Disclaimer: This story utilises characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelisations, comics or short stories is intended by KuriQuinn in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All plot and Original Characters except for those introduced in the canon books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn. (© KuriQuinn 2016-)

Warning: Spoilers for pretty much everything up to Chapter 699. NSWF elements.

Canon-Compliance: As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during the Blank Period.

Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before An Inch of Gold and Unplanned.

Beta-Reader: Sakura's Unicorn

_____

Life on the road is not what either of them expected.

Outside of the war, Sakura hasn't explored the world very widely, while Sasuke has only ever seen it as a lone wanderer. Their mission, the one which sent them from Konoha in the first place, was urgent enough that neither really had time to take in the sights.

But now, months and a fully matured relationship later, they are experiencing the world together. Like most things about their new life—along with words like relationship and together, it takes some getting used to. Sasuke and Sakura both have their own routines; travelling together means learning to share those—and adapt to others.

Sasuke discovered very early on that the weak, swooning girl he left in Konoha all those years ago is barely a memory, reappearing with less frequency the longer they are together. Still, once they're married, there are days when he forgets that the vows he took to protect her are exclusive to situations she can't get herself out of on her own. On one such day, he suggests taking the longer route to their next destination.

"We can avoid the forest road. Mercenaries and bandits have made that their home these days."

She gives him an unimpressed look. It's the same one he recalls giving Naruto when they were children, and the blond boy was being particularly obtuse.

"Will taking the longer route mean we arrive in the village after dark and have to beg to sleep in someone's house where they might not even have indoor plumbing?" Sakura asks sweetly.

"Perhaps."

"Then we're cutting through the forest. I'm bathing tonight, mister, and so are!" She adjusts her humongous backpack and smirks. "What is it? Are you worried you'll break a nail?"

Sasuke watches her retreating back for a few seconds, before jogging to catch up.

The forest does turn out to be filled with bandits, but Sasuke doesn't even get the chance to deal with them. Judging by the smirk Sakura shoots him afterward, that was intentional. That smirk may or may not be the reason that they arrive at the village long after dark...and for the mouth-shaped marks on her shoulder and scratches down his back.

Another, pleasantly surprising they are still getting used to, along with other quirks that are either new or forgotten.

Like how Sakura is always cold—which means she's always stealing the blankets, whether they're on the road or at an inn. Sasuke might not mind cool temperatures when he's awake, but there's no feeling more irritating in the morning than the empty, grasping cold, and the realisation his wife has turned herself into an overlarge pupa with his stolen covers.

"It's not my fault that you practically have fire in your blood!" she always whines later over breakfast, usually while wearing three of his sweaters and hovering over a hot thermos of coffee.

Cold-related complaining aside, Sakura is unerringly chipper at the start of the day. Sasuke's body might be used to waking at a certain early hour, but he doesn't like it—never has. It's a fact they both forgot in their years of separation. After the first few unpleasant mornings of stilted conversation and growled responses, an unspoken rule emerges that Sakura does not speak to him until the sun reaches a certain point in the sky. Conversely, he learns what a terrible idea it is to ask her questions in the evenings while she's preparing healing balms or absorbed in the delicate process of mixing antidotes.

Travelling alone, Sasuke never needed to vocalise his thoughts about destinations and plans. Several times, this automatic tendency has led to a pointed silence or an furious glare because he expected her to intuit his thoughts. He, in turn, becomes annoyed by questions he considers to be obvious.

Unlike when they were children, however, the irritation doesn't fester.

He likes to think that he's a little better these days at talking about problems as they arise, and his wife is better at recognising when space is needed. There have been a few tense discussions, but never true arguments, and it all seems to be working. Initially, Sakura was, in many ways, somewhat of an enigma to him. But the more he's with her, the more Sasuke learns, and he suspects that maybe one day, he might even figure her out.

Until he is suddenly offered a glimpse of his wife that he never truly considered before.

Sasuke is in the process of emptying the dirty laundry from their packs; it's his turn to wash it in the nearby river while she collects firewood.

