Title: Fireworks and Lightning
Winter Ashby (rosweldrmr)
Disclaimer: Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto
Rating: M
Summary: 'He wants to show Hinata that he doesn't need her, that he doesn't want her. So he steals away, following her little sister's scent. Which is almost like Hinata's, almost.' (Kiba & Hanabi)
Authors Notes: I don't know where this came from, okay? But just give it a chance. I know it's crack, but it's my new OTP so be kind. And if you think about it, it's not too far off... right, right --hyperventilates-- Okay, I'm better now. This was inspired by Tea's 'Simple Unspoken' It's based on the LJ community '20 Truths'. You can find it in my fav's. (I completely blame her and that fic for making me fall head over heels in love with this unlikely couple) Go read it! Now! (Oh, and I also discovered that KibaHana is NOT the proper nomenclature for this ship, since Kiba's sister's name is Hana. So It will have to be called something else, KibaHanabi I suppose.)

Her name means fireworks.

Kiba considers the irony of this as he kisses her under the ploom of fireworks that blossom from the black night sky and reflect in her large, nearly-white eyes. The sounds of the fall festival are drowned out, washed away in the explosions of the fireworks and the melodic murmur of the stream at the bottom of the gently slopping hill.


It suits her perfectly. Stunning explosive, and if handled the wrong way, deadly.

She slaps him when he pulls back; her eyes dancing with the drifting lights in the sky that slowly fade to black. He has her pinned to a tree at the far corner of the park, away from all the lights and people of the festival.

He growls. Low, rumbling, and deep in his throat.

Her eyes widened, just a fraction, only ever a fraction. That's all the expression, the change, the fear she'll ever let him see.

Usually her face is set, stone, marble-hard.

She is cold. And he wonders if that's because no one ever touches her.

She reminded him of a doll. Especially when she was younger, and so utterly untouchable that she seemed more like a decoration that a real person. But as he leans in and takes a deep breath of air that smells of her, he is reminded that she is real, and gorgeous, and almost everything he's ever wanted.


But her features have a softness to them that he's never really seen before. Just at the corners, on the edges, like if he wasn't still hovering over her, sniffing her neck, he'd miss it.

She turns her face away from him, and he can't help himself. He reaches out, and runs a finger over her cheek, his sharp nail leaving a streak of white that puckers red in its wake.

It's like the velvet of her skin could turn her marble face into a porcelain mask. But she already has one of those.

By the time Kiba is a Jounin, she's a member of ANBU.

He likes that she's risky. And he feels like he's temping fate as he leans in again and draws her lips between his pointed teeth. She doesn't gasp or pull away, he didn't really expect her to.

Instead she twists her fingers in his hair and pulls his head back, her lips along with it. Her lip stretches as his teeth dig into the supple skin.

He draws blood.

And she licks the crimson tinge from her peach-lips and smirks.

He is reminded then, that she's not what he's looking for. She's not shy, and she doesn't stutter. She doesn't blush, or at least, he's never seen her blush.

She's 16 now and he's 21. He's spent years watching her older sister, wishing, hoping that one day she'd forget about the fox. But she doesn't, and Kiba wants to hate her for it. He wants to show Hinata that he doesn't need her, that he doesn't want her. So he steals away, following her little sister's scent. Which is almost like Hinata's, almost.

Hanabi smells like lightning on the wind. Hinata smells like rain on the wind. Similar, but also so different. He is reminded again that she is dangerous, unpredictable.

He follows the fresh, crisp, treacherous smell to the edge of the park. She's leaning against a tree, watching the fireworks that glitter in her eyes. And he wonders, thinks about what she would taste like.

He can smell the lingering fragrance of perfumes and food that waft around her kimono. The smells cling to her, twist in the silky strands of her hair. And he imagines that it would be soft. If he buried his face in her hair, he thinks he might actually be able to taste the lightning, electricity that she hides.

So he sauntered over, Akamaru-less and clad in a traditional kimono, his kaku obi belt is slightly loose, and he can feel the wind moving through the thick fabric, cooling his legs.

Akamaru never liked festivals. Too many people and it's not as though he really blends in with the crowd anymore. He scares the kids and makes the food venders nervous. Instead, he's taken to hunting on the nights when Kiba can't escape Clan obligation to attend formal gatherings.

