Across from him, the placid-faced painter’s eyebrows had drawn tighter together. ‘It may very well be that artisans everywhere hate Uchiha Sasuke.’ For all their disagreements, one thing Sasori and Deidara had an accord on was their disdain for the man. 

Commiserating in their silent disdain, Sai poured another measure of sake out for Sasori and then topped off his own.  “…maybe I have cause to be concerned after all.” Sai amended his earlier beliefs. ‘If the paper is right about that, maybe it’s right about the rest too.’ It was far too late to change their vacation plans— his plan. ‘And Ino is looking forward to seeing that botanical collection further west.’ He would simply have to be extra wary of his legs.

Ino smiled only mischievously. “Well, there’s only one person left to test that theory.” Her blue eyes were pupilless, yet Sasori felt their pinpoints pricking him all the same.

“Color?” Fortune teller now at her command, Sakura offered it up for Sasori’s inspection. Following her example, he bent his head, lips to the seam, eyes copper bright beneath the fairy lights weaved through the beams above their heads. ‘Doomed love, ‘ she recalled, heart squeezed like the overtaxed stress ball sitting on her work desk.

“Green.” Like her eyes and painted fingers. The characters were counted out and the numbers for his choosing were revealed.

“Three.” It was the number of his favorite collection pieces. ‘And the month of her birth.’ He leaned so near, his hair mingled with hers.

Across from them, Ino scowled. ‘Have I missed something?’ In Sakura’s letters, the relationship with her house host was described as friendly. ‘But she’s friendly with Lee. Whatever the fuck this is, its different.’ She didn’t want to give a name to the doe-eyed look for fear of giving the thought legs.

Flipping open the flap, Sakura read the fortune aloud. “In time, you will have your heart’s desire.” A perfectly obscure declaration, as they often were.

“Naturally.” After all, he had no intention of leaving things up to chance. ‘It only confirms what I already knew.’ His lips curved, reminiscent of a very pleased cat.

“Boo!” That was one of the only two good things Ino had written. ‘The least deserving person got the best prediction.’ She gulped down her drink. ‘That’s life for you.’

Echoing Ino’s thoughts, Sakura grumbled a quiet, “It’s really not fair,” and tossed the paper toy aside. ‘I should wish the best for him. I mean, I do really…’ She just wished her fortune could be tied up in his. ‘Put that from mind.’ And she would have tried to do that, except the hand edging its way up her thigh, inching beneath the hem of her skirt wouldn’t let her leave thoughts of him or them untouched.

The heavy cloth draped over their laps rendered them invisible to prying eyes, a private world for them amid the crowd. His hand hovered just short of grazing her sex, tucked into the pocket of warmth between Sakura’s legs. Only she and Sasori knew that alcohol consumption wasn’t the reason for the darkening bloom that spread across Sakura’s cheeks, flooding down her neck and into the collar of her sweater. “C-can I get another?” She called to the bar, raising her glass.

“Are you sure?” Sasori murmured. He would have lauded her composure—it’d never been her strongest suit, but still annoyed with her mention of the last Uchiha’s looks, he only found it pesky and in need of squashing. To anyone who’d never see her flushed and wanton, they’d think she was merely tipsy. “Unlike that slug-woman, you have limits.” Touch unabated, he took it as a sign of receptivity and roved towards more overt ministrations. ‘There should be no room left in her for thoughts of other men.’ His hand splayed over her, thumb tracing deliberate circles against her pelvic bone, a steady, calculated rhythm that demanded her attention.

A quiet, drawn, “Mmhm.” Escaped Sakura as he petted her mound. “I can handle it. We’ve got to make the most of the night. They leave in the morning.” The soft wool of her fuzzy sweater was a godsend, concealing her peaking nipples. ‘Where did I buy thi—’ The press of his fingers became firmer, cutting off the thought. ‘Stay still, very, very still.’ She wasn’t going to squirm in want of him. ‘I mean, we have company! The kind I know!’ It wasn’t like being in the Sunan archives with strangers in the next row over.

Across from her, Ino giggled at something Sai said and the sound felt distant, almost unreal, compared to the heat pooling inside Sakura. Those strokes easily coaxed a needy feeling in her belly, the aftershocks of it fluttering downward. Her head tipped towards him like being tugged by an invisible thread.

“I bet she holds her liquor better than you.” And although Sakura was already looking a bit tipsy—not to mention as red as a cherry tomato, Ino still had faith that the other women could out drink all of them. ‘Mostly by cheating. Too bad I never learned those advanced skills.’ The ability to push her metabolism into overdrive would have been super useful. “Fresh round!” Ino called out, half in spite. “I hope the food comes soon. I’m starving.”

‘As am I.’ But not for anything on the menu. No, the dish Sasori yearned to taste was pink, singularly rare.

“One would think,” Sai began with a wry lilt, “You’d have learned from your master that drinking away your woes doesn’t work.” His tone was light, yet his dark eyes studied Sakura closely, searching for a hint of her mood. When she was in a good mood, drunk Sakura was lovely company, but her current temperament didn’t bode well. Her expressions were unusually guarded tonight, and Sai couldn’t discern the meaning behind her moue.

“That piece of paper is no more accurate than star signs,” Sai continued, oblivious to the subtle shift in her posture as Sasori’s thumb dragged teasingly across the joining of her pelvis and thigh. “And if those meant anything, Sasuke would have given you the time of day by now.” Speculatively, his head tilted. “Funny that lions and rams are suited for one another…supposedly.” The union wasn’t working out for Sakura no matter how long or hard she’d tried.

A calloused finger began tracing slow, deliberate semicircles on the outside of her seam, sending a shiver down Sakura’s spine. With each roundabout, wetness gathered between her slickening folds. Sakura’s lips twisted into a grimace as she battled the urge to grind herself into his touch. “Was that supposed to be comforting?” She huffed, focus split between what happened above the tabletop and below it. Her fingers coiled at his wrist, but Sakura couldn’t muster the will to drive him off.

‘Must that man be the topic of conversation whenever she meets old friends?’ Sasori could hardly be blamed for despising it, for seeking to monopolize her thoughts in any manner he could devise. His finger slid forward, pressing against the barrier of clingy, humid cotton that separated him from her warmth. Through the cloth, he nudged against the little bud of flesh, delighting in the way her muscles went taunt, then shivered like a plucked string.

At the caress of a cloth covered finger against her clit, Sakura’s core clenched in a short, involuntary spasm, achingly empty. ‘I ought to stop him.’ All she had to do was‌ drag his hand away. Hell, a warning crush would do just as well but the heavy thump of his pulse against her thumb only echod the erratic pounding of her own heart—A sign that he wasn’t as collected as he seemed.

A fresh thrill rolled through Sakura. That tiny crack in his composure made her want to sit as they were, consequences be damned. ‘If it’s only ever going to be this…I should savor what I have while I have it, right?’ The knowledge that the end of their time together was coming to a close hung over her head, heavier with each passing day.

“It wasn’t.” Sai interrupted her thoughts. His ebony eyes disappeared behind crescent-creased eyelids, smiling all the while.

Ino slapped her hand against the table. “Hey, astrology is reasonably accurate! Libra and Aries are highly compatible—Sagittarius too. Air to fan the flames.” Ino winked and cupped her hands into a heart shape. “We’re sister signs; besties.” She cooed. She perceived the brief, flitting roll of Sasori’s eyes, and it had her out for blood. “Unlike Scorpios—sneaky control freaks, the lot of them. Oppositional signs are not compatible, you see.” She raised her hands, mimicking scales. “Fire.” When one hand rose. “And water.” The other dropped. “They don’t mix.” She crossed her forearms in an X.