Since their first night on the road, they've had a tacit agreement that every chore is shared and swapped equally, be it latrine digging or darning socks. It's a definite change from when they went away on missions as children. Back then, Sasuke, Naruto, and even Kakashi usually left Sakura with the "easy" chores, either out or misplaced chivalry or a refusal to do traditionally feminine tasks.

When Sasuke left Konoha, and in the many years afterwards where he was alone, he learned that necessity erased any arbitrary notions of gendered duties. And so, unlike most men who might complain about their wives not doing their laundry, Sasuke instead busies himself with sorting through sometimes muddy, sometimes torn, and often bloodstained garments in both his and his wife's bags.

It's as he is dividing the soiled items from the clean that he discovers something utterly puzzling in Sakura's bag.

"What the...?"

A set of black, lacy lingerie.

To be honest, he doesn't even realise that's what they are until the flimsy scraps of elastic and satin are dangling from his fingers. When he does, his first thought is, these should not be here.

Since he and Sakura embarked on their journey, Sasuke has discovered that his wife is a particularly efficient traveller. Even when she seems to have missed the point of packing lightly (though, for her, he supposes that a twelve-kan bag is lightweight), and when she somehow manages to defy the laws of physics with the sheer number of things she can cram into her bag, she is meticulous.

All of her possessions have been selected based solely for maximum utility. She hasn't brought anything frivolous or impractical with her from Konoha—everything is purely functional: medical supplies (the vast majority of her belongings), non-perishable food packets, and weatherproof clothing. Of the latter, even her underthings were chosen for support rather than aesthetic. There is nothing here that is fragile or delicate.

Except, it seems, these two mystifying pieces of fabric.

There's no purpose to them, not even in terms of the one function that they're meant to serve. Sasuke doubts the garments would offer any kind of comfort—in fact, the cut of the underwear suggests it would ride up in places that it shouldn't, especially in a battle situation. The cups of the bra are cut so low that even Sakura's small bosom would spill out over the top if she moved too much.

Sasuke's mind helpfully provides him a mental image of his wife, leaning forward in the skimpy garments, the pale rounds of her breasts escaping over the black lace.

His grip tightens slightly, and his mind flies to the most obvious conclusion.

The only reason a woman would pack a pair of underwear so flimsy is if she were planning to be seen in them by a specific person. Considering Sakura practically swore herself to him when they were children and that they've now been married for a few weeks, it's obvious that the only person she's intending to be seen by in them is him. Which he isn't averse to, it's just...

Well, he never figured Sakura to be that type.

Yes, every time they've been physical since the wedding, she's been the unofficial lead, but it's mostly in a patient, tentative kind of way. Guiding them both in discovering what feels right, learning each other's preferences. Sasuke knows she's never been with anyone but him—and he's never bothered with anyone else, either—but Sakura is more at ease when it comes to intimacy than he is. And while she's the one who has initiated every sexual encounter they've had, it's never been in a domineering or overbearing way.

The mental image of a half-naked Sakura is back now, only this time, he imagines her looming over him with that same expression she had when they faced the Jūbi's fission beings. Confidence, pride, and the unquestionable certainty of her own power.

Sasuke's mouth goes dry, and there is a sudden tightening in his groin.

The idea is more intriguing than he might have considered. If Sakura, a woman who can crush mountains with her bare hands, ever decides she wants to bend him to her will, he'll have a hard time stopping her.

Would he even want to?

He swallows.

Sasuke chooses to table that question for now, unsure if he's entirely comfortable with the answer, and instead considers the next most obvious: if Sakura truly had some kind of plan of seduction...why hasn't it happened yet?

They've been on what she maddeningly calls their honeymoon long enough now that there's been ample opportunity. She doesn't lack for confidence, and he doesn't think he's given any indication that he would be unreceptive a seduction. Barring a minor rough patch of awkward conversation and wounded pride two weeks after they married, their relationship has been progressing far beyond the physical.

