A/N: Identify the musical quote, who said it, and what musical they were from. And then I'll make another one of these. God willing, no one will figure it out. Then I can sleep at night.

This was forced out of me under IM torture by Fallacy and IvyAdrena. But I love all the attention, I confess.

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Title: It Was Very Late and I Was Not Thinking Clearly

Author: A Midwestern Virgin

Rating: EF5 on the Fujita Scale

Awards: An Oscar for Best Drama and Worst Script

Summary: It came from the bed. It was tired of being chained to the bedpost. It wanted to watch the Weather Channel. It wanted sex. The only question is: will the stove explode and set the surrounding houses on fire?

Edition: Platinum Series, including commentary

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Sakura: Kisame, I'm just not in the mood.

Kisame: But—but—I was feeling all romantic and shit!

Sakura: I was feeling all PMS and shit, sorry.

Kisame: Okay, I guess I need to set things up a little….

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Lightning seared through the night, casting an eerie white light upon the two figures in the living room and distorting the shadows within it. An unnatural silence followed, magnifying the thunder's intensity when it followed. Rain pounded a mantra of promises of spring on the windows while the hailstones resounded with a rebuttal chorus on the rooftop. A soft, feminine voice broke into the tumult.

"Kisame, I feel like we're in a rerun of a Weather Channel special broadcast. It scares me."

"Stormy weather makes the author feel like they might be writing something other than porn. For their conscience, you see. Gives them something else to blabber on about besides how the orgasm feels. It'll also keep the neighbors from banging on your door, for more than one reason. Okay, no more talking. Or the sex-in-a-storm setup will be totally ruined. On the couch."

"Are our clothes even off?"

"Yes, because the author didn't feel like taking the time to explain how the sound of the zipper makes someone shiver with carnal delight or how the hell someone would even manage to take the other person's shirt off with their teeth. Get on the fucking couch before I stop being horny."

The watermelon-tressed woman prowled to the couch like a she-cat in heat, which didn't make much sense since she-cats in heat spend most of their time rolling on the ground in screaming ecstasy. If Kisame had anything to say about it, though, Sakura would be doing that and more by the time the dawn kissed the sky.

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Kisame: There will be lots of that, too. Kissing, I mean.

Sakura: I can't believe you said the F-word. That is so not like you.

Kisame: The heat of the moment, my dear. I was suffering an erection. That alone can switch anyone's vocabulary around. And you know you're just trying to ignore the fact that this is turning you on.

Sakura: Shut up! I'm trying to read this extremely poorly-written pornfic!

Kisame: Exactly. Now we've got to get back. The author is already thinking about deleting this, and then she'll be internet-killed. No one wants that.

Sakura: I don't want to spread my legs. I want to pervade my lower appendages.

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Laying back on the couch with her arms seductively entwined over her head, the medic nin coyly pervaded her lower appendages and purred lovingly to the missing nin,

"Come on, now. Didn't you want this? And hurry up. This is really uncomfortable, however fun it may be to write. The little hole in between the cushions is going to leave a line in the morning, dammit."

"There are oodles of cat parallels in this fic. Should I be flopping and gasping during my orgasm in a fish-like manner?"

"Cats are sexier. Plus, fish don't go into heat."

"This one does."

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Sakura: Let's use names now. The "nin" syndrome can only take you so far.

Kisame: Hear, hear. How do I get to approach the couch? Is it sexy-like?

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Kisame went to the couch and sat down beside Sakura.

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Kisame:

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He paused and closed his eyes momentarily, as if waiting for a sign to continue. Deep in the recesses of his blue head, he gathered that this couldn't go on in such a fashion. Their relationship had begun many years ago, starting after the first attempt at catching Naruto. They didn't ever try to take anything this far, though. Kisame simply came to her house and played poker with her and discussed new episodes of Grey's Anatomy while he mournfully waited for her to hit puberty. With no boobs, there was nothing to seductively caress or gently suckle, unfortunately. Finally, it hit him.

Kisame fell back on the couch with a grunt. "That was my ear, woman. I'll never hear the nun bitch about his religion ever again! How could you?"