Sakura’s smile faltered, a split-second crack that she patched over quickly, but not quickly enough. ‘I get it, we’re misaligned.’ She didn’t need pieces of paper or star charts to tell her Sasori was a distant constellation far out of her orbit. ‘No,’ She amended as a finger dragged up the length of her labia again, tugging at a fold through the panties that separated their flesh. As each touch fed the fire in her, her teeth sunk into a nearby straw, worrying at the plastic. ‘More like a comet.’ The thought burned nearly as much as it comforted.

In the end, no matter how strong the earth’s gravitational pull might be, comets would pass through, leaving only a trace of their brilliance before moving on. ‘A tease.’ The twin fangs of fear and anticipation bit at her heart. His hands, practiced and deceptive, moved with the grace of a puppeteer’s art. Even in minute motion, his body could seem so still, his precision so slight and deliberate that their audience was oblivious to the undercurrent. Sakura hid her sharp inhale under the guise of a yawn.

So, busy scoring points in her mental fencing with Sasori, Ino missed the flinch that bolted across Sakura’s face. ‘Oh.’ But with the keen eyes of an archer, Sai saw it. ‘My aim was off…’ His smile faltered. He’d known that Sasori’s intentions weren’t even in the same dimension as platonic but he’d merely assumed like everyone else that Sakura’s interest lay elsewhere. ‘Does she not know?’ It seemed to be a common, ironic refrain throughout her love life. ‘The last time I got involved, things went badly.’ The wisest course would be to hold his tongue.

“What a rudimentary assessment,” Sasori drawled, his scoff cutting like a scalpel. “I suppose nothing is shocking about that .” The dig of Sakura’s nails into his flesh warned him in unspoken words to play nicely. ‘This is me being nice .’ After all, He could do so much worse. His finger plucked at the elastic shielding him from her skin, tugging it between her cleft and driving the cloth against her sensitive bundle.

Sakura feigning a stretch, straw clenched tight between her teeth. This time, she squirmed and shifted to further rasp herself against the taunt line. ‘I’m not a degenerate.’ Sakura told herself. ‘He’s the shameless one.’ Her thighs squeezing shut over his hand, trapping it against her cunt was merely a move to match his audacity.Tiny phantom shivers gathered in the space below her belly-button, she teetered between wanting more and wishing he’d show restraint.

Ino’s painted lips parted in outrage. “What would you know about astrology, you soulless body-hoarder? I bet your natal chart’s just a big, sucking black hole with no redeeming qualities!”

“Complicated is not synonymous with impossible .” Sasori had always hated that word. It spoke of an inadequate amount of imagination. Lack of will, too, for that matter. “Compatibility is based on a myriad of factors. Natal charts and idiomatic aberrations…” Sasori drawled his cold and clinical voice, a sharp contrast to the way he cusped at Sakura’s wet sex. ‘Needy thing.’ He thought fondly as she began to shake a leg, all to derive a fraction of more friction from him. “Anxious?” He asked, the picture of innocence.

“No, famished ,” A hint of Sakura’s teeth were bared in her grin, more snarl than anything. Her pupils were wide and glossy enough to reflect the image of himself within, ringed by a thin band of dark jade.

“Pity the main course is taking so long…” His words carried the faintest edge of impatience, though not for the meal. Sasori had spent his life dissecting the mechanics of things, shaving away the superfluous until only perfection remained. Blocks of mass were shaped to his will; the secrets of Jutsu—mundane and forbidden alike—laid bare. He’d studied the hard sciences of chemistry and genetics, bent them to his purpose and even dabbled in the more abstract laws of human behavior. Each pursuit served the same goal: to redefine that terrible line between life and death.

And yet none of it had prepared him for this.

‘Even the most elegant systems can falter in the face of love.’ His craft had failed him, his logic and mastery over the tangible world rendered useless. The feeling was maddeningly resistant to analysis, unyielding to the tools he had spent a lifetime perfecting.

Sasori’s visible fingers traced idle circles at the rim of his cup, his eyes sliding toward her. She didn’t notice—or perhaps pretended not to. The fairy lights overhead danced in her hair, gilding her in a golden warmth that merely reflected who she was. 

‘This feeling,’ he mused, was unlike the precision of a scalpel or the sharp certainty of a blade. It wasn’t something he could carve into submission or mold to his liking. For once, he was at the mercy of something untouchable. ‘But I will master it, as I have mastered everything else.’

Before her, astrology had always seemed trivial to him—a system of mysticism trying to chart order in chaos. ‘My true transformation only came from meeting her.’ Once, the only god Sasori could imagine thought like him; In numbers and might, cause and effect. Of who and what had value to be exploited and how. ‘Perhaps not.’ For whatever hand had forged him had fashioned her . Painted her in the sweetest hues of spring and breathed fire all through her. ‘Gave her a brilliant, voracious mind and virtue enough to temper it.’ Being in her orbit was enough to mollify his own worst tendencies, and he wondered if that, too, had been by someone’s design.

Wherever the responsible god dwelled, Sasori humbly acknowledged its artistry far surpassed his own. At the margin of his vision the staff were filling trays and whispering amongst themselves about their destination. His finger edged against the bare skin of a puffy lip exposed by the panties he’d pulled askew, savoring the easy, wet glide of his digit against her flesh before drawing away. It was not an end, merely an intermission—he didn’t want her to choke. “None of us are mere sums and stars.”

“Nice prose,’ Ino quipped, aggravated by the mere hint of romanticism in his comment. “Did you murk the author for it?”

“Now Ino, we’ve all killed. Some of us just have a higher body count…and keep the trophies on hand to prove it.” Sai pointed out in childlike sincerity. “At this table, I believe I come in second.” The death toll neither pleased or displeased him. It was simply a matter of business.

Perhaps from the cross-table sniping, or the mounting frustration that she was to be teased and left wanting, Sakura’s head tipped back into an aggravated groan. “Unless the two of you are going to start bare-knuckle brawling, simmer down.” She huffed from around her much-abused chew toy. 

‘She’d never ask but if bloodsport would bring her joy, I would commit myself to it, gladly .’ The dynamic between their signs was volatile—intense, but not without its possibilities. ‘Where fire and water should meet, there is steam.’ Steam could move mountains, power engines, and, yes, destroy everything in its path if uncontrolled. Without balance, one element would overpower the other.

It was the fire blazing in Sakura that had drawn him in, what had thawed away the ice to allow life to flourish in stagnant waters and he crawled out of that primordial ooze as something new. ‘But there is a fire in me too.’ Perhaps it burned with less heat than her own but just like they shared planet, their interests and desires were not so dissimilar. ‘In union, we will become more perfect beings.’ 

Sasori understood the paradox of his nature—fluid like water, yet as consuming as fire, reason and sentiment bound together. ‘Scorpio lurks at the feet of two masters,’ he thought, ‘But I, at the feet of one.’ And they had a penchant for boots and silly cat slippers. “Lest you forget, there’s more than one zodiac. Dragons and horses make mediocre partners, but tigers and horses? Why, they get on quite well.”

This time, Ino was left to concede that the point was his. ‘Why’s he gotta be right? A match in one, a dud in the other.’ She hated to find herself in that same boat. ‘Maybe the results neutralize one another…’ Maybe they didn’t matter that much at all. ‘You can’t go through life making every decision based on where the sun happens to be in the sky.’ Life might be simpler that way, but love, in all its unpredictability and splendor, had little regard for zodiac dictates.

“Both of your signs would be walking danger flags.” One or rather two clues that Sakura should be wary, instead hope—a traitorous, resilient thing—swelled in her breast. ‘That’s right. As much as he’s a scorpion, he’s a tiger too.’ He had no stripes, but the warning coloration whirled around his face in tufts of scarlet all the same. ‘If I try…’ If she dared . ‘Could I catch a tiger and keep him?’ Without his hand, the damp patch was becoming increasingly cold and uncomfortable.