She looks over at him, like he's a ghost, and those eyes, those same eyes that he's dreamed about for years look at him. But they're different, not quite the same. Like a copy of a copy, there's something missing or something else in her eyes. Hate, anger, bitter resentment, confidence, he's not sure. All he knows is that she doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't even acknowledge him more than a sweeping glance. And he takes it as an invitation.

He lets his hands hang at his sides, itching to touch her. And he doesn't stop walking until he's right in front of her, the swell of her breasts, which are just as large as Hinata's now, rub against his chest.

He leans in, and sniffs the air around her face. The lightning of her scent sparks inside his veins and draws him closer, so that his face is just above hers now. And he can smell sweet sauce from something she's eaten. A pear dessert, and he just knows that's she'll be sweet.

He dips down, bending at the shoulders, pressing his lips against hers. He keeps his eyes open. So does she. And when he darts his tongue out, just barely, just enough to taste the pear on her lips, he considers that maybe it's okay that she's not what he was looking for, because he likes this. Maybe even more than he ever would with Hinata, who would probably be to shy to let him kiss her until they were married.

But then he draws back, and her palm connects with his face. She looks like Neji then, conceited, and noble. He wants to humble her, to drag her down and press her into the wet grass so she knows she's no better than him. He wants to mess up her perfect hair and tear at the bindings of her kimono that's decorated with black flowers.

That's why he bits her lip, so that she'll know; she bleeds just like everyone else. She's no better than him, no better than Hinata, just because her father likes her best. Just because she's more talented than Neji, and beautiful than Tsunade was in her youth. He wants her to know that he doesn't think she's anything but a 16-year-old girl, standing under a tree. And he's a 21-year-old-boy, kissing, biting her. They aren't ninjas, or members of separate clans. She isn't just a replacement, a substitute for someone else, even if that's how this all started. They are just young, and he pretends that he loves her as she licks the blood away.

She touches his face, lightly. Running her fingers, attached to those hands that kill and block a person's chakra, over the marks on his face. She traces the triangles that cut streaks of red down his cheeks. She looks fascinated, like maybe she's always wanted to touch them. So he let's her, because the idea that maybe she's wanted him is captivating.

It makes all the arrogance seep from him. She's not Hinata. And maybe, that's exactly what he's needed all these years. He just never realized it before she touched his face like that, and licked her lips.

Then, she winds her hands up, into his hair and digs her nails into his scalp, pulling him down. He doesn't know why she does it, or lets him, or wants him. But in that moment, it's enough that she just does.

And he crushes her against the tree. Pushing all his weight to cover her, his arms on either side of her head, bracing himself against the rough, jagged bark of the tree as she slides her tongue over his lips.

Another growl as she draws his lip between her teeth now, and nips.

"Wha…?" Kiba asks, slowly losing blood to his brain and trying to understand why she wants this or how she knows he'll like it.

"Shut up." She hisses against his mouth and clamps her teeth down.

Instinct, gut reaction, whatever it was, he bucks his hips against her, grinding, pushing, urging. And she arches against the tree, her perfect hair snags on the bark and tears. He pulls one hand from the tree, indented and sore, and paws at her back. Her long hair tickles his hand as he grabs fists-full of fabric and pulls. "Hana–"

"That's enough." She takes a deep breath and her chest is pressed against his.

He gives up on trying to speak, to ask, to think. Because it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter why she's letting him, why she's pressing her breasts against him, or running her tongue over the points of his teeth. It doesn't matter why she doesn't close her eyes, or say his name.

But he thinks that maybe, maybe she likes feeling like a girl. She likes being desired, and kissed. She's not like her sister at all, really. Her sister is attractive, and timid, like most girls. Hanabi is frightening and intimidating. And the way she looked at him when he called her 'Hana' made him think that he knew her, if only for that tiny sliver of her that wished she could be a flower and not something explosive, and dangerous, and made of gunpowder.

So he reaches around to the obi-jime tie that's slid to the side of her kimono and yanks. The seams stretch and he can hear the threats rip. But it doesn't fall away. The fancy kimono only sags a little, dips to one side and hangs off her shoulder. The eri-sugata she wears instead of the more formal juban falls away and that's enough. He moves from the kiss to taste her bare shoulder.

Hungry, like he's never been before.

Her skin is soft and cold, like her hands that push back the collar of his kimono so that the lose knot of the kaku obi falls away, and his chest is bare. She runs her hands over his shoulders, down his chest and stomach and skims over the waste of the black shinobi pants he wears underneath.