Sakura lowered the left section of her lower appendages. "You deserved it. And I'll go to hell before I let you have a flashback in this scene."

Fingering his scapha and navicular fossa gingerly, Kisame curled his lip and winced in pain. "It stings. I wasn't planning on pain-infliction sex in this fic. I wrote that out of my contract after the first Itachi incident. The man is an animal. I will never yaoi ever again."

Curling her lower appendages onto her torso and launching herself towards Kisame to straddle his very manly thighs like only an experienced shinobi or an extremely lascivious female could manage, Sakura locked gazes with the not-really-surprised-because-he-was-sort-of-expecting-it man who was now beneath her. She drew a finger up to eye level before bending down to run the tip of her fingernail from the center of his manubrium down to his abdominal rectus.

"The only thing you will be fingering tonight," she whispered, "is me."

"I'm sorry; you'll have to speak up. Don't forget that there's a raging thunderstorm outside. Oh, don't look all mad. There'll be plenty time for sexy one-liners later when we actually get around to me shoving my pumping pole of penile power into your searing hot tunnel of orgasmic love."

Sakura sighed like someone who had just been denied the right to give a blue ninja a blowjob. "You really have a knack for ruining the moment, you know?"

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Sakura: I'm right, you do.

Kisame: I can balance Samehada on the end of my sandal. Want to see?

Sakura: I give up. Time to step it up a notch. Am I the only one interested in this anymore?

Kisame: -balancing-

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Not waiting for a reply, which was probably a smart thing to do, Sakura opted for tenderly grasping his penis instead.

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Kisame: Whoa! Time out!

Sakura: Hey, don't interrupt already! It was just getting good!

Kisame: No, no. "Penis" is a forbidden word/phrase in porn fics. Says so right in this Le Olde Booke of Fanfictione I have. It even surpasses "I love you" and "No, I don't want to have sex at the moment." This is very serious.

Sakura: Then what the hell do you do?

Kisame: You could be grabbing my member instead.

Sakura: "Member" means appendage. For all the un-horny people out there, I could be grabbing your toe, for the love of Gaara's tattoo.

Kisame: Then what the hell are we going to—oh. Right there. -points-

Sakura: That'll do nicely. No one could possibly mess that up in their minds. Not even a virgin from the Midwest.

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Kisame craned his neck to look down where Sakura was gazing down at her hand, which was currently wrapped around his male reproductive organ.

"Did I chip a nail?"

"You're killing me, woman. Make with the sucking already."

"How rude of you to say that out loud. And if you were following along, you would've noticed that right has been hereby denied to you."

Whimpering in a way that was quite the opposite of his manly thighs, Kisame was having an episode recap inside his blue head of all those poker games, all those controversial season finale endings talks. Were they worth it, worth all his time, only for this? For a man, this was pure torture. Even worse than tight underwear! All thoughts suddenly flew out his uninjured external auditory meatus and out the window into the rain (where they promptly drowned after being knocked out by a chorus of meatball-sized hailstones) as he stiffened his spine, which thereby stiffened all other parts of his body, making it very stiff indeed.

"What are you doing?"

"This fic isn't that porny. I'm not going to tell you everything I'm doing. Look for yourself."

Kisame looked. Sakura was trailing a finger up one side and down the other on his male reproductive organ.

"That feels so good. Don't stop. Don't stop! Ugh!"

"It's so soft. Like a little kitty cat's tummy."

"Now who's ruining the moment?"

"I think it's time for some hardcore relative seriousness now."

"Indeed. And to hell with meaningful dialogue."

Kisame gasped at the sensation her fingers were making on his body. He shuddered and grabbed Sakura's hips, desperate for some leverage, any solid foundation he could find on this sea of pleasure.

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Sakura: That's the soppiest shit I've ever read. To hell with seriousness. And stop shuddering with pleasure. It makes you look like you're having an epileptic seizure.

Kisame: You're such a meanie poo.

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Sakura smirked. She loved being on top. "Do you like that?"