Sasori’s thumb pressed to his jaw, dimpling the skin as his forefinger stroked over his lips in contemplation. “Venom and fangs have their place in the natural order of things.” Conquest and defense of territory, to lure and protect a mate. “And what spells doom for a foe is a boon to one’s partner.”

Sakura’s gaze dropped from his honeyed eyes to his lips and caught a glimpse of his tongue's subtle, sultry dart skimming the digit he’d been rolling over his lips. It was as close to licking her as he could come with their current company. The straw she’d been abusing fell out of her mouth, quiet whimper drowned out by the din of plates and bowls being shuffled around, heard only by the man pressed against her side. ‘Get a hold of yourself.’ He wasn’t even touching her anymore, but her body thrummed all the same, primed and yearning.

Sakura shifted in her seat and fixed her rucked-up clothing with all the discretion her profession had provided. ‘Hypertension, Atrial Fibrillation, Ventricular Tachycardia…There is nothing sexy about heart ailments!’ They were diseases that constricted the heart, sped it up and made it ache. Not unlike Sasori, who seemed to twist her heart in his palm, squeezing until she wasn’t sure if it would race out of exhilaration or stop entirely. ‘He could make a heart murmur sound goo—Gaah!’ Giving herself the choice between pitching her forehead against the table or trying to drown her mutinous brain cells, Sakura chose the most pleasant course of action.

“…” Sai’s finger wavered in the air as he watched the ruby-hued liquid disappear from her cup in a few, deep drawls. “That's not water.” and the alcohol in it was far stronger than sake.

The waitress, having just offloaded her burdens, raised a brow. “Would you like another?”

“Yes.” Sakura rasped. It wasn’t fair—the man was poison and temptation distilled into human form. ‘And worse, I want to drink him down despite the danger.’

“No.” Sai shook his head. “Water.” He barely avoided a swift kick to the shin. ‘The fortune is trying to come true.’ Awash with dread, he tucked his legs up into the seat.

‘Late once, and I get this circus. The foreigners, A former dictator with a predilection for poison who calls himself an artist and Miss Oblivious. Just my luck.’ The server thought, backing away from the table.

“I doubt you have many of those— Partners, I mean.” Ino used her pointed words, prodding the subject before her in the same manner, one would worm a needle under the fingernail of an unfortunate captive in the dark cells of the Torture and Interrogation Force. ‘If he’s defending their compatibility that hard, whatever he’s trying on her must be missing the mark.’ Given his reputation, the failure must have vexed him something awful.

Sasori merely leveled her with his dead-eyed stare. “As in all things, I’m particular about my connections,” He replied, as cryptic as any unidentified creature could aspire to be.

This time Ino saw it. There and gone in an instant, it was the same raw expression she’d come to associate with Sasuke and the relentless self-doubt racing through Sakura’s thoughts like rabid gremlins. ‘Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.’ Pressing the palm of her hand over her face, she barely held back the incredulous laugh bubbling inside her. ‘I know I wanted her to move on from Sasuke, but not with someone who's an arguably worse version!’ In a twist as tragic as it was comedic, her big-brained best friend was unaware that her feelings were, for once, mutual.

Ino washed the realization down with citrus, rosemary, and the astringent taste of gin. ‘What am I going to do about this?’ For now, she would do nothing but let the tidbit simmer, staring down at her steaming chawanmushi and its mishmash of ingredients.

Though the liquor and hearty meal had begun to slow the swirl in her head, Sakura had her own thoughts to untangle. The server returned with another drink, which, to Sai’s relief, she sipped at a more measured pace. Slow braised and tender, the meat was sweet and savory, but she couldn’t help but feel something was off. ‘Sasori makes a better version.’ She dissected every bite in search of the missing ingredient. ‘Cinnamon, cardamom, and dates in a tomato-based sauce, but…’ Well, she couldn’t put her finger on it.

By the time her bowl was empty, the combination of liquor and a full stomach had taken its toll. Sakura’s head rested heavily in her hand, her lashes dragged like weighty curtains. Her other hand lay idle in her lap, tracing slow, drowsy patterns into the fabric of her skirt. Unconsciously, her fingers curled over the hem, inching it higher as her knees shifted apart. ‘Huh…?’ A slow, creeping sense of déjà vu washed over her. 

Sakura could get a little handsy after a few drinks, but those explorations were exclusive to the privacy of her room but when her fingertips grazed the inside of her thigh, her eyes snapped open and the haze of sleep scattered like a flock of startled birds. Wide awake, she felt them, the faint electric pulse of phantom threads coaxing her joints and muscles into motion. Her fingers slid beneath the elastic of her panties, but the intent wasn’t hers. It was his . The spark, dulled in its idle state, fed eagerly on the shade of Sasori’s touch, want spiking through her lower belly. 

‘He wouldn’t.’ Sakura’s breath hitched, stomach in flutters. A finger, her finger, skimmed over the downy flesh, in mimicry of his earlier caress. Her eyes darted to the right. The hand playing her like an instrument was out of view, but the visible one traced undecipherable code into the tabletop. He stared back, unabashed and smoldering with seductive mischief. She wanted to bite the salacious curve of his lip, but settled for her own.

Her forefinger dipped, teasing against her clit in short, clipped circles before it pressed lower. In that in-between space, she was hot and wet and the press of herself only drew more moisture out. Her finger stilled, pressing against that last, tight gate…and then it sunk in. Sakura’s lips parted and a sharp, audible gasp escaped her. 

He did, he dared .

As the feel of her supple depths engulfed the tip of her finger, the force possessing her hand cut away and Sakura squealed, knee jerking into the bottom of the table hard enough to rattle the dishes. As if scalded by her own heat, her hand scurried to achieve decency. “Leg Cramp!” Sakura cried, face nearly as red as the blood pounding in her veins. She scrambled and awkwardly climbed over Sasori’s lap to escape the booth.

For the crime of disturbing the peace, her peace , Sakura dug the point of her elbow into his gut along the way. “I’ll pay while I walk this off—my treat!” She squeaked, proud of the limp she faked on the fly.

“What, never seen a ninja cramp up before?” Ino snapped at the patrons who’d turned to gawk. “It's obvious some of you skip leg day.” Her lip curled derisively.

Sai watched her leave, brows furrowing. ‘Something is wrong here.’ The Sakura he knew never missed an opportunity for dessert, and the restaurant had an entirely separate menu featuring them.

"Perhaps she needs more potassium in her diet," Sasori murmured, his tone verging on smug.

Avoiding the curious stares around her, from her face to her ears, Sakura’s skin burned bright red. Her pride circled the boxing ring, landing blows against the mortification of how she’d liked it—the feel of him, of her following his guidance. ‘Ooh…that man!’ She’d kill him. ‘No, no.’ Unfortunately, she liked him too much for that. ‘Maybe maim him a little…but not the face.’ Or the hands. ‘Or the hair.’ She was really struggling for something to hurt. ‘I could tell Kankuro the basement passcode…’

With Sakura safely at the far end of the restaurant, Ino rounded on her foe, her shoulders taut with barely restrained hostility. “Listen up,” she snapped, leaning over the table. “Whatever freaky designs you have on Sakura, just remember—she’s going back to Konoha in a few months. Where she belongs .”

Sasori didn’t respond immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the spot where Sakura had disappeared, as if her retreating figure still lingered in his vision. Then, with excruciating slowness, his gaze slid to Ino. His lips curved—not a smile per say, but into something sharper, colder. “Belonging is such a transient concept. Desires and allegiances shift. Temari once belonged to Suna, and now she belongs to your village.” It was only fair that Konoha should cede one of its own in return.

