What I Want For Christmas, a naruto fanfic

Author's note: Yo. It's my first crack fic. Dang I love this. It was kinda inspired by a fic I read in the Ruroken fandom. I tried finding it again, but I can't. But to whoever owned this fic, thanks for the idea.

Still very much SasuSaku, and still in Sasuke's point of view. I dunno, every time I make a fic it seems to almost always be in his POV.

Warning: Heavy lime. And quite descriptive, and not just the limeny scenes.

What I Want For Christmas

By: Yummei-sama no Hayashi

Disclaimer: Nope. No me own.

He sits on the futon, staring at whatnot, unsuspecting. He sits, waiting for sleep to come, watching the soft snow cover the cold ground outside his window. The pristine white display captivates his thoughts so, that he does not hear the slow pitter-patter of socked feet out in the hall.

And so when the door slides open, he almost jumps. But being who he is, he retains his composure, fingering the kunai that he keeps under his pillow in case of midnight attacks, as he suspects this one to be. The door slides open slowly, so very slowly, and he thanks whoever is up there he has time to prepare a counterattack.

But he is not prepared for what is coming at all.

She enters, and the scent of cherry blossoms catches him off guard and freezes him in his onslaught, making him drop the kunai. The seductive scent of innocence wafts in the room, numbing him of every sense of urgency. This was no attack, but it managed to floor him so.

She enters, so softly, and ever so softly he wonders if she's truly there. Her socked feet take deliberate steps towards him, and he stares at them as he backs away a little, her presence commanding the room. He falls on his elbows in a reclining position, and he lets his confused onyx eyes travel upwards to meet her gaze. But he is unable to.

She enters, in all her innocent glory, her shoulder length pink hair unkempt around her face in the most enticing kind of way, her darkened green eyes under heavy eyelids, her lips glossy and pink, slightly parted as though she were to say something.

And she enters, in all her pure beauty, her white skin gleaming under – what's this? – her tissue paper dress. The two-ply roll of tissue paper barely covers her ivory skin, twisting loosely around her neck, her shoulders, a layer or two reaching around her arms, around her chest. It snakes down to her flat belly, where she has artfully left out a few spaces to show some skin. It wraps around her waist, down, down, and only reaches half the length of her thighs. The rest are covered with her ankle length socks, leaving her creamy legs in full view.

((Hn.))

He lets out a choked gasp, and is about to growl at her to go away, to save his sanity, but she leans in. She's close enough to let him doubt if she is truly wearing something under her skimpy outfit, but far enough for him to see her whole form. Just right.

"Relax," she purrs, wrapping her tongue around the word and letting it slither out like the snakes he summons.

He does as he is told, his mind too numb and his heart too skittery for him to do anything else. His first impulse is to back away a little more, but when she starts her little number, he is frozen in place.

Step, step, step, pause. Her hips sway as she steps, and she pauses deliberately in front of his futon. Then she starts, but he does not notice that she has started, as she runs her pale fingers through her coral hair. He thinks she is only arranging her hair, but it gets more provocative.

From her hair, her hand travels to her pink cheeks, softly, so softly. Then she traces her lips slowly with one finger. Then her lips move against the skin, and he realizes she is sucking on the finger. His jaw drops further, and there is an uncharacteristic heat in the room, considering it was well into winter. Her eyelids are lowered, her green eyes darkened with something akin to lust. Her lips curve up into a luscious smirk, and she slides out her tongue to lick on her finger.

To his disappointment (which he doesn't know where from), she stops. But then, her hand glides down to her chin, and she inclines her head backward, letting him see her neck and how she is touching it. His own hand twitches at his side, but he struggles to maintain control. She lets her hand slide to her chest, and the valley between her mounds, and he swallows hard as she lets out a little moan.

Then her hand slides under her breast, and his hips are heating up more and more. She does not take her emerald orbs off him. She lets her fingers skim the underside of her breast, and against his will, he imagines he is the one touching.

But she stops so abruptly he is jerked from fantasy. Perhaps she sees this fantasy as well, and he swallows embarrassedly again as she smirks that seductive smirk once more. She blinks slowly, and when she opens her eyes after a fraction of a second, he realizes she has a second plan.

((Hn.))

