A/N: Surprise!

Here’s some secret advice: you might want to go back and re-read this fic, first to refresh your memory and secondly because I’ve finally completed most of my long-anticipated revisions and I now like UC much more (except for its title, but what can you do). Plot-wise, minor points have been changed and quality-wise the early chapters have been significantly improved so that they don’t scream “newbie!” quite so loudly any more. Tell me what you think.

Or you could just read from here and ignore the hours of effort I put into fixing up the rest of this… you jerk! (Just kidding – as long as you enjoy.)

VVVVVV

The brooding oppressiveness of the air finally gave way to a sudden downpour of rain, something which gave Sakura a much needed after excuse to leap the hell away from Kisame because this whole tasting thing was weirding her out something dreadful.

“Wow,” said Sakura with a glance upwards at the near-black sky in an effort to distract herself and Kisame. “That’s coming down hard.”

Kisame stood a few feet off and rubbed his chin casually like he so hadn’t been up to creepy terrible things and thinking creepy terrible thoughts about Sakura and Sakura’s taste and Sakura’s smell and Sakura’s throat.

“Aw,” said Kisame as the heavy rain put out the fire that had taken so much effort to start. “Looks like we won’t be able to hold hands and sing kumbaya together after all.”

“That’s really too bad,” said Sakura, who thought there were far more pressing concerns to attend to at the moment, such as the fact that she was about to drown.

“Hey,” Sakura said a little more loudly while a heavier curtain of rain whipped across the little clearing, soaking her to the underwear in the process. “Shouldn’t we move on?”

“Move on? Naw – these storms only last a couple minutes. And there’s no lightning. No sweat,” said Kisame as he watched a mini flash-flood swirl around his ankles and carry away the remains of the fire.

Famous last words. Just as Kisame had completed this confident assertion, a deep peal of thunder echoed above and a painfully bright glare of lightning illuminated the forest all around them.

“Um,” said Sakura, who was about to question and then severely insult Kisame’s weather-predicting ability, but when she re-opened her mouth she was interrupted by an earsplitting crack of thunder that shook the very ground they were standing on.

“Well,” said Kisame when the booming thunder had echoed and faded away, but his next suggestion was lost to the sight and sound of lightning hitting a great sycamore on the edge of the glade. He and Sakura watched the tree tip and fall crashing through the undergrowth and they felt suddenly very vulnerable.

Sakura pushed sopping-wet hair out of her eyes and declared loudly that on second thought maybe it was better to stay right here in the open, and Kisame pushed sopping-wet hair out of his eyes and agreed, and then they were both temporarily blinded by an explosive burst of light when a second strike of lightning hit another of the tall trees flanking the clearing.

“Oi,” yelled Kisame as his pack began to float away in a torrent of water, and when he splashed to fetch it he was stricken with a thought which he shared with Sakura: “Come to think of it… I have a tent in here.”

“Wonderful,” shouted Sakura, who could barely see Kisame and much less help assemble a tent in the driving rain. “That way we can get fried inside of a tent instead of outside, that’s so much better! Thank the hokages!”

“Don’t get bitchy, kunoichi,” Kisame shouted back, “this one’s got rubber tarp.”

This made Sakura shut up immediately, which Kisame was grateful for because unfolding the canvas and the retractable poles and then assembling them was proving to be a very concentration-intensive task, especially since he could barely hold the slick tarp and the slippery poles at the same time when the downpour renewed itself with double the force.

Eventually, with the help of Sakura driving the poles into the ground and giving the tarp a vigorous smack every time it filled itself with water, Kisame managed to get the tent up.

“Done,” said Kisame, and he stood back to admire his handiwork.

Sakura, who had been holding her breath the whole time because at the rate the rain was coming down she was going to be drowned in five minutes, took a good look at the tent.

It was sturdily and neatly set up, true, and its thick waterproof tarp was stretched taut against the torrential rain and it offered some hope of dryness and warmth, but…

“It looks kind of small,” Sakura remarked, and she rubbed rain water out of her eyes just to make sure that it was actually three feet high and seven feet long at most.

“Well yeah,” said Kisame, “it’s a one-man tent.”

Sakura resisted the urge to scream in frustration because what the hell, Kisame had only just finished being creepy and the last thing she wanted was to be in close proximity with him for any length of time.