Ino’s mouth opened, a retort poised on the tip of her tongue, but it faltered. ‘If she realizes how he feels, she might stay here for good.’ Her fingers tightened around her drink, the glass cool against her hand. ‘Of course, I want her to be happy with someone who loves her…I just envisioned it closer to home—With someone normal. ’ Ino waved her hands in the air, dispersing with the thought. “Whatever.” She threw back the last of her drink and crossed her arms petulantly. “You should be careful or you might find yourself being trampled by horses.”

It was the last morsel of advice Ino would offer him for some time.

Emotive as a plank of wood, Sasori drank from his cup, rolling the liquid over his tongue and teeth before swallowing.

Sai’s voice broke the tense silence. “Distance doesn’t break real bonds,” he said, his tone soft yet firm. He glanced at Ino, his usually impassive face holding a trace of understanding. “The time we spend together may shrink, but the connection doesn’t fade. You’ll always be Sakura’s best friend.” His words carried the quiet weight of personal experience. It was the same with him, Naruto, and Sakura. Even as they walked separate paths, the bonds they shared still defined him.

Ino sniffled, lifting her chin as if to hide any vulnerability. “Of course I will. I know her better than anyone!” Except she’d only just realized Sakura’s change in feelings, and was left to wonder when exactly that had happened. ‘She never told me. That's the sort of thing you should tell your best friend…but then, she hasn’t told him either!’ So there. 

Sasori’s cup clinked softly against the table as he set it down. Out of all the claims and jabs Ino had volleyed at him that evening, it was that one alone that stirred something darker in his expression. His gaze cut through her like a blade, precise and unwavering. “ Knew ,” he corrected, his voice as cold and final as a snapped thread.

The scathing reply Ino had whipped up in her head never managed to make it out of her mouth. She froze, lips parted, as Sakura’s voice rang out from behind her.

In the time she’d been away, Sakura had paid and made a quick trip to the rest-room to get herself together when a horrible thought had set upon her. Her absence gave someone— Sai , an opportunity to tell embarrassing stories about her. Or for him to offend a rather high-ranking political figure. “Knew what?” She asked, eyes darting from face to face nervously.

“Nothing important,” Ino said, throwing her arms out into a stretch. “I’m bushed and we’ve got such an early start tomorrow…” She had a lot to consider, and she was sick of looking at Sasori’s face.

Sakura didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh. You…you didn’t mention the mistake I made at the onsen in Tea country, did you? And definitely not the story my parents told you about the watermelon…” Her gaze darted to Sai, who raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “I was five! And those signs were misleading!” 

“Neither,” Sai said, smoothly rising from his seat. “Though it’s interesting you’ve brought both up yourself.” It was good she’d never had the aspiration of joining special ops. 

Groaning, Sakura buried her face in her hands for a moment before peeking over the cusp of her fingers, with a glare. “You’re the worst. Why do I even—nevermind.”

“Watermelon?” Sasori asked, his tone as cool and probing as ever but his eyes settled on her, flickering with warm intrigue. It was no surprise to him that there were still secrets left for him to uncover. Sakura had lived thirteen years before he ever laid eyes on her and several more cycling in and out of his orbit in spurts of maddening brevity.

“Don’t ask! I won’t tell.” That too could be part of his punishment.

Unhurried, Sasori’s fingers trailed along the edge of the table as he rose from his seat. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a mix of amusement and challenge. “I have my ways of finding out,” he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying just enough weight to make Sakura’s resolve falter—if only for a second.

“Let’s call it a night before you hint at more embarrassing stories,” Ino interjected, her teasing tone a lifeline Sakura gladly clung to. She reached out, pinching at Sakura’s ruddy cheek. ‘So soft, so bouncy.’ Like pudding. She’d always thought Sakura was the cutest thing—like a doll come to life. It was a thought she unknowingly shared in common with Sasori.  

“Ow.” Sakura pouted at the familiar sensation of her cheek being pinched. ‘Why does everyone like to mush my face?’ she thought, resisting the urge to rub it. ‘My parents, Ino, Granny Chiyo, Sasori…’ It was a strange, somewhat disorienting affection that seemed to follow her wherever she went. 

Ino’s mischievous smile softened into something more sincere. “Some things really don’t change.” Her eyes twinkled with unspoken mischief, clearly enjoying Sakura’s discomfort.

Sasori lingered at the back as the group traveled out the door and into the brisk night air. He snagged the discarded fortune teller from the table and condensed it into a neat, compact square. From there, it disappeared into a pocket as if it’d never existed at all.

“Are you sure you guys want to stay at the hostel? Sasori has plenty of room.” Sakura asked, watching as the last of their party exited, parting the curtains with his swift hand. The offer was more a move to punish Sasori for his earlier roguery than genuine hospitality and the coy way she arched her lips at him was proof of it. If he wanted to tease her, she was happy to return the favor, and having Ino and Sai in his space for the night was a perfect way to do so.

“Please, don’t impose.” Despite the pleasantry, it was hardly a request. “I doubt they’ll find it comfortable.” In fact, Sasori would make it the most horrific night of their lives. ‘I have a whole bin of scorpions I can leave in their bed.’ He used to pull that trick on Kankuro. 

Sakura bristled at his casual rejection of her playful suggestion. “You don’t know that,” she countered, narrowing her eyes.

“I do,” he said simply, as though that settled the matter.

“I wouldn’t want to stay there anyway.” Ino wrinkled her nose. “His place is probably haunted.”

Sakura’s eyes got rather big, as previously, the thought had never crossed her mind. ‘Wait, what if my stuff being moved around wasn’t Sasori but ghosts?’ That wiped the smile right off her face.

This time, the victory was Ino’s. ‘Hah. Let's see how eager she is to stay in a haunted house.’

“I would like to see a ghost.” Sai said, his voice calm and contemplative, as though he were discussing a painting in a gallery.

“What is wrong with you? You don’t see ghosts; you run from them!” Sakura cried, pressing the palms of her hands against her cheeks. The flush from the alcohol had settled there, making them feel soft and warm under her touch. ‘Oh…’ she thought absently. They were soft. And squishy. In her slightly tipsy state, she could almost understand why everyone was so fond of pinching her cheeks. She gave them a little squish herself and then froze, realizing what she was doing.

“Forehead, are you okay?” Ino asked, arching a brow.

“Yes!”

“If I were to encounter a ghost, I would be sure to document its behavior thoroughly. Perhaps it will let me sketch it.” This was the sort of drunken Sakura Sai had hoped for. 

Sakura stared at him, slack-jawed. “Sai, ghosts don’t care about your artistic aspirations! They want revenge or closure or…or…whatever it is ghosts want.” Her hand flapped in the air as if slapping some unseen phantom.

“Poltergeists enjoy chaos. They’d probably enjoy haunting someone like you.” If Sasori were dead, Sakura would be his point of fixation. ‘Even in death I wouldn’t change.’ And someone needed to make sure she put her clothes away rather than leaving them on a chair. ‘Not to mention the books she likes to stack like precarious towers.’ 

Sakura’s cheeks puffed indignantly. “I am not chaotic! I am organized! ” It was just that her brand of order looked a little messy to everyone else.

Ino and Sai glanced at each other, a perfectly synchronized moment of shared skepticism, before scoffing in unison.

“Alright, we’re off,” Ino declared, slinging an arm over Sakura’s shoulder and pulling her into a light squeeze. “Be sure to see us off in the morning, bright and early!”

“Bright and early?” Sakura echoed, her face scrunching up as she tried to process the thought of an early morning. “Can’t it be…regular morning?” She was off tomorrow and looked forward to sleeping in. 