She gracefully gets on her knees. He notices he is breathing heavier, his heart is beating faster, and his sweat pouring down even more. Winter or not, it was hot in his room, and he pulls on the collar of his yukata. This seems only to encourage her, and her hands are soon on the futon.

Crawl, crawl, crawl, smirk. As she crawls, her hips sway tantalizingly, her breasts seeming to bounce this way and that, her mouth is still curved up to that all-knowing smirk he finds both annoying and breathtaking. He is close enough to see her cleavage now, but this time, he does not back away.

Now she is close, close enough to be accused of invading personal space. Again, he summons enough willpower to open his mouth and say she is annoying. Say she is not to get close to him. Say she has to go away.

"Sakura…" is what he chokes out instead, his voice cracking. She giggles softly and crawls nearer. She moves her face forward so that her lips are mere centimeters away from his.

He can feel her breath touch his lips as she murmured enticingly, "…I told you to relax…"

He is drawn by her, and he leans in to capture her lips. But she dodges swiftly so that all his lips meet is air. She laughs teasingly again and leans closer to his ear. "Later…" she whispers, and he shivers pleasurably when the tip of her tongue touches his ear.

But that is all she will give at the moment. She pulls back, and again against his will, he lets out a small noise in his throat. He is responding. His resolve is breaking, and as he hates himself for it, he loves her for it, even if it is against his will.

((Hn…))

The first touch to his skin slick with sweat almost draws a chemical reaction. Her cool touch seems to make his hot cheek sizzle. Her stare is intense, and he wonders how it is that she is unblinking. She did not break contact with his eyes, and he wrenched his gaze from her smoldering eyes.

This is a mistake, as his eyes land on her chest instead. He is now close enough to know (and he chokes at this realization) that she is not wearing a bra. Her nipples are pressing against the two-ply, and in their closeness, it is painfully obvious.

Glide, glide, glide, rest. Her cool fingers glide down from his cheek to his lips, resting there for a while. His nape hairs prickle as she skims over his throat, down his collarbone, down on his hard chest. As she pauses on his heart, he realizes it is beating so hard she could probably hear and feel it. He is breathing so heavily. Before he could hide what he truly felt, she presses her palm against his chest, and he knows she feels it throbbing.

A small wistful smile flits over features as she stares at her hand on his chest. Then it is gone, as her eyes flicker to capture his onyx ones, naughty once more. She grins mischievously, and her expression tells him, "Too late to back out now." He agrees; she knows, and he cannot deny what the body has expressed so obviously.

She slips her other hand into the parting of his yukata on his chest, and together, her hands create a most wondrous magic on his body. They slide across his chest, onto his nipples (he gasps), down to his firm stomach (he moans a little), memorizing each curve, contour, and scar, to his bellybutton (his moans are obvious now), and finally down to his waist (he groans loudly at this).

Just as he thought she would slide even lower, her soft hands scurry up again, her touch feathery and light. They move up and down, putting pressure on the right places. Her eyes are on her work, and through the haze of pleasure, he tries to catch a glimpse of her them, in vain. She moves closer so that she is kneeling in between his legs now, and the bulge in his boxers is dangerously near. They both know she knows this.

((Hn…?))

Her eyes flicker up to meet his again, and another surge of naughty intent flashed through those viridian orbs. He licks his dry lips, and she laughs huskily. She leans in to brush her soft lips on his bare forehead. Then she moves, her lips still on his skin, down to his cheek, then to his ear, where she nips playfully. His control slips a little as his hand moves to touch her.

But she is a kunoichi, and she catches his hand before it is even close. "No," she purrs into his ear. "It's your night."

But even as she says this, he vaguely knows she is in control. But he also knows good things come to those who wait. So he waits for his turn. He will control, when the time comes.

Lick, lick, lick, kiss. She lathers him all around like a cat would, and she pauses once in awhile to place a feathery kiss on him. She bends, and her tongue slithers down his neck (he shivers again) and down his collar bone. She places one hand on each thigh (his hips shuddered again) and she showers him with soft kisses and bites on his neck and collarbone. But she never touches his lips, even if they tingle for her taste.

His hands cannot go on long enough without touching her, though. His left hand twitches, and without her noticing, he buries this hand into her silken pink locks. She covers him with her soft kisses, and she puts just the right amount of pressure in the right places. His desire heightens more and more as their breathing becomes heavier and the air around them becomes hotter.