At least, he thinks so. Sakura doesn't appear to be unhappy (and he really is a lot more perceptive about that sort of thing these days), and Sasuke feels more at ease than he's ever felt in his life.

So why does she have a pair of underwear he's never seen her in?

And why does that bother him?

He glares at the offending scraps of clothing for adding a new, confusing dimension to his relationship with his wife, and tries to decide if this is one of those things he should bring up with her.

A third mental image comes to Sasuke—this one decidedly unappealing—of him trying not to stammer out a question while she giggles at him.

No. Bad idea.

Even though he has discovered new and interesting ways of silencing her, Sasuke avoids embarrassing conversations if at all possible.

So, in the end, he does nothing.

He packs the lace undergarments back in her bag, finishes sorting the laundry that needs to be brought down to the river, and goes about his business. There's no need to make this incident bigger than it is, or reveal his confusion to his wife.

But after that, he pays attention.

Not that he didn't before, of course. But now that he's keeping an eye out for something specific, it's different.

His eyes rove over her body when she isn't looking, studying her when she's at ease and when she's at her most dynamic. It's a practice he perfected young—observing Sakura when she wasn't hyper-focussed on him in order to avoid awkward small talk. But now, there's actual intent behind it.

Whether she is hunched over patients in a makeshift field hospital or using that brute strength of hers to demolish natural obstructions, he takes in the minute shift and tightening of her clothing on her body. He watches the shape of the lines beneath her tunic, mentally cataloguing and deducing which pair of undergarments she is likely sporting that day.

Just out of curiosity, of course.

(He might've been trained by a porn-reading pervert, but he isn't one. And Orochimaru always had such a utilitarian view of the human body he wouldn't have picked it up from him either.)

To be honest, Sasuke doesn't know how he would react if Sakura did wear that other set of underwear.

He doesn't find out, either, as she always sports the thick-strapped, functional kind. It's just as well. Their travels don't necessarily revolve around looking for trouble, but as two-thirds of the most powerful shinobi force in the world, they tend to attract danger. Or stumble into it accidentally.

The black, lacy intimates never make an appearance again and, although he's (surreptitiously) checked that they're still in Sakura's backpack, there doesn't seem to be any indication that they ever will. He eventually puts it out of his mind.

That's not to say he doesn't frequently think of and admire his wife's body—far from it. They live in such close quarters, it's impossible not to notice her. And they still have relations regularly—in fact, he's a little flustered at just how often. Retiring together after a long day inevitably turns into losing themselves in each other's bodies, his face buried in her neck and her thighs wrapped around his hips.

Sasuke never thought he would be one of those men who enjoys intercourse as much as a good fight. But it appears that he actually likes sex. Craves it even, to an almost embarrassing extent. It also turns out that perfect chakra control isn't the only skill his wife has. The sounds she can pull from him—

Well, it's probably for the best that they spend more time on the road than in guesthouses.

The whole thing is an aspect of married life that his twelve-year-old self never fully considered when he grandiosely declared his intention to restore his clan.

Sakura teases him about that all the time now.

He refuses to think about what it means that he blushes every time she does.

うちは

They are finishing up errands in a border town in Wind Country about a month and a half after the wedding.

While his wife scours the markets for herbs to replenish her antidote stocks, Sasuke speaks to the local headman about some disappearing travellers in the area. Experience and his gut tell him it's probably half-starved mercenaries who refuse to accept that the war has been over for years, but it's best to be sure. He's a lot less cavalier about just walking into situations since Sakura's been travelling with him. That's reflex more than anything else, seeing as how she can punch craters into the earth itself, never mind deal with a few mercenaries.

The headman mentions other villages in the area having problems, and that the nearest one has even been getting ransom demands. Sasuke promises to continue investigating the matter, and then seeks out his wife.

Sakura has found her way to the local healer and has spent the day helping patients. As has become routine, Sasuke wordlessly slips into the role of assistant and sees to the menial fetching and carrying tasks while she treats the sick and wounded. Only as the sun begins its downward decent does he indicate to her that it's time to leave.