Kisame groaned. He loved being dominated by pink-haired people named Sakura. "Do you even need to ask?"

"What else do you want me to do?"

Kisame mumbled something about the Weather Channel.

"Okay, then. That's good. My fingers were getting sore from all that lovingly caressing-ness going on back there."

Pressing her hands down into the couch on either side of Kisame's nipples of death, Sakura raised her delicate, feminine, pink little tush from Kisame's manly thighs, scooted up until her searing hot tunnel of orgasmic love was precisely positioned over his male reproductive organ—how did she know it was precisely placed? Hell if anyone knows—and locked gazes with Kisame once again. He was still mumbling about tropical depressions and chances of heavy fog in the north.

Once again making a wise decision, Sakura chose not to get involved. Maybe he was flashbacking to an AU Fic. She always kind of had the hots for weather men, now that she thought about it. Lowering herself and wincing because it was just sexy like that, Sakura inched her way to full reproductive penetration. Kisame moaned and clenched her hips tighter. There was just no freaking way that snow was to be expected in Mist! It was inconceivable! Sakura, who had been trying to sexily make little squeaky noises (but only sounded like a thirteen-year-old boy in puberty), abruptly stopped and glared down at Kisame, who was still lost in his tornado chasing fantasies. She took the hand that wasn't doing something skanky and gave his blue head a few good whacks.

"Hey! You're the one who wanted to have sex, here! Don't go limp on me now, fish boy!"

The magic words.

Kisame suddenly gripped her hips even tighter, securing the fact that she was going to have a big-ass bruise there tomorrow morning. He flipped them over on the couch in that way that only men in fanfictions can do properly but not real live ones. Because then it just kind of makes things awkward, you see. So anyway, Kisame switched them around, which was good and proper because the man is the one who should be doing all the work. Since women are the ones who get pregnant and have babies, the pre-baby rituals should be fully enjoyed by the female, like when the male gets to pass out with exhaustion the female is all ready to talk about feelings and stuff.

Sakura smiled, feeling for all intents and purposes like she'd just won a war. "Kisame," she whispered into his ear, nipping at it in the process, "you…are really heavy."

Kisame winced. "My God. How many assaults on my body parts am I going to have to endure? That's the ear you kicked. Now it's bruised and it stings. What do you think you are? A mosquito? No more biting!"

Sakura ran her hands over his blue head and sighed just like Napoleon Dynamite. "Do you want to orgasm or not? It wasn't in your contract. I could leave now and just…leave and stuff."

Kisame chuckled in a manner that was not like a fish in any way at all. "I'm on top. You can't move, lol."

"Damn."

Wisely deciding not to freaking talk anymore, Kisame craned his neck down to the wide-eyed madic nin's little pink head and whispered, "I win."

Lowering his lips onto hers, Kisame began the overdue make-out scene, moving his lips on Sakura's in a way most men find satisfying and alluring, but most women just have to wipe off with Wet Ones the next morning to make sure all the crusty slobber is off.

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Sakura: It really is gross, you know.

Kisame:

Sakura: Why are you looking at me like that? …You know, just because—augh! Not the juncture between my lower appendages!

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Kisame slowly moved out of her before thrusting back in. Because it's important to take out what you're going to put back in. He repeated this in a very repetitive manner, this thrusting thing, and everything got really boring for a while because all that was happening was groping and thrusting and squealing and screaming in ecstacy and moaning each other's names and getting rug burn from the sofa and nearing the breaking point and shit like that.

Sensing he was nearing the breaking point (and a really stupid literary parallel); Kisame looked down at the woman beneath him, who was currently writhing in annoyance because she had rug burn. Who knew rug burn could be so damn sexy? Hell, who knew you could get rug burn from a couch?

Sakura gasped and clenched her teeth. That rug burn was a bitch. "Kisame," she moaned (again), "I think—I think I—I think I left the stove on…dam—mit…oh God! Why are you stopping? You're the one who said not to stop! Forget about my stove! It's not gas, it's electric!"