((Hn!))

She presses herself closer to him, finally closing the gap in between their lips. Their first kiss is fiery, fevered. She kisses him hard that he almost feels his lips bruise. Without waiting for any permission, he slips his tongue into her mouth, and they begin a battle for dominance. Their kiss is a dance; their tongues are the dancers; the music is their blood pumping furiously in their veins.

Kiss, kiss, kiss, breathe. Their kisses are a part of a big competition, and as they pause to breathe, he can see the desire burning in her eyes, which he knows mirrors his own. His sensations are heightened, and he feels her soft mounds press against his chest, and her hands around his cheeks as she pulls him closer. She moves to straddle his thigh, and her thigh brushes, accidentally or not, against his hardness. This only peaks his desire, and he presses her hips closer to his body.

He moves down and begins to nibble and tug at her neck's soft skin. He is immediately gratified by her soft moans, and she rubs herself against him, to get in contact with him as much as possible. His other hand rests on her bare stomach, kneading the hot flesh there. Her moans get louder.

((HN!))

Her tissue paper dress gets a little ripped here and there, revealing more of her breasts and her thighs. His hand on her stomach moves up to her breasts and repeats his kneading movements. All they are able to say are each other's names as they react to each other's actions.

Her hands everywhere. She rips off the belt of his yukata and he shrugs it off. Her hands move up and down his chest once more, once or twice accidentally brushing against his manhood. He growls and moves up to kiss her full in the mouth again.

She sits with his bare thigh in between her legs. Suddenly, he feels something hot and sticky meet his skin there. She's not wearing a thing under her tissue paper dress. He groans into her mouth when she begins to rub herself on his thigh.

Rub, rub, rub, groan. She rubs her heat against his hard thigh, and he groans when he thinks how good it would feel if she just didn't rub there. She moans loudly as she comes for the first time.

But he was not contented. He wanted her to come when he was in her, to make her scream out his name over and over again. He pulled away from her lips, and because of her innocently needy look, those green eyes pleading for gratification, he knows what to do. He lifts her hips from his thigh, and pins her to the futon.

She looks at him, and he knows that she knows what he was about to do. Her wide emerald pools bore into his heated coal ones. Her hair is splayed across the futon, and her gleaming white skin in the light of a winter's night looks like ivory. His heart breaks and mends – this is the girl he wants to restore his clan with, among other things. Perhaps he loves her too.

But now was not the time for sentimental wonderings. He hooks up her hot thigh, and her tissue paper dress rips up even more. The two-ply is dissolving in her sweat. She smiles sweetly up at him.

"Sasuke-kun…"

Sasuke-kun. The way she says it is like she caresses every syllable.

Sasuke-kun. He was always annoyed by this, and he is annoyed until now, because of the passion it builds up in him.

Sasuke-kun. No one would be able to say his name like she does.

Sasuke-kun.

Sasuke-kun.

…

((Hn…))

Sasuke-kun.

Sasuke-kun…?

Sasuke-kun? Sasuke-kun!

Sasuke-kun!

"Sasuke-kun!" Sakura said, shaking his shoulder. "Sa-su-ke-kun! Are you listening to me?"

Sasuke jerked up, blushing very furiously, and looked round at her, his expression wild. "Mattaku, what's wrong with you?" the seventeen-year old medic said exasperatedly, shaking her head. "I asked y- oh!"

For Sasuke had thrown his money on the counter and bolted out of sight as fast as a roadrunner on a hot highway, his face as steamy as his noodle meal. Naruto raised his eyebrow strangely as he entered the Ichiraku right on time to see Sasuke bolt.

"What's up with him, Sakura-chan?" he asked as he sat next to her.

Sakura shrugged and lifted her bowl to sip her soup. "I dunno," she said, sighing tiredly. "I only asked him what he wanted for Christmas."

:.: Be careful what you wish for. :.:

Author's note: Because Sasuke is a perv.

Hoped you guys liked that. Guess what? Sasuke's back in the manga! I'm going boinkers like crazy! The whole house seems crazy, actually, since my twin is bouncing around like an idiot, saying Sasuke-kun's back. Maa. I can't blame her. I missed Sasuke's smexiness and bad-ass-ing too.

Reviews… okay?