“I am so not getting in there with you,” Sakura declared with her hands on her hips and her hair plastered wetly to her head.

Then another peal of thunder roared around them and the deluge reached the approximate intensity of that of a biblical flood.

“Haw,” said Kisame. “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

With that, Kisame sealed up Samehada in its storage scroll, slid his considerable self into the tent and, with a last tug at the chakra bond to remind Sakura that she wasn’t going anywhere, he gave her a toothy grin and zipped up the tent.

Once inside, Kisame stretched out, put his hands behind his head, and began to count down under his breath.

“Three,” said Kisame, and outside the downpour redoubled and Sakura looked desperately around for Noah’s ark.

“Two,” said Kisame, and outside a bolt of lightning incinerated a young sapling mere feet away from Sakura.

“One,” said Kisame, and outside Sakura watched a half-dead squirrel float by her.

“Zero,” said Kisame, and, wonder of wonders, the tent was unzipped and a very pissed, very soaked Sakura was sliding in accompanied by generous sprays of rainwater and the half-dead squirrel.

Kisame watched Sakura crawl in and he resisted the urge to say “sweeeet” like a teenaged pothead, he had a villain image to maintain after all.

He settled instead for a penetrating look at Sakura’s chest because her soaked shirt was sticking very interestingly to her breasts.

“Yo,” said Sakura, “eyes up here.”

Kisame averted his eyes with some effort and muttered about kunoichi and how difficult and demanding they were.

“Shove over,” Sakura said as she tried to make some space next to Kisame with many violent wiggles in the ridiculously tight space. “And don’t get any funny ideas.”

“I’m not,” said Kisame defensively, and it was true because the ideas he was getting weren’t funny, they were really sexy.

As it turned out, “space next to Kisame” was a contradiction in terms when it came to one-man tents, and so Sakura found herself squashed between rubber tarp on one side and Kisame on the other.

Sakura decided that if this was absolutely necessary – and it was, as another thunderclap resounding painfully loudly outside reminded her – then at least she was going lie on her side to be facing Kisame because her recent experience told her that he tended to think disturbing perverted thoughts about the back of her neck.

Which meant that, as it happened, Kisame started thinking disturbing perverted thoughts about Sakura’s chest instead, because he could feel it pressed against his and then his ideas weren't just sexy, they were pretty dirty.

“So this is cozy,” said Kisame.

“So I hate you,” said Sakura with a glare, and then she placed a sopping wet rodent in the very squished space between her chest and Kisame’s.

“What the hell is that?” asked Kisame.

“This?” said Sakura, holding up the limp furry thing. “It’s a squirrel. I caught it just before coming in, it was being carried away… I think it’s still alive.”

Kisame raised an eyebrow because the tiny dripping fur-ball was totally ruining the sexy vibe here. “I see.”

Then Sakura began some preliminary resuscitation efforts on the squirrel precisely because it offered a distraction from the sexy vibe and she was going to take full advantage of that.

Kisame watched Sakura gently revive the thing and he decided that if Sakura started to give the squirrel fucking CPR, he was going to eat it and then demand some fucking CPR for himself.

Sakura rubbed the squirrel and it seemed to be enjoying that and then she shoved it partially down her shirt, “for warmth,” she said, and then Kisame really wanted to kill it and also be a squirrel himself.

Now the squirrel was looking at Kisame snidely from Sakura’s cleavage and Kisame smiled widely at it to remind it who had the sharper teeth around here, which made the squirrel nestle more deeply between Sakura’s breasts with a gleeful squeak, which infuriated Kisame beyond belief because it was such a smarmy son of a bitch.

“What should I call it?” said Sakura, petting the squirrel.

“I’d call it,” said Kisame, “crunchy.”

“Hell no!” said Sakura quite scandalized, “I’m thinking Pooky.”

“That’s the dumbest name I ever heard,” said Kisame. “How about tasty?”

“Kisame!” said Sakura in exasperation, “if you eat it, I’ll kill you.”

“I would love to see you try,” said Kisame, who would totally dig a wrestling match right now especially since the space was so delightfully limited.

“Just hush and don’t eat him – he’s adorable,” said Sakura as she stroked its little head. “You’re just jealous.”