"I'm exhausted," she groans after they bid farewell to the grateful healer and village people. She yawns and stretches. "I don't know about you, darling, but I really want to sleep on an actual bed tonight. I think I saw an inn at the other end of the village."

Sasuke considers this.

They don't often have money on them—it's rarely needed anyhow, with Sakura's medical skills and his willingness to work at any job that needs doing. This week, however, they happen to have a few ryō. Their budget would allow for it, assuming the place isn't too expensive, but Sasuke senses the weather will be turning soon. From the smell of the air and the ache in his temples, there's a storm coming—probably a day or so off. He'd prefer to arrive at their next destination instead of slogging through it tomorrow.

He opens his mouth to say just that, but Sakura looks up at him beseechingly.

"Please?" she coaxes. "I could do with a warm shower. And I saw a laundromat here, too. It's been ages since I've used fabric softener on my clothes. If we leave now, we'll have to do the wash in a river again."

Sakura doesn't often complain about their lifestyle; it's as if she takes sleeping rough as just another quirk of being married to him. Which is why in the rare instances that she does protest—usually when she needs to rebalance her chakra or when her monthly cycle troubles her more than usual—he goes out of his way to accommodate her. His wife gave up a lot to be here, travelling with him, even if she insists it's what she wanted. The least he can do to repay her kindness is to make her life easier where possible.

"Can you wait until tomorrow for laundry?" he wonders. "I'm familiar enough with this area. The next village has a lot more to offer than this place."

"Not really," she tells him, apologetic. "I've only got one clean pair of underwear left, and knowing our luck, we'll get delayed by something or other. I swear, sometimes I think Kakashi-sensei's perpetual tardiness somehow rubbed off on us. I used to be so good about managing time. Besides, you really need to shave, and it's always so much easier when there's a mirror and hot water involved. And..."

But Sasuke hasn't heard anything past the word underwear.

His brain flips through the mental catalogue he didn't even realise he was keeping of what Sakura wears and when, then realises that she's right. There is only one pair of undergarments left in her backpack, neatly buried at the very bottom and never spoken of by either of them.

And if she were to wear those all day tomorrow—never mind the impracticality if an attack should happen while she's wearing them—he would probably spend the entire time thinking about her.

Wearing them.

All. Day.

Right now, it's taking him an embarrassing amount of concentration not to double-check whether she's got them on right now.

"Fine," he says at last. "Go get the room."

She beams, goes up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and then hurries off.

To cover his embarrassment at the impromptu public show of affection, Sasuke occupies himself with calculating if they'll still have enough for lodgings tomorrow as well, or if they will need to find a fast way to make a little extra money.

He decides it will all be moot anyway. The way their luck is going, they'll probably run into those mercenaries the minute they set foot out of the village. It's not only Kakashi's unpunctuality that's rubbed off on them, but Naruto's jeopardy-friendly nature.

Speaking of...

Sasuke heads to the edge of the village and summons a hawk, sending word back to Konoha of the past few days' activities. He promised to keep the Hokage apprised of the situation along the borders, after all. And Naruto said if he didn't hear from them every week or so, he would hunt them both down and drag them home again.

"Travelling the world and helping people is one thing, but I've had enough missing Uchihas to last me a lifetime! Believe it!"

The moron would do it, too, and Sasuke isn't keen on having his honeymoon ruined by his idiot best friend.

He winces.

Sakura must never know he just thought of this as a honeymoon.

With that silent promise to himself, Sasuke heads in the general direction she pointed out earlier. It's a small enough village that there's only one building it could be, so he has no trouble finding the guesthouse. As he arrives, his stomach begins to growl. It might be an idea to go out for dinner, once they've dropped off their belongings.

The old biddy at the front door cheerfully welcomes him inside and informs him of the room number where he can find his wife. It's a ground floor, which Sakura favours, and located at the back of the building, which is his preference.

