So. Keryn randomly commanded a ShikaIno drabble with the prompt, 'sweat', and O HOLY MUSE OF MUSES I actually managed one. Yeah, took me by surprise too.
He wasn't staring. Of course he wasn't. Shikamaru didn't just stare, and he certainly didn't stare at girls, least of all Ino.
Even when she was right there in front of him, stretched out and glistening from a hard day's training. He wasn't staring at the bruise he'd given her earlier, or the dainty finger that traced across it like it was something beautiful, elegant. Then there was her body — lithe, young, nubile — sweat-slicked and her clothes that clung tightly, showing off curves and turns he most certainly wasn't staring at.
Of course, Chouji didn't know this, and assumed the worst.
"You're staring, Shikamaru."
He didn't answer because the statement was that ridiculous, that far-fetched— Not because he was too busy looking at the lock of hair she insisted on keeping in front of her eye, or the way it just sort of dangled there when she bent her head forward.
Shikamaru was a genius, the first chuunin of his class and an elite. He knew better than to fall prey to foolish things like lust or desire. He was a man, and men were strong and willful. Men like him didn't play victim to their hormones, and men like him certainly didn't fall for women like Ino.
Not even when a tiny bead of sweat rolled down her torso, gliding through the smooth and hard planes of her stomach, falling into the crevasse of her navel, sliding beneath the band of her skirt, sinking further down into—
"Okay, ew. Now you're drooling."
This time Shikamaru did answer him, and when Ino finally came to them later, she wondered when Chouji had gotten a bruise too.
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