“You’re fucking right I am,” said Kisame.

Silence ensued at that point because Kisame had essentially declared that he wanted to be stuffed into Sakura’s shirt and stroked on the head and that’s always kind of awkward.

Outside, the tempest raged on without abating and the rain kept up a constant drumming on the thick tarp of the tent. Occasional bursts of lightning made the silhouettes of the trees outside stretch across the inside of the rubber tarp and Sakura paused for a brief moment of thankful silence in gratitude to hydrocarbon polymers and their insulatory properties.

Then Sakura discovered, thanks to a sudden cold trickle down her back, that there was a hole in the tent.

“I think I found a leak,” said Sakura.

Fun ensued, for Kisame at least, when Sakura began to press herself more closely to him in an effort to avoid the cold water, until she asked him what exactly he was waiting for to plug it up since she had moved out of the way.

Kisame said “oh yeah,” and then he blocked the hole with a handy piece of cloth and Sakura moved back to her former position and Kisame wished that there would be more leaks.

Then Sakura said suddenly, “what’s the squirrel doing? Come and see!”

At this invitation to stare at Sakura’s chest Kisame said “try and keep me away, as they say,” and he leaned over to look.

“Is this squirrel,” said Sakura slowly, “humping my boob?”

“I’d say… yes,” said Kisame, after having observed the squirrel closely and the top edge of Sakura’s bra much more closely, and he gave the squirrel credit for being such a raunchy little thing and he gave Sakura credit for choosing something lacy.

“Ugh!” said Sakura, “males! All the same!” and then she flung the squirrel quite heartlessly into a corner of the tent near her feet and told it that if it didn’t stay put, she would smash it to a bloody squirrelly pulp.

The squirrel squeaked a little sadly and Kisame said “I hear you, bro” with some degree of compassion (and some degree of hippie) because Sakura totally treated him with the same level of disrespect.

Then, since the squirrel was out of the picture, Kisame and Sakura had nothing else to do except stare at each other and notice how close they were and that they were both wet and in a tiny tent and how it was just such a generally steamy situation and not only because of the warm bodies and the wet clothes.

Then Sakura wanted a little less staring and a little more conversation so she started rambling in a general way about how rain was a pain in the ass, and Kisame wanted a little less conversation and a little more action so he started moving imperceptibly closer to Sakura, and then everyone burst into a spontaneous rendition of that one Elvis song.

Well, that’s not exactly what happened. What happened was that Sakura noticed that Kisame was moving closer because, really, as soon as he moved a millimeter she was going to be freakin’ aware of it in these close quarters, and she started to pull away just as slowly as Kisame was advancing, which made Kisame notice that she had noticed and then he stopped. For two seconds.

And then Kisame grinned widely because he loved the panicky look that was beginning to make its way into Sakura’s eyes and he brought one hand up and made to wipe a drip of rain water from Sakura’s collarbone, and Sakura reacted like the ninja she was and grabbed him by the wrist very tightly.

“What?” said Kisame, “I was just going to scratch my nose.”

“Oh? I didn’t know your nose was in the vicinity of my chest,” said Sakura, “carry on,” and she let go of Kisame’s wrist with deep suspicion.

And there was no way Kisame was going to miss that kind of opportunity, especially when Sakura made it so easy, so he proceeded to stuff his face into Sakura’s chest and said “it is now,” and he discovered, like many men before him, that a girl’s cleavage was one of the best places in the world to be and he would have liked to remain there for the rest of his life.

And of course Sakura did not take kindly to such an invasion of what little personal space she had available and she shoved Kisame away quite violently with shrieks about his utterly perverse nature.

“Jeez,” said Sakura when Kisame had retreated to an acceptable distance (that is, four inches away, due to the tent’s size), “what is it with the fucking boobs today?”

Kisame said, “it’s your fault for wearing lace,” which made Sakura’s eyes widen because how the hell had he known that anyway?

“You are such a creep,” said Sakura, and she pulled up her shirt very high so as to prevent more bra sightings.

“I’m not a creep,” said Kisame, who was now watching Sakura’s stomach because she had exposed it so conveniently. “I’m a horrible monstrous psychotic killer, remember?”