Upon reaching the door, Sasuke pauses, and quietly raps on the doorframe. Married or not, it never seems right to just barge in.

"Come in," his wife invites cheerfully. He slides the shoji aside and steps inside.

"Are you hungry?" he asks as he takes off his shoes. "There's an izakaya about a block awa—"

His question dies on his lips as he turns around, and every thought in his head promptly disappears as he looks up.

Because there she is, reclining enticingly on the tatami and determinedly holding his gaze, while he is frozen in the act of straightening up.

"What do you think?" she asks, her nonchalant tone somewhat contradicted by the colour of her cheeks, which closely matches the colour of the hair falling in waves over her shoulders.

Her very, very bare shoulders.

Because the only things she's wearing right now are those scraps of black lace he caught sight of weeks ago. And, as it turns out, despite his excellent visual memory and tactile knowledge of his wife's body, imagination didn't do her justice.

The black is a stark contrast on her pale skin, making the blush steadily moving from her face downward all the more noticeable. Just like he imagined, the cut of the brassiere is insufficient to cover her small breasts, but he didn't account for the wiring pushing them upward or creating the dip between them that he has the bizarre urge to press his face into. As for the impractical cut of the underwear, it accentuates the curves of her backside in a way he didn't expect at all.

"I got this set as a gift before we were married," she tells him.

Sasuke remains utterly immobile, trying to rediscover the connection between his brain and his mouth.

"I was going to wear it the night of the wedding," she continues casually, as if she isn't standing in front of him wearing next to nothing. "I didn't get the chance, remember? And cold forests and damp caves don't exactly have the same romantic feeling..." She shrugs, and then bites her lip, eyeing him expectantly. "Do you like it?"

He should be moving. Or he should be saying something. This is ridiculous—he's seen Sakura utterly bare before, and the sight of the delicate fabric clinging to her like a second skin should not be so arresting.

And yet...

"I think you do," she declares quietly, stepping even closer to him. "Which is kind of strange, seeing as how you've seen me completely naked before. I mean, this—" She runs her hands down her sides in an elaborately casual gesture that, nonetheless, has his throat constricting, " – covers up all my important bits. And you know what they look like anyway, so what's the appeal?"

Noting his continued silence, her confidence wavers a little.

"Or...or is there no appeal?" she inquires in a quieter voice, recoiling a little. "You're so traditional about some things. Do you think maybe this is a bit too risqué for me? Yeah...that's probably it. And besides, with our lives, it's a bad idea. Never mind, I'm going to change—"

Sasuke has crossed the distance between them faster than if he had teleported, interrupting her little conversation with herself by pulling her close.

"Don't," he tells her gruffly, and then leans down and captures her lips with his.

Sakura makes a noise of surprise, but it only lasts a moment. A beat later, she relaxes into the kiss, bringing her arms up around his neck. With her in such close quarters now, Sasuke allows his fingers to rove over her arm and down to the wrist, tracing the scars from stray kunai and shuriken between the grooves of her fingers.

"I was right," she murmurs against his mouth. "You do like it."

"Think what you want," he retorts, sliding his hand back up to her shoulder and hooking a finger beneath the strap of the brassiere. He doesn't slide it over her shoulder, though, instead drawing his fingertip downward and then across the upper curve of her breast. She hums in amusement and approval, but it transitions into a gasp as he continues to etch a path along the centre line of her body.

Slowly, he drags the knuckle of his index finger down her sternum, between her breasts— briefly notes the ingenious little front clasp there—and past her navel. Muscles in her stomach tense wherever he touches, and she can't quite keep him from hearing the tiny, hitched breath.

This time she's the one who kisses him, pulling him close and aggressively assailing his mouth with lips and tongue. There's a tugging sensation, and he feels her rolling the thick material of his cloak up and over his head. They break apart briefly, so it can be tossed aside, then she unbinds his katana – this is treated more reverently, gently placed against a nearby wall – before she is back again. Restless hands unbuckle his belt and pouch, dropping them to the floor, before making quick work of his shirt.