“Nope!” Ino chirped, giving her one last affectionate shake before stepping back. “Don’t stay up late. You’ll need your beauty sleep for those ugly send-off tears.”

“Hydrate.” Sai recommended as Ino looped her arm in his. “Good night.”

Sakura stood in place, watching them until they disappeared down the alley that would take them back to the main road and hostel. The night air was crisp, needling at her exposed arms and legs, and she gave a little shiver. Her lips parted in a conspiratorial grin. “They’re gonna get married,” she gushed, unable to hold the secret any longer. “Sai showed me the ring.” She clasped her hands together over her heart, as if the thought alone could warm her. “Expensive, too.” In their line of work, jewelry had to be specially made to withstand all the wear and tear. “He’s going to ask at the botanical garden.”

“I’ll send him my condolences if she says yes,” Sasori replied dryly, his tone cut at her excitement.

“ When and you mean congratulations .” Sakura pouted and tipped her nose in the air. Without a word, she turned sharply on her heel and began walking down a series of dimly lit alleys. There, at least, the blustering winds were tamed by the surrounding walls. The width of the path was narrow enough that with Sasori walking at her side, she could feel the warmth roll off his body and Sakura wasn’t ashamed to admit she leaned into it, she was cold. “Everyone I know is getting married.” Her pace deferred to his, trying to keep him close. “Naruto and Hinata…Shikamaru and Temari already got hitched. Now those two didn’t waste any time. Something about long-distance relationships being a drag.”

“Impatient of them.” Though he found most of the couplings to be questionable—if not borderline stupid , Sasori wouldn’t hold their rush down to the altar against them. ‘If It were up to me alone, I’d be married by now…but that nosey Yamanaka was right about one thing.’ He was a tiger chasing a horse. ‘And Horses do one of two things when spooked. They run or they kick.’ And a blow from one could kill even a tiger, so when it came to Sakura, Sasori always prowled carefully.

So carefully that Sakura didn’t realize she was being herded down the wrong side street until it was too late.

It was silly of Sakura to hope that some trace or clue about his feelings on the subject of relationships and marriage could be gleaned from his expression. ‘What am I thinking? I don’t even know what we’re doing.’ Beneath the dim light of the lanterns latticing the narrow, creeping vein they traveled, his eyes seemed like golden flames. ‘A tiger’s eyes.’ She thought. The liquor blurred her thoughts and before she realized it, the lines of a poem tumbled from her lips in a near whisper. “Tiger, Tiger, burning bright, in the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?”

For a moment, Sakura thought she'd only said the words inside her head—as she'd meant to. But like the animal she had envisioned, he stalked nearer and with nowhere to go Sakura found herself penned in against the tepid warmth of a clay brick wall. His hair tickled her forehead as he leaned closer, nose skimming the curve of her cheek.

“The rest of it,” Sasori demanded. ‘She must know what hearing the classics on her tongue does to me.’ And he’d been so patient with her at dinner.

The warm breath that the words had rode upon caressed the shell of her ear and Sakura quivered, heat crawling up the back of her neck. “In what distant deeps or skies, burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?” Her anger at his table-games were shoved aside, a thing to be dealt with later. There was no room for that feeling in the way he looked at her—not then. 

Sakura wanted so badly to be kissed. But as Sasori edged his nose against hers in deliberate avoidance, she realized what he wanted. “And what shoulder a-and what art,” she began, her voice faltering as his hand slipped beneath the hem of her sweater. His fingers, cool against her warm skin, made her breath hitch. “C-could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat…” His hand splayed to explore more of her flesh, gliding along the curve of her ribs.

“What dread hand and what dread feet?” Was it normal for a recitation to provoke a reaction in men, she wondered, or was this yet another strange example of what she’d dubbed a Sasorism? His body pressed against hers, warding off the evening’s chill. Yet, despite the intimacy, his hand traveled no further. His nose coasted along her jaw and chin, and Sakura’s head tipped back, her stomach in flutters. “Do… Do I really have to say the whole thing?” she whispered, breathless.

The press of his lips against her skin, followed by the teasing scrape of his teeth, was his answer.

“What the hammer? What the chain,” Sakura managed, her voice catching as something hard pressed against her belly, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. Her thighs clenched, rolling together at the implication. “In what furnace was thy brain?” Her hand sank into his hair, fingers threading through the fine spun mess, reveling in the warmth found there. “What the anvil? What dread g-grasp!” She gasped to feel his thumb at the underside of her breast, curving into the valley between them as he palmed at the flesh with delectable pressure. “Dare its deadly terrors clasp?” Her hand tightened in his hair, gathering a fistful of the fine strands. She tugged sharply and pulled him to attention.

With her cheek pressed to his, Sakura murmured the next verse against the corner of his lips. “When the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile at his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?” God, she thought was awfully funny. ‘He makes the meek and terrible both.’ And sometimes what he made seem terrible was anything but. At first, the press of her mouth was nothing more than a whisper, her words barely ghosting over his lips, teasing at the boundary between restraint and surrender.

The two of them were like open flames, each feeding the other's intensity until the space between them was burned away. When their lips convened, it was no cautious slide of flesh. Bold and unrelenting, a collision of want and will that left no room for restraint. Sasori’s thumb stroked against the hard point of her nipple and Sakura’s mouth parted in a muffled mewl.

Sasori took after the sound greedily, eager to consume it and her with reverence. The crest of his teeth tugged at her bottom lip, demanding she open their gate. The hand that had helped to cage her against the wall slid down as he pressed nearer—seeking to obliterate what little space was left between them. His knee slid into the space between her legs, widening her stance.  

Sakura whimpered at the taunt stretch of her skirt riding up her thighs and his tongue swept into her mouth. The heat of it sent those shuddery shocks through her tummy. She matched his pace instinctively, her tongue pressed back, tasting him and the faint traces of sake for her efforts. 

The kiss grew wetter, messier, as they both gave in to the urgency between them. Sasori tilted her head back with the firm press of his hand at the back of her neck, angling her just so to deepen the connection. His tongue curled against hers, stroking slow and deliberate one moment, then chasing and claiming the next, as though he couldn’t decide whether to savor or devour.

When Sasori broke away for a brief moment, a thin string of saliva lingered between their parted mouths, catching the light like a thread of golden ichor. It dissolved with the distance, but she was left breathless as he claimed her lips once more, a ferocity in his kiss that trembled through her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring her in the moment. Bathed in the distant glow of the lamplights, Sasori's scarlet hair shimmered like flames, licking at her fingers where they fisted at the strands. ‘Could I keep a tiger or would I find myself in its maw of teeth, chest torn open by its dreadful claws?’

In those breathless, dizzy moments between kisses—when she saw the reflection of herself smoldering in his gaze, Sakura was half convinced that trying might be worth the suffering. ‘But I’m tipsy, not stupid.’ And so, she kept her tongue tied up in his. The hand that had cradled her neck with such possessive tenderness trailed southward, dancing over her shoulder and down her chilled arm, leaving quickly fleeting heat in its wake until it grasped her hip, curving over the swell.

Sasori’s fingers dug into the firm flesh of her bottom as he pulled her pelvis flush against his hard length. The hand still palming at her breast left her midriff exposed, muscles bunched from the cold–from the anticipation of things to come. Between Sakura’s legs, his knee slid high enough to buff against her sex, a promise of friction that she chased. “Last verse, same as the first.” She panted, tilting her head for the breath to complain even as she flexed against him. “M’supposed to be mad at you.”

“Me?” Sasori made a noise that blended the boundary between a sigh and a scoff, the edge of his nose trailing what little of her throat he could reach. ‘I should have bought something with a lower cut.’ The thought lingered, though the knowledge she wore nothing beneath did wonders in dulling his annoyance.

