Categories > Anime/Manga > Naruto
Garden Inside
4 reviewsIntimate moments in Sakura's garden. Oneshot futurefic, set at an indeterminate point in time. SasuSaku.
3Hot
Sakura keeps the garden for herself. It is one of the few things she does for herself anymore. It is pink and red and white, with the green of leaves underlying it all.
Somehow, he sees that, though he is so self-absorbed so much of the time, even now (but he's getting better, he really is). Somehow, he knows that the garden is for her and her alone, even though she lets him into it gladly and without question.
He is kinder when he comes to the garden, and she finds even his roughness sweet and thrilling. "Sasuke-kun," she says, her breath catching, when he takes her hand. He strokes her hair then, perhaps raking his fingers a little too hard over her head, but when she cries out, it is not in pain.
She grabs him, her arm around his waist and resting on the small of his back, when he patiently pulls her clothes from her body. If he rips them at all, she will just patch them later, and she will enjoy even that. She moans soundlessly into the crook of his neck, his skin so warm against her lips, when he strokes the curve of her breasts, and then she arches back when he kisses them.
When he sets his hands on her bare shoulders and pushes her down into the flowers and the the dark earth, she wants to cry out but she's too breathless to make a sound. She can barely watch as he undresses above her, his expression intent as he seeks to apply all his bright talent to this trickiest of problems. She wants to tell him that it is not a problem and not a battlefield but something entirely different, but she is struck mute by the perfection of his skin, the scars littering his body like a secret language she cannot make out, the artfulness of his hands as they gather her up.
He does not know how to be gentle, but he tries at first. If she could speak, if her pulse was not hammering so loudly in her throat that no words could slip past it, she would tell him that it doesn't matter. He could tear her to pieces and she would love him for it, because it would be him doing it.
Not knowing this, he tries to be gentle when he strokes the insides of her thighs and pushes her legs apart to reveal a triangle of red flowers framed by them on the damp soil. He tries not to hurt her when he pushes his way inside her, one hand on her breast and the other bracing himself on the flower-strewn ground. She finally finds her ability to make a sound then, pain mixing with ecstasy when she cries out.
The sound frightens him, and he kisses her bruisingly hard to make it stop. She presses herself against him as if she could force herself under his skin. Her boldness surprises him, but mostly it excites him, and he responds by adding tongue and teeth to his kiss.
The flowers smell sweet all around them, and the scent of fresh earth mixes very well with that of sex.
When he leaves her lying there afterwards, he does it with a kiss.
Sakura does not move for several minutes. She can smell blood mixed with the flowers and earth and sex now, but she doesn't care.
Finally, she gets back up and pulls on the most basic of her clothes. Then she begins checking her garden, strewn with crushed flowers, determining how much of it can be saved.
Somehow, he sees that, though he is so self-absorbed so much of the time, even now (but he's getting better, he really is). Somehow, he knows that the garden is for her and her alone, even though she lets him into it gladly and without question.
He is kinder when he comes to the garden, and she finds even his roughness sweet and thrilling. "Sasuke-kun," she says, her breath catching, when he takes her hand. He strokes her hair then, perhaps raking his fingers a little too hard over her head, but when she cries out, it is not in pain.
She grabs him, her arm around his waist and resting on the small of his back, when he patiently pulls her clothes from her body. If he rips them at all, she will just patch them later, and she will enjoy even that. She moans soundlessly into the crook of his neck, his skin so warm against her lips, when he strokes the curve of her breasts, and then she arches back when he kisses them.
When he sets his hands on her bare shoulders and pushes her down into the flowers and the the dark earth, she wants to cry out but she's too breathless to make a sound. She can barely watch as he undresses above her, his expression intent as he seeks to apply all his bright talent to this trickiest of problems. She wants to tell him that it is not a problem and not a battlefield but something entirely different, but she is struck mute by the perfection of his skin, the scars littering his body like a secret language she cannot make out, the artfulness of his hands as they gather her up.
He does not know how to be gentle, but he tries at first. If she could speak, if her pulse was not hammering so loudly in her throat that no words could slip past it, she would tell him that it doesn't matter. He could tear her to pieces and she would love him for it, because it would be him doing it.
Not knowing this, he tries to be gentle when he strokes the insides of her thighs and pushes her legs apart to reveal a triangle of red flowers framed by them on the damp soil. He tries not to hurt her when he pushes his way inside her, one hand on her breast and the other bracing himself on the flower-strewn ground. She finally finds her ability to make a sound then, pain mixing with ecstasy when she cries out.
The sound frightens him, and he kisses her bruisingly hard to make it stop. She presses herself against him as if she could force herself under his skin. Her boldness surprises him, but mostly it excites him, and he responds by adding tongue and teeth to his kiss.
The flowers smell sweet all around them, and the scent of fresh earth mixes very well with that of sex.
When he leaves her lying there afterwards, he does it with a kiss.
Sakura does not move for several minutes. She can smell blood mixed with the flowers and earth and sex now, but she doesn't care.
Finally, she gets back up and pulls on the most basic of her clothes. Then she begins checking her garden, strewn with crushed flowers, determining how much of it can be saved.
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