She's used to being the one who sets the pace between them, and he is used to letting her. But today he finds himself longing to map the planes of his wife's body, paying special heed to areas he doesn't usually. Something about having the parts of her he loves to lavish with attention hidden away, as if they are something he has to earn, is intoxicating.

When she reaches for his waistband, he waylays her, pulling her bottom lip back between his. She moans in surprise and pleasure, and Sasuke takes advantage of her distraction.

He traces the material covering her breasts, cupping the left one in his palm. Sakura doesn't say anything, but her shallow breathing and the way she wraps her arms around his neck to bring him closer suggests approval. Her nipples are hard and clearly defined through the satin barrier, and when he thumbs at one, she nips at his lip in playful retort.

He continues his exploration, sliding his fingers downward and curling them across the sensitive skin beneath the curve of her breast. Fingertips play with the wire there, threatening to slip beneath it and touch her without barrier; her breath catches in anticipation while he considers, and then hisses in frustration when he instead continues the course downward.

"You're teasing me," she accuses him against his mouth.

"Maybe," he replies, still tracing the defined muscles beneath soft skin, and the few jagged scars she received before becoming practically invulnerable. As always, he lingers a little longer across the one centimetres below her kidneys, conscious that the slightest change to the angle of the weapon would have robbed him of this.

Of her.

"I'm right here," she whispers, sensing, as always, the reason for his pause.

He doesn't answer, not liking to seem too vulnerable in this moment; instead, he seizes her lips once more and spreads his palm across her abdomen, just below her navel. His little finger traces a path across the skin just above the line of her underwear, a spot where he knows from experience she is very sensitive.

Immediately, he is rewarded with a shiver, and two glassy green eyes glaring up at him. "Sasuke, if you don't stop teasing me..."

He raises an eyebrow at that because, even though he knows better, the idea of Sakura being threatening is still something that inspires amusement.

Any sense of superiority disappears when her hand presses firmly against the front of his trousers, fingers splayed and tips tracing the growing hardness there. The quip he had ready dies in his throat, replaced with a groan as she presses down with the palm of her hand; the movement is sure and precise, born from intimate knowledge of exactly what he likes.

Flicking open the button of his trousers, she smirks at him and begins to kneel, her intention clear. Sasuke's brain stutters, and his hand snaps out reflexively, fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her downward progression.

Sakura's eyes go wide in confusion and something like hurt, and he can tell right away that she thinks she's being rejected somehow. He pulls her back up and kisses her soundly, doing his best to disabuse her of that notion, because there is no a mistake and he definitely appreciates the gesture.

The first time Sakura took him in her mouth, he spent the next two days revisiting the event in his head. Although he enjoyed it—more than enjoyed it—the sight of her on her knees before him made him feel uneasy and awkward. The sight of anyone kneeling before him, really, but her...

It will be a while before he's used to that particular vantage point.

Besides, he knows for a fact that Sakura's mouth has the power to reduce him to begging, something he isn't keen to advertise to the other patrons of the guesthouse.

There's a reason he prefers to avoid indoor accommodations these days.

Sasuke slowly guides her to turn around until the bare skin of his chest presses against her back. He winds his arm around her waist and guides her closer, pressing his fingers against the bottom of her ribs. She tries to twist her head to the right to kiss him again, but the angle's wrong, and she just catches his chin with her lip.

Sakura makes a frustrated noise and tries to regain their previous positions, but Sasuke distracts her by grazing his teeth along the side of her neck. He feels the rapid beat of her pulse beneath his lips and tongue and takes a moment to lightly nip and suck the area there.

"That's...not fair," she protests, but it's weak and without any true conviction.

"Life's not fair," he retorts against her skin, heading down toward her collarbone.

He notes the movement of her shoulder blades against his chest, the scrabbling sound of fingers against cloth, and realises she's attempting to undo the clasp of the bra. Quickly, his hand grabs hold of hers to arrest the movement.

"Don't," he instructs, pulling her hand toward his face to press his lips against the fleshy part at the base of her thumb.