Woven from the softest wool money could buy, he’d chosen it with her preferences and the climate in mind. It hugged her form, insulated and regulated her from one extreme temperature to the next—yet in this moment, the high collar was a barrier he could only resent. “I ought to be mad at you.” Sasori murmured in a low drawl, his thumb and forefinger rolling the pliant bead of her nipple and coaxing a shiver from her. “ We had plans.”

“Uhm! They arrived unexpectedly,” Sakura huffed against the shell of his ear. “Besides, you’re the one who was late —” He tugged at her flesh, and she turned her teeth against the crest of cartilage, savoring the tremor that rippled through his muscles. Giddy triumph blooming in her chest.

While it was true he’d been late, Sasori hated to be reminded that he'd kept her waiting. “Not by much.” Her tongue’s heated pass over the play bite drew a sigh from him, the soft exhalation another small tell that betrayed his composure. The hand kneading her backside dipped lower, hiking her skirt higher with each pass, until his fingers brushed bare skin. He paused, his hand lingering against the warmth of her skin as if savoring the revelation, a low hum of realization vibrating in his chest. “You took them off.” He looked up just in time to catch the fresh wave of red rolling across Sakura’s face, spilling over the tips of her ears and down her neck.

“Not for whatever you’re thinking!” she squeaked, barely resisting the urge to throw her hands over her face. “They were—I just—It’s not what you think!” There was nothing remotely demure in the way his lashes hooded his gaze, or the crooked curve of his lips that promised something wicked. Her breath hitched as his fingers abandoned her nipple, trailing a slow, deliberate path down the length of her torso.

“They were what?” Sasori crooned, his voice a dark purr, smooth and deliberate. He hooked a finger beneath the hem of her skirt, tugging it higher with unhurried precision until it bunched at her waist, leaving her bare beneath his scrutiny. His knee eased away for a better view. ‘The most alluring colors…’ From the delicate pink of her hair to the soft flush of her skin, the shades of pink that washed over her could drive any sane man mad with want. ‘There are women who would be just as enticed but she’s all mine.’

No matter what, Sakura wasn’t going to say they were wet so she’d stripped them off and stuffed them in a pocket. She had her pride. ‘I don’t have to say it, he knows .’ Even now, the evidence practically dripped from her. The knee she’d been grinding probably bore the proof and the way his eyes flicked up at her—mocking, knowing—only made the knot in her stomach tighten. ‘Does he have to be so smug about it?’ Or stare so long that it made her self conscious? Her hands flew to tug the skirt back to decency, only to have them stopped short.

Sasori tutted and wagged a finger at her nose. “I did warn you... I have my ways of finding things out.” His fingers skimmed over the sparse patch of curls, sliding down to brush a forefinger over the damp folds that betrayed her every thought. “Did you like the way you felt? How wet and snug you were?” She was all those things and more. The moisture that had gathered, pearling at the very apex, drenched his finger, easing the glide. His prodding digit swiped a path through her cleft, savoring the molten heat.

“S-Sa-so-ri!” There was no amount of exposure to his shameless nature that could desensitize Sakura, not when he spoke like that . Eyes wide, she pressed her sex into the heat of his palm, sputtering and gasping as if it were the first time he’d said something so lewd. The ball of his thumb nudged at her clit at a steady, languid pace. Her head fell against his shoulder, a breathy oh buried in the crook of his neck. 

Greedily, he watched the way her lips formed the syllables, how her teeth pressed against her bottom lip, adoring the way her body arched into his hand. “I think you did,” He found the tight hole hidden between her folds and, with slow insistence, prodded the pad of his finger against it. “and you should– darling girl , it's sublime .” He purred as her channel gave way to the pressure, sucking the digit into its slick, supple embrace. His cock throbbed at the way her insides clung to him but he wouldn’t lose sight of the bigger picture. ‘All good things in time.’ She tested him greatly but for worthwhile endeavors, Sasori had nothing but patience.

As Sasori well knew, idle hands were the devil’s plaything, so he wrapped his free hand in her tousled pink hair. The silken mane, warmed by her body, carried the faintest scent of heady white blossoms. “Still…” he sighed, easing her head back, his thumb brushing the delicate curve of her jaw. “I am disappointed.” His eyes flickered down to her parted lips and found them caught between a pout and protest, and with a low hum of disapproval, he captured them.

In a kiss as bold as the last, Sasori's tongue surged against hers, matching the languid, torturous rhythm of the finger stroking her insides. Each thrust, every roll of his palm left her trembling, the heat pooling low and spreading through her whole body—and then he caught her bottom lip between his, sucking at the tender flesh with a teasing pull that sent shivers coursing through her. He released her with a wet pop and just like that, his finger was gone and she found herself miserably empty.  

Outrage bubbled in her. “Sa-so-ri!” Even as he nosed her chin like a big cat, Sakura parceled and hissed out his name. He chuckled—no, that wasn’t the word she’d use. ‘Smuckling. As in smug-chuckling.’ She hated that even the sound made her quiver. Bristling, she grabbed him by the shirt, a heartbeat away from trying to strangle him with it. The empty ache he left behind throbbed, a stark reminder of how merciless he could be. “You’re unbelievable,” she hissed, her voice trembling with indignation. ‘If he thinks he's going to get away with this for a second time tonight…’

“Am I?” Sasori’s voice was low, almost purring, as he looked at her with that steady, unbothered gaze she often envied. His lips brushed sedate kisses along her jaw, whispering down the curve of her throat to the bare line of her shoulder. His fingers followed in the wake of his mouth, tracing the length of her arm and lingering with delight on the limb that could summon disastrous strength at her simplest whim. ‘In this hand alone dwells life and death.’ He let his fingertips tickle her palm as they parted, savoring the way her fingers idled in the air, hesitating in the cold absence of his touch.

‘How can one person make you feel so much all at once?’ The thought burned in Sakura’s chest as Sasori continued his slow descent down the length of her body. The cool wall behind her became her only support as the bubbling energy of her outrage was siphoned away.

Calculating and patient, every inch of Sasori’s body remained poised with predatory grace as he came to kneel before her. Cheek nuzzled against her rucked up sweater and bare stomach he gazed up at her with gilded eyes. “Sakura…” He murmured, voice low and honeyed. The vibration of his words rippled through her skin and sunk into the ethereal space that desire coalesced. 

Sasori’s lips grazed the soft curve of her abdomen, teeth catching the thin sliver of fat that hid her muscles and deceived the unwary in a tantalizing drag. Reveling in the charming way her sinew trembled beneath him. “Did you know,” he continued, his voice a velvet snare, “That the fastest way to appease a tiger is to allow yourself to be devoured by one?” His hand slid up her thigh, fingers curling firmly as he coaxed her limb wider and higher until he could drape it over his shoulder.

The crown of his head dipped lower, near enough that his hair tickled the space between her legs. Sasori thumbed aside her labia, cherishing the sight of the glistening pink confection on display. 

And like a lighthouse on some dark and distant shore, reason flickered in Sakura’s mind, its beam faint and fleeting. “W-what if so— ah !” Her words splintered into a gasp as his tongue made its first stroke against her. Broad and languid, he drew a line from her cunt up, stopping just short of grazing her clit. The worry of being caught, so vivid and urgent moments before, sank beneath the waves of that sensation, swallowed whole by the tide of his touch.

“You’re so wet,” Sasori sighed against her, his voice low and sinfully pleased. He took his time, his tongue moving in unhurried, reverent strokes over her slick folds. “So sweet—better than the sake,” he added, as if her taste was a rare delicacy, one he would savor endlessly.