He whimpers then, because he's never let a girl get this close. He kissed a villager once, in the rain, and thought of Hinata. But this time, this time he doesn't think about anything but the way it feels to have Hanabi's hands on his skin, pulling, pushing, desperate and shaky – just like he feels.

He holds her neck and bends his knees, so that they are falling, sinking, descending. His knees hit the moist, soft ground, and sink in. But he doesn't notice, because she's fallen with him, her lovely, precious, expensive kimono is stained with mud.

And he wants to feel her under his rough, calloused palms. He wants to run his hands over her sides and up her legs. He twists back and around so that she falls to the ground, still licking his neck.

And she exhales as they hit the ground, a puff of cold air breezes past his earlobe, wet with her saliva and he loses himself a little in her. He forgets that he sought her out because he wanted to get back at Hinata. And he wishes Hinata would never know about this, never know this side of him. He likes that Hanabi is the only person in the world to ever see him so utterly close to losing control.

Because he wants her. More than he's ever wanted Hinata, more than he's ever wanted ramen or a new jutsu. More than he's ever wanted to win in a sparring match or complete a mission successfully.

He stops nibbling on her clavicle long enough to look down into her eyes, those white, shinning, mysterious eyes and allows himself one aching moment of self-control.

"Do you want me?" He asks, and is surprised to find how horse his voice is. It's thick and feels heavy against his tongue and sliding down his windpipe, gripping at his lungs.

"No." She lies. Her cheeks are flushed red, but she's not blushing. It's the heat of his body against her that makes her cheeks turn roughly jasper pink.

"Tell me you want this." He snarls and digs his fingers into the mud. He doesn't quite know why he's this angry.

"Never." She whispers it reaches for the hemline of her kimono. In the fall, it's ridden up her leg and she pulls it to the side.

Kiba looks down at the exposed skin of her thigh. It looks like ivory in the moonlight. "Why?" he can't help but ask, and her eyes narrow just a fraction, only ever a fraction.

"I'm not her." She seethes and watches him closely.

"I know." Kiba says and kisses her gently on her jaw.

She practically purrs.

"Then, why did you come?" And the look on her face, it's nearly vulnerable, virtually, just about, but never quite.

"Your scent." He lies easily, because he's already forgotten the real reason.

She wrinkles her forehead, like its disgusting. And he laughs. The chuckle moves his body along hers and he realizes that she's still a girl, underneath all the power and superiority.

"Tell me you want me?" he asks softly, tenderly.

"They're coming." She says, as her eyes look away.


"Otou-san and Onee-san."

Kiba touches her lips, where he bit her. He doesn't move, at first. Not until he can feel a familiar chakra signature coming from the lights in the distant. "Why you were out here alone?" he asks as he runs his hand over a scar that he can just barely see against her satin skin, starting at her left clavicle and running down, lost in the sea of fabric that swallows her, hides her from him.

"I was waiting for you." He believes her, because she looks so serious.

"Why?" he can feel them getting closer, and hears Hinata's voice calling for her little sister.

"Because, I've seen the way you looks at her." Kiba doesn't need to ask who. "And I wanted that. I wanted you to look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you love me."

And so he does. He looks at her, for a second time tonight, and imagines, pretends, fools himself into thinking that he's in love. "When can I see you again?"

"Soon," is all she says as she scoots out from under him, her hair a mess, her clothes stained and wet, but beautiful still, beautiful in spite of that, beautiful because of it.

"Onee-chan." Hinata calls from the small bridge over the stream, just over the far side of the hill.

But Kiba doesn't want to go, doesn't want to forget the way she looks at him, disheveled and still flushed from their tumble together. So he kisses her, soft this time, fleeting, lightly grazing his lips over hers. And now it's funny, ironic that he doesn't want to see Hinata. He wants to stay, and taste the pear sauce on her lips again and again.

He half-stands, prepared to spring away, but he hesitates. She reaches out, and takes the kaku obi tie and pulls it towards her. She balls it in her hand and glares at him.

"Leave." She commands, like the Hyuuga heiress she is. And he smirks, because he doesn't mind so much, taking orders from her. Especially when he knows that she's got something he wants back.

He bows, a mock-bow and vanishes. Just in time.

That's it... then end. That's all you get... maybe. If you guys REALLY like it, I guess I could think of something to write. But it may have to go on my LJ, 'cause keeping this FF dot net suitable was very, very difficult. I just want to write PWP for these two!