Kisame paused while still thrusting away with his male reproductive organ. Damn, what can't that man do? "If the stove is on, we should turn it off. It won't be fun when the house explodes."

"Oh, yes it will. It'll be a bang, yeah!"

Both sexing ninjas occupying the couch froze, startled. Sakura craned her neck in a heron-like manner to see some random blond person standing in the doorway to the living room. Seeing who it was, Sakura immediately adopted a pissy attitude that would make any housewife ashamed of themselves.

"What the hell do you think you're doing out of my closet? Was Tobi picking the locks again? I swear, what do I have to do to keep you assholes in line? Back in! Before I get the cat-o-nine-tails! The one with the pink fuzz balls on the handle! Oh…and tell Itachi the key for Zetsu's handcuffs is in my nightstand, and he can remove the blindfold to look for them."

The random blond person sighed. "Yes, master. I just thought it was my turn tonight, that's all."

Kisame smirked. "Well, it's not, Mr. Marilyn Monroe. Back in the closet!"

The random blond person pouted and opened his mouth to issue back an extremely immature retort, but was interrupted by shouts from the bedroom behind him. He whipped his head back toward the noise, and then ran back down the hall. "Gotta go back, yeah," he called over his shoulder, "the nun and Kakuzu found the skittles again. Sorry to bother you, master, yeah."

Sakura snorted. "What a bunch of idiots. I'm so glad you're my number one crack whore. Lover. I meant lover."

Kisame rolled the eyes in his blue head. "Can we just orgasm now? If this goes on there'll be a sequel, and no one wants that."

"You could be right. Time to commence orgasm, style number twenty-two."

Sakura bit her lip as Kisame began thrusting erratically, faster and deeper with each second. He was close to releasing his little seeds of love within his love juice soon. She knew this because she'd read a bunch of smut and it said that when that happened he was definitely close to release. And if he was close, so was she. Don't question it, just do it.

Right, Sakura thought, that's the way it's gonna be. "Augh!" She cried out as Kisame suddenly thrust his male reproductive organ into her harder than ever, making Sakura think she was going to have a hell of a lot of bruises to check out in the morning, and securing the fact that, yes, he did have an orgasm finally. The sensation of his little seeds of love within his love juice spurting (what a ridiculous word) from his very much relieved male reproductive organ was what finally sent her over the edge. Because bodily fluids always turn you on like that. She gasped and writhed underneath him—"Hold still, dammit. I'm trying to release my sexual tension in your searing hot tunnel of orgasmic love here."—as she, too, fell of the edge of her winding tension (lucky for her, there were some fireman with a blanket below to catch her, otherwise she might have broken her lower appendages), causing wave upon wave of pleasure to hit her in a way that she never thought possible. It was like a goldfish bowl sitting out in the middle of the desert with a baby crab in it, then a giant rock falling out of the sky and crushing the goldfish bowl into one thousand three hundred seventy-two point five pieces. Impossible like that impossible. Because you never put crabs in goldfish bowls.

Several seconds later, after everyone had been orgasm-ified out of their minds (and their sanity), they lay on the couch in their aftermath, along with a bunch of gross, sticky crap.

"That was nice."

"Yeah."

"…"

"…"

"So what now?"

"I'm going to go back there and make sure the boys aren't being too naughty with the whipped cream back there. You know how they lick it off themselves sometimes. And the nun might decide to do another one of those wacky rituals and get the carpet messy."

"Can you turn the stove off first, please? Oh, and turn the TV off. The Weather Channel guy is being too loud."

"A pleasure."

"No, you're a pleasure."

The two lovers smiled at each other, and the sun peeked from behind the clouds and shone into the living room on them both, making things very hard to see.

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Hidan: God, who the fuck did this? I think I'm going to be sick, seriously. And I am not a nun.

Tobi: Tobi doesn't understand! First Kisame and Sakura disappear, leaving all their clothes here, and the goldfish bowl from the living room is gone. And has anyone seen the stove?

Deidara: Look! I found some handcuffs, yeah!

Zetsu: Give those back.

The End

Or is it?