The humid warmth of her thighs cradled him, and from the curve of her mons Sasori peered up at her flushed face. Her parted lips, the faint tremble of her chin—he fed on her reactions with the same fervor his mouth moved against her. “No matter the morsel,” he murmured, breath bursting warm puffs of air against her core. “I’d pick you every time.” His nose nudged her clit, teasing it with maddening gentleness as his tongue surged against her, filling that empty, quivering hole for a scant, flickering moment before sweeping upward.

Sakura’s fingers curled into the unruly waves of his scarlet hair, her breathy mewls stifled behind bitten lips. The tongue working against her was a devilish thing—hot and slick as it skirted her sensitive bundle of nerves, only to sweep against it in playful, fleeting strokes before retreating to start anew. “Sasori, please. I said the poem like you wanted—I-I let you play at the table!" She’d been so good. “And you…You shouldn’t play with your meals!” Sakura scolded, words earning her another maddeningly quick flick to her clit. “Oh!” Her hips jerked, seeking more.

“You did—such a good girl,” Sasori agreed, in a silken purr. His finger found its way back into her searing heat where the whorls of flesh molded to the shape of him, drawing him deeper. Her slick walls hugged him, squeezing, eager to hold him inside. “You feel so good wrapped around me like this.” He hummed, the sound buzzing against her. ‘She would feel better around my cock.’ And as he felt the tremors rolling through her, the way her inner walls clenched tighter, Sasori wondered if the same thought had occurred to her just then. Her nails scraped his scalp and the pressure of her thigh tightened against his shoulder.

Sakura couldn’t help the shudder that racked through her at his praise. Wordlessly, she gazed at him through the heavy fall of her lashes, hips squirming in tiny, barely restrained twitches. ‘That can’t be true, though. I can’t feel as good as he says. How could I when he never goes further than filling me with his fingers?’ Everything that he did made her feel good but…

Sasori would eat her out with all the enthusiasm of having found a perfect, succulent peach and finger her until she saw stars. He’d drive his cock between the tight, slick space between her thighs, dragging against her clit until she cried out and spill himself over her belly, but he never pressed further than that. ‘Like there’s some forbidden line he won't cross—like I’m not worthy of that.’ And it filled her with a strange sort of shame because Sakura wanted to feel all of him, to be joined as one. There are a lot of things you want, but can’t have. The self critical voice whispering in the chambers of her mind echoed at her from a safe distance. Her thoughts scattered as Sasori added a second finger, stretching her wide and deep.

A moan spilled from her lips as Sasori set his tongue against her pearl. Sakura could feel the tension mounting—the spring coiling inside her, ready to release. Her eyes watered. It was so close, just within reach. The sound of his fingers diving into her were wet, lewd squelches. 

Sasori felt her pulse beneath him, the flutter and swell of her quim, the tremor and tautness in her thigh, even the way her toes curled as she sought the precipice of her pleasure. Her fingers clawed against him, pulling him nearer as her hips jerked into the motion. She was nearly there. With his mouth, his fingers, he would push her over the edge.

Satisfaction rolled through him, knowing what he was doing to her. ‘What she allows me to do.’ No one else could coax her into an alley, could get her to part her thighs in such a place. She trusted him and that was a thought Sasori treasured. 'Most people don't, and that's the wisest choice for them.' In her eyes alone, he yearned to be the best version of himself. But even his most benevolent self loved the way her voice stuttered over his name, the way her lips parted as if gasping for the air he stole. He caught her swollen nub against his teeth and tongue, flicking and sucking at it until she was a quaking, whimpering mess. 'There is no end to the amrita that spills from her.' And so he feasted on that nectar. 

The calloused digits inside her caught against her frontal wall and in the curl of a come-hither motion against that hidden, spongy patch up towards her belly, the perfect wave Sakura had been seeking crested, breaking upon the shore of her senses. She came with a choked cry, her legs quivering. Her insides seized and convulsed around him, trying to pull what he had to offer deeper still. Sasori guided her through that release, his mouth working against her until the very end, leaving her a breathless, flushed, sticky mess.

Sakura's thundering heart began to slow as the starry haze cleared from her vision. The tension that gripped her body dropped and with a quiet, shuddering coo, she sunk into the support of the wall and smoothed her hands through his abused hair.  

Green nails scraped tantalizing paths across his scalp as Sasori eased her through the last of the aftershocks, with lingering, languid passes of his tongue, pausing only once he'd milked the final tremor from her. He stilled and admired the sight of her; from the hair of her head to the curls of pink cresting her slick, rosy folds, Sakura was a work of art—his work. He slid her thigh from his shoulder, making sure her footing was sturdy as he rose. His wet fingers caressed over her thigh and belly, leaving cooling trails in their wake.  

'She’s always looked like a dream, but especially afterward...' Her body slack, her face flushed and her skin glowing. 'A good meal, a thorough fucking,' Or as close as they could come for the time being. Sasori’s palms pressed into the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. 'It's not all I want to give her. I could give her anything.' If Sakura would ask, he'd find a way.

As Sasori leaned nearer, Sakura’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze still hazy with afterglow. Her hands slid over the sturdy plane of his shoulders, her fingertips curling into the fabric, pulling him closer. The scent of him—exotic spices and wood mixed with the scent of musk. ‘The smell of me.’ She thought, eyes shyly flickering down to his glistening lips. The heat of his arousal, hard and firm, pressed against her, and Sakura's hips rolled against him. She felt the gust of his breath along her neck whispering needy, or perhaps it was greedy, and shivered.

When their mouths met, the kiss was slow, sweet and unhurried. Sakura tasted herself, tangy and musky on his tongue, and the flavor stirred the ache inside her anew. It was a kiss to savor and Sakura did so, her eyes falling shut. Her tongue swiped at the corner of his mouth, gathering a lingering trace of herself.

Palming at the front of his pants, Sakura’s fingers sought the closures, pulling at the buttons that kept him tucked away. She needed to touch him, needed to know he could be just as undone by her as she was by him—perhaps drive him mad enough to take her. There was no cloth but his pants separating them, and Sakura gasped as his cock fell through the parting of the buttons. The head nudged against her belly, leaving a smearing of pre-cum against her navel. 

With her thumb, Sakura skimmed the underside of his cock, marveling at the heat and the weight in her hand. ‘I’ve seen a lot of penis’.’ It came with the territory of being a medic—a military doctor, but she was of the opinion—perhaps biasedly, that Sasori’s was exemplary. He had girth and the length of him toed the line of intimidating. ‘It's a big thing for someone petite.’ And she meant that about the both of them.

Her fingers circled around him, cautiously stroking his shaft. She was so eager to please him and make him feel good. ‘Like he did for me.’ The soft pad of Sakura’s thumb traced the sensitive ridge of his glans, gathering the beading fluid there and smoothing it along the flushed crown, spreading it like until it was a glistening halo. ‘It won't be enough to make the glide easy.’ Sakura dragged her tongue along her fingers until they dripped with saliva.

Sasori exhaled a shuddering breath, the low sound mingling with her sigh. His restless hands rucked her shirt up and over the swell of her breasts, exposing them to the night’s chill. His teeth scuffed over her areola, catching the point of a still turgid nipple in his mouth.

The sharpness of his teeth drew a thready whine from Sakura but the way his throbbing length jerked in her wet grasp—his hips rolling to thrust the head of his cock drove away most of the sting. ‘He can be all teeth and terror as long as he’s mine.’ His other hand had started to pluck and tug at the bud of her untouched breast. 

Sakura felt the way he twitched and swelled in the palm of her hand, and pressed an exultant giggle into the juncture of his shoulder. "Does it feel good?" she asked against the crook of his neck, lips catching at his earlobe. Fingers ambling circles in his nest of hair. ‘I can be a tease, too.’ She thought, licking at her thoroughly kissed and abused lips. “Uh…” She moaned at the way he flatted his tongue against the bud in his mouth and pressed it to the roof of his mouth in a hard suck. 