A playful sulk enters her voice. "Why?"

Her other hand is moving now, following the same path and he growls, grabbing downward to imprison both her wrists in his hand.

The way he sees it, Sakura went through the effort of dressing for him. Throwing the clothing on the floor would be an utter waste.

"Because I said so."

うちは

It looks as if both he and Sakura will need to do laundry now.

He lays back down, allowing Sakura to readjust her position beside him, and they wait together for their heart rates to return to normal. Only then does she break the silence.

"Wow."

She's still out of breath, which makes Sasuke feel more than a little smug because, usually, it's her who has him still gasping after their encounters.

"I did not expect that," she says, turning over so she can face him. She leans on an elbow, her chin in the palm of her hand and a smile playing at her lips. "You have an underwear kink."

Sasuke makes a face because that really is the most appalling thing she could've said. "I do not."

"You do, too," she teases. "You've been waiting for me to wear that set of lingerie for weeks now." Off his surprised expression, her smile becomes a knowing smirk. "What? You didn't think I saw you watching me all this time? Darling, people can usually tell when a normal person is staring at them. What do you think it feels like having a Sharingan tracking your every movement?"

Which is about the moment when Sasuke realises that this whole thing was planned.

That little...!

Rather than admit to his wife that she's caught him out, he stiffly insists, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh?" she remarks mildly, leaning a little closer to him and, with her free hand, coyly trailing a fingernail from his collarbone to his sternum. "So, if I went out and bought a cute, little red version of this..."

Once again, Sasuke's ever-so-helpful mind offers up an image of Sakura, artfully posed in a set of red, silken lingerie, suggestively slipping one strap over her shoulder.

His softening cock gives a tentative twitch at this and Sakura's smirk widens.

"Never would've guessed," she remarks slyly.

"Shut up."

"I mean, we both saw Naruto wandering around so often with that stupid jutsu of his, and you never even blinked."

"You're not Naruto," Sasuke grumbles. "At least, you'd better not be because this time, I really would kill him."

Sakura laughs.

"Don't worry. One hundred percent me. See?" she points to the patch of floor beside the mat, where her fingers gouged deep ruts into the wood earlier. "Property damage to prove it."

Sasuke rubs at his eyes, a sure sign of the post-coital haze that heralds sleep. "You can be the one who explains that to the landlady."

"Do you think she'll feel better if I tell her it could have been worse? It's a good thing I took a chakra-suppressing tonic beforehand."

"Hm..."

He shifts, bringing his arm around and lazily wrapping his palm around her satin-clad breast.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Making sure you're not Naruto."

"Right, because your first reaction to him flashing his fake breasts in your face would be to grab him?"

"This is how I know you're you and not Naruto."

The logic works in his head and Sakura sighs, shaking her head in amusement. The movement threatens to dislodge his hold, and he stubbornly maintains the protective grip.

"Am I ever going to get that back?" she asks him playfully.

"No," he answers, a sense of total contentment making him dim.

"Well, that's going to be problematic, seeing as how it belongs to me. Sort of a matched set."

"A matched set that is clearly my property."

"Um, no. These are always my property, seeing as how they're on my body."

"Location is irrelevant." He gives her squeeze. "These breasts are mine."

Sakura sniggers. "Can you let me get a voice recorder then say that again?"

Sasuke shoots her a lazy glare.

She sniggers at this and then burrows back into his side, obviously taking his growing reticence as a silent plea for peace and quiet. He actually thinks she intends to honour it when an incalculable amount of time passes in silence.

Until she breaks it.

"So...just me in lingerie, huh?"

Sasuke snorts and closes his eyes, tired, and buries his face in her hair. "Think what you want..."

He falls asleep to the sound of Sakura's laughter.

終わり

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Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! I'm only able to keep writing as I do thanks to the encouragement of readers like you, so every bit of support helps! And be sure to check out my tumblr (Typewriter Ninjutsu) for content you won't necessarily find on this site.

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