TemaShika once again. I somehow couldn't bring myself to write some yaoi smut, so you get some het smut instead! Have fun with the randomness...




It was not Temari's significant bust size, or her intensely green eyes that turned Shikamaru on, although they helped. It was her attitude that completely overcame him, and the symbol of it: her hair.

She only took it down when she was with him. Even directly after a shower she would put it up, smoothing the dripping tresses into neat, efficient ponytails. But when they would lie together on Shikamaru's roof his hand could tease the carelessly twisted bands out of her hair and smooth the kinks until it flowed over her chest and face and back like a golden river.

These hair-teasing sessions inevitably ended in sex. Temari hated to be venerable like that, so feminine, so she tried to mask it through pure lust, and only ended up exposing herself further. Shikamaru wasn't going to be the one to tell her that, though.

She would climb atop him, forcing his head back against whatever it was they had been lying on, would press her thigh into his growing arousal and kiss him senseless. Her fingers would tease his clothes away from his skin and he would get hers off with little problem, if much distraction. The skin of her breasts was so soft, so sensitive to the touch of those filaments of hair that she let shake in the air as she maneuvered him into her, shuddering and gasping his name as his member was enclosed in her hot flesh.

As if in retribution, she would tear the elastic out of his hair, usually breaking it in the process, and would gather it in her hands as she began the rocking motion that soon became his entire world. His hands rested on her hips as they achieved a rhythm that was pleasurable enough for both of them.

Her hands would rest on his chest, fingernails grazing skin temptingly before digging in, feeling his chest rise and fall. Shikamaru would keep his eyes fixed on her face, though, and would follow every strand of hair to where it danced in the air, waiting for that moment when she would moan a little louder and hesitate for a moment in her movements, nearly collapsing on his chest, the begging heart behind her eyes pleading, dragging him in.

Then he would come.

Shikamaru watched silently, slowly catching his breath, as the liquid was washed off his hand into the drain, the water dripped off his loose hair to make patterns on the tile floor of the shower.

One more week of this, and then he would find some excuse to go to her.

One more week and he would swallow his pride and go search out his long-haired beauty of the desert and make her take her hair down.

Comments? Critique? Contimplation?