Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Poetry is meant to be seen and heard. Please Read aloud if you can
Leaf Readings of Teacup Eyes
Leaf readings of teacup eyes told him not of the past but the future.
His lips moved against the seashell of her ear.
"Tell me you don't want this."
"I don't want this."
"Tell me you want me to stop."
" I want you to stop."
"Dammit Sakura, tell me this is wrong."
"Mmm. So wrong."
Her lip tasted like honey as he drew it into his mouth. His hands laced over the milk cream skin of her back.
It was all a terrible lie.
The skin of her cheek buttery smooth as it rested weakly against his neck. She was all sweet curvatures and soft sighs.
That marriage is a lie.
"You're not mine."
"I'm not yours."
Her throaty voice was marred by that truth and Kami he needed to hear its sweet timbre filled with heated moaning instead. His nose found that gentle spot at the base of her throat that made those tea green eyes glaze over with heat and that milky back arch into him.
Rough worn hands sought the full lusciousness of her breasts. Her hair smelled different today without the filter of his mask. Like citrus, but not harsh like lemon or grapefruit. It was a tangy plushness of orange and something else that made his mouth water. Pavlovian and base, but he was so terribly hungry for her.
"H-hai, we can't."
Her damp breath hitched unsteady as his mouth found a tight pink bud. Teeth and tongue laving over skin sweet with salt and pheromones. Her hands, legs not tentative, but firmly sure with lust and need.
The press of flesh and tender friction blurred the margins. A bead of sweat fell down the hill of her shoulder and for a moment he imagined there was steam.
"I can't stop."
This wasn't right. She wasn't his to taste. The harshly glinting golden band on that long left finger told the truth. But the truth was a lie. He knew it. She knew it. That raven haired man knew it.
Those crimson eyes that saw all were so blind to everything but the past. Kakashi had one too. But unlike her husband fate had also graced him with one of another kind. Though darkened impossibly smoky gray, he could see her with it. Those beryl pools flooded with unfulfilled hope and passion and future and the promise of halcyon days.
Bare bottoms of her feet found purchase on his calves, knees slung low over sinewy hips. The clovered dew of her thighs igniting his thirst further. Despite everything he couldn't stop.
Her goldenness and pinkness and greenness splashed deliciously across his vision. He had never been so hungry, so thirsty, so deliriously human.
Her eyes said it all. No longer finding satisfaction at being a beautiful obligation. Living was not about obligation. Seeds desired a richer soil.
This, these feelings, were not under mortal control, and he knew it was too late to stop. Like the breath that releases the downy fur of the dandelion to the current of the winds.
A pull and a push and he took what he wanted. The horizon tilted, the Earth shifted underneath them.
This is too much-
He swallowed up her breathy gasps, he devoured her moans.
They were not a convective cell of heating and rising and cooling and falling. Their bodies joined and permeating energy that sped the tectonic motion and friction and moisture and it was so wonderful and unbearable and unbearably hot.
An artful folding and unfolding into each other, a natural origami of bodies.
Nimble fingertips found no longer hidden lips and sought to silence the doubts from spilling out. Lips and tongue and gorgeous fruition of desire filled up all the space.
The ebb and flow of body and hips and pulse and blood. The tide of passion rising steady, threatening to spill over the rim of the cup.
And she was arching hard up into him.
And God, she felt so good.
And don't stop.
And God don't stop.
And a rush and a thrust and the world was awash with resplendent whiteness.
Brilliance graced them both and suddenly reality was not objective, but subjective and his reality was Sakura and her body and pulsing and the most powerfully transcendent release.
God don't stop-
But as things go, light soon separated into its rightful spectrum and ecstasy faded too fast. Breath returned to emptied lungs, voice once lost to the infinity was found again. And he was no longer the God of his world, but a sinner that had tasted that forbidden fruit.
"Stay." Her voice was tired but satisfied.
"Hmm," he hummed bringing elbows underneath shoulders to brace for withdrawal. A pulling away of body and soul.
Small clever hands found his hips and pulled him flush against her, into her, again.
"Say you'll stay."
His head bowed to find tense rest in the hollow valley between her graceful collarbone and neck, the silver downy hair brushing over her flushed cheek.
"I can see now," she interrupted.
He could too. Did too. Her eyes so clearly told that fortune. A future growing tall and wide and bearing not beautifully empty flowers, but fruit that sates and nourishes.
In her body he found the question, and in those eyes he found his answer.
To hesitate was easier than to take what was never his to have. But still, the desire was there, arching through his chest like the desperate need to walk barefoot in grass.
What did the future matter if it wasn't the one he saw with her? And what did he have to give her but everything?
In the end they were just organic and finite creatures given few chances and less choice.
But this choice…
"Hai. Let's stay."
So damned right.
Because the requited kind tastes strongest.
A/N: The inspiration for this came from Mary Oliver's poem, 'White Flowers.' She is able to make nature and death feel so erotic. Go read her immediately. You'll be a better person for it.
I wanted to challenge myself to create a lemon oneshot that was very erotic, but etirely inexplicit. Too often in fanfiction lemons follow a standard formula. I therefore resorted to using hunger and fecund imagery as my main motifs. Please let me know your thoughts since this is my first lemon.