Sasori gazed at her through the shuddering fringe of his lashes and dragged a finger down the length of her sternum, counting each rib in his descent. Over her belly and down once more, he rolled the calloused pad against her still sensitive bundle before hooking a finger into her tender heat so easily; it was as if he'd never left, the ball of his thumb grinding against her mound, stimulating her clit without direct touch. He pulled from her breast until it popped from his mouth, the nipple a brilliant, ruddy color and moved to catch the other with the hot flick of his tongue.

The emerald eyes that he adored fluttered shut as Sakura gathered her lip between her teeth—muffling the exultant cries that threatened to escape her. 

‘There will come a day when she won’t have to stifle herself,’ Sasori’s thoughts were still sharp as a blade. ‘When I can sheathe myself inside her and spill my seed where it belongs.’ All through his life, Sasori had been willing to flaunt social mores and dance at the razor’s edge of legality, often strutting right across it when the need— his need was great enough. ‘But when it comes to Sakura, for once I’ll do things properly.’ Which meant she would stand at the altar mostly virginal. It was sentimental—laughably so—but Sasori wanted it no less.

Digging between her damp, puffy lips, Sasori nudged at her swollen clit with meticulous, insistent precision, eliciting a breathless cry that tangled in the heated air between them. ‘She will wear white and it will mean something.’ It wasn’t about her purity, it was about him —that of all the terrible and horrible things he had done—would continue to do, that for her alone he could defy his worst urges. ‘And how angelic she’ll look all decked in white.’ His perfect counter, his antidote. 

‘The sacred to my profane.’ Thoughts of dichotomy and balance were quiet whispers in the back of Sasori’s mind, a wisp that floated among the clouded thoughts of the moment. His hips thrust, fucking into her grip at the same pace that his finger screwed into her squishy, grasping snatch. His thumb beat an ardent rhythm against her bud that had her mouth falling open in a prolonged, trembling moan.

The heat of him in her hand and the way that he pulsed at her touch sent a pang of pride and longing through Sakura. She arched into his hand, her hips rolling against his fingers, each stroke pulling a sharper gasp from her throat. Her inner walls clenched around him, and the swollen head of his cock brushed against her stomach with every thrust, leaving a slick warmth in its wake.

Sakura’s head fell back, soft, delicious whimpers escaping as her hand fisted at his hair. She was still sensitive from her last orgasm and it wasn’t taking long to drag her up that precipice a second time. The pleasure pooling in her belly grew tighter, hotter, as he stroked inside her. The heel of his hand ground against her mound and his finger hooked, curling into the spot that had her gasping and buckling.

The hand that had been fondling her breast dipped lower, skimming down the slope of her spine, cupping and kneading her bottom, drawing her pelvis against his. He nosed her cheek, coaxing her into turning her face to his. As Sasori pressed his lips to hers, his tongue swept over the wet part of her mouth, dipping between her lips.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, tongues lashing and twisting together in a frenzied want . The pace of his hand quickened, the thrusting of his fingers and thumb becoming more demanding, uncompromising in their goal. 

Sakura came with a sharp cry, her legs quivering, the muscles of her tummy clenching and relaxing in erratic, jerking motions. Sasori followed close behind, his spend spilling over her midriff in hot what splatters, pooling and dripping down her stomach. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged and hot, and rested his forehead against her collar, his nose nuzzling at the spot where her earlobe danged.

I love you, The words were so close to spilling from her lips–they wanted to be heard but fear held them hostage . Like a vice, terror squeezed its cold, ghastly fist over Sakura’s heart and choked the words in her chest. ‘I’ve confessed to two people and only ever got grief for it.’  She used to be so brave, brash even when it came to voicing her feelings.

Sakura had happily confessed to Sasuke—repeatedly, uncaring of who heard her proclamations of love or the continuous rejections she received in return. Years later she’d quietly mustered her courage and resolve to stand in front of Naruto and admit her changing feelings beneath the snow in the Land of Iron–all before the scrutinizing eyes of her team leaders and peers only to get shot down and labeled a liar. ‘A bad woman.’ She thought, blinking back the sting in her eyes. ‘And I’ve gone so much further with Sasori than either of them.’ And yet she couldn't bring herself to say the words: I like you, I love you. 

Maybe the reason he didn’t make love to her was simply because he didn’t love her. Sakura’s eyelids fluttered shut, but not before a single tear escaped, hot and searing as it trailed down her cheek. It fell against Sasori’s skin, catching on his own.

“Was it that good?” Sasori asked, his voice a low, husky drawl. His finger brushed the tear from his cheek, tracing it over the proud curve of his lips as if to savor its taste. If he had known the truth—that it was born of pain and fear—he might not have venerated it so.

A trembling laugh broke from Sakura’s chest, rattling through the bosom that cradled him. “Yes,” she whispered, the word fragile but convincing enough. “It was very good.” It really had been. Sakura let out a slow breath, her fingers slipping through the tangled waves of his scarlet hair. ‘Words aren’t the only way.’ She didn’t have to tell him. To save herself the sting of rejection, the awkwardness of having to loiter around after her failure, she would hold off until it was time to return to Konoha. ‘And if he doesn’t want me, I get to go home and pretend none of this ever happened.’ That was the luxury of distance.

Sasori lifted his head, his gaze lingering on her, the sight of her imprinted in his mind—a vision worthy of being etched into the finest parchment he owned. As if performing some sacred ritual, he began to fix her clothes—first smoothing her sweater over her breasts. His eyes lingered on the sticky mess he’d left against her belly, heat—satisfaction flashing through them for the briefest moment before the fabric fell into place, concealing it. In his customary, methodical nature he adjusted her skirt, pulling the figure-hugging fabric back into place over her thighs, and then turned his attention to himself, beginning to tuck away his own evidence of their intimacy.

“Sasori…” Sakura’s voice cut through the quiet, carrying a weight he couldn’t ignore. He paused mid-motion, his hands stilled at a button, gaze flickering up to meet hers.

His expression remained composed, though the intensity in his amber eyes betrayed his curiosity. “Yes?” he asked, the single word a soft murmur, deliberate and open-ended, inviting her to speak further without pressing her.

“I...” Sakura eyes darted this way and that–anywhere but him as she trailed off, licking at her swollen lips. “Do you… are there ghosts at your house?” She finished at last, staring at him with big, dewy eyes. Her bottom lip wibbled just a little.

The question caught him off guard for the span of a blink, then a flicker of amusement danced through Sasori’s sepia-toned eyes. “Ghosts?” he echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching as if holding back a smile. Of all the things she could say after what they’d just shared, it would be that. “Silly girl.” In some ways, she would always be the girl he first saw demanding identification papers and yowling like an indignant kitten at a squad of unruly brats.

A quiet chuckle escaped him, low and velvety, as he straightened up and took a deliberate step closer, closing the small space between them. Humming a thoughtful series of notes, his hand rose to brush a stray lock of pink hair from her face. His fingers lingered, their touch warm against her cheek. “If there are,” Sasori murmured, his voice dipping softer, “I’ll keep them at bay for as long as you stay close to me.” And just as he would chase away her phantoms, she would keep his demons far from mind.

Sasori’s lips curved into a subtle smirk, the faintest shadow of quiet satisfaction. His gaze held hers, steady and sure. “That’s fair, isn’t it?” And as collateral, he'd be keeping the underwear he'd managed to pilfer from her pocket.

Basking in her warmth, Sasori couldn't feel the cold wind blowing over them.