“True,” said Sakura, pulling her shirt back down very quickly, “but those terms aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Once they had settled on Kisame’s modified title, creepy horrible monstrous psychotic killer, they lay in silence and Sakura thought about how her life sucked hard right now and Kisame thought about how much he wanted to lick Sakura’s stomach really slowly.

“So in terms of the whole kidnap thing,” said Sakura, “…am I going to be dead by the end of this?”

“Hm,” said Kisame after a few moments of deliberation, “that’s a secret.”

“A secret.”

“Yeah. A secret.”

“Okay…” said Sakura, who did not find this very satisfying. “And are you going to share it?”

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

“… I don’t think I could get any closer even if I wanted to,” said Sakura, and as if to make her point, her nose brushed against Kisame’s chin as she spoke. “As you can see.”

“True,” said Kisame, though he could think of ways they could be closer, such as if they were both naked. “Then I guess I’ll tell you.”

Sakura looked up at Kisame expectantly, but when he tried to put a hand behind her head she backed right into the tarp. “What are you doing?”

“Telling you the fucking secret,” said Kisame, “come here.”

Sakura narrowed her eyes but she let Kisame slide his hand behind her neck and pull her towards him.

She waited for approximately three milliseconds when Kisame let his mouth hover over her ear, and then she prompted him with a very loud “well?” lest he start getting all touchy-tasty again.

“Okay, okay, the secret is…” whispered Kisame into Sakura’s ear, and then, before he could start, Sakura erupted into screaming giggles and squirmed around because apparently that was a ticklish place.

“I haven’t even told you,” said Kisame, pulling Sakura back towards him, “get back here.”

And then they tried again except Sakura started her shrieking giggles the second Kisame inhaled near her ear.

And then they tried again and Sakura collapsed into the giggling as soon as Kisame opened his mouth.

“Well what the fuck!” said Kisame.

“Sorry,” gasped Sakura, “I’m ticklish, it’s the goddamn whispering and then I’m like expecting it and it makes me –”

Then Sakura realized something and she stopped laughing and she said “wait, why the hell are you even whispering anyway? Who’s going to hear?”

“That thing,” said Kisame, pointing to the squirrel curled up at Sakura’s feet. “Duh.”

“Oh,” said Sakura with an eye-roll, “dumb question.”

“Yeah,” said Kisame. “Stupid. Let’s try again.”

This time Sakura did her utmost to be serious and not start screaming with laughter and Kisame was able to open his mouth and inhale without triggering a giggle, and he took that as a good sign, and then he sort of breathed on Sakura’s ear while he tried to remember what the hell they had been talking about in the first place and what exactly the secret was.

“…I have no fucking idea,” whispered Kisame.

“What?” shouted Sakura, “what a rip-off!” and she tried to knee Kisame in the stomach for having such a lame secret answer.

Kisame caught her knee and he drew it very slowly and sexily over his thigh. “Well I might have some idea,” he said. “What are you willing to do to know?”

“Nothing involving me and you doing anything remotely sexual. So let go of my leg, you knob,” said Sakura, punctuating her request with several jerks.

“Damn,” said Kisame. “What the hell is a guy supposed to do.”

“Maybe, like, not be a big blue bastard,” Sakura suggested.

“Too hard,” said Kisame, and he looked at Sakura and said, “you try not being a pathetic pink pipsqueak and tell me how it goes.”

“Pathetic? Pipsqueak?” said Sakura. “You big – blue –”

Sakura stuttered for a moment trying to find an insult that wasn’t a repeat. “Buttface!” she exclaimed triumphantly.

“Hey now,” said Kisame, and he grabbed Sakura firmly by the chin. “Don’t make me smash your pipsqueak jaw.”

“Not that you would,” said Sakura, and she didn’t try to break his grip because she knew it.

“Yeah,” said Kisame after having glared unblinkingly at her for a while. “I know.”

And then he let her go and they lay together and listened to the rain and they felt kind of weird.

VVVVVV

A/N #2: I'd forgotten how much fun these two are... the next chap is funnier than this one and also sexier, I think. It'll be up when I decide that it doesn't suck.

In the meanwhile, this advertisement space is for sale… offers?

…SOLD to the crack pairing freak with the hair – that is, myself: go read Via Media, it’s my new Neji x Temari and it’ll knock your socks off with a high dose of Crack Awesome.