Touching Her



He swore it was the way she swung her hips. He swore it was the way her perky breasts pressed into her shirt. Good Lord, he swore it was the way her body moved under the surreal mood lights and to the beat of that loud, obnoxious sound coming from the instruments. But then again, he swore it was the drink he had swallowed so quickly when he first saw her. It was then, he promptly ordered another. There was no flaw he could see immediately. Flawless milky skin, sleek long legs, shapely curves, gentle subtle movements, muscles in places he never even seen before, bright green eyes, dainty pale lips, and well rounded buns. Then he noticed it.

Pink.

The most atrocious color ever seen in the world. A bright, useless color. The color he hated the most. She had to have it as hair. He grunted in distaste. But even though he hated that color and couldn't bare to look at it even further, he couldn't pull his gaze from her lithe form rolling and swinging on the dance floor. Her arms slowly worked their way up her body, curling slightly as they reached high above her head. Her head turned slightly to the side, and she swayed her hips back and forth. Side to side.

He swore if he wasn't wearing a dark cloak, everyone in the nearby radius would notice his slight ache. Oh hell, it wasn't just a slight ache. His member was strictly pointing upwards as though he took Viagra. God, he hoped his partner wasn't paying close attention to him.

He groaned again, and buried his face in his available hand while the other gripped his glass tightly, but he couldn't keep his head down nor his eyes from her too long. He glanced up, and through narrow eyes, he studied her body move. The way her abs crunched and flowed back into several body rolls, the way her hips ground back and forth awaiting for someone to grind back into them, the way her hands clenched and unclenched.

What he'd give to have her move like that against him.

He grunted. Should he? What would the guys back at the organization say if they got wind of this? What the hell would she say? He doubt she'd like it for she'd probably notice the bright red clouds upon his cloak. But perhaps, Kami was on his side. Maybe she would be too drunk to notice. Hell, she had to be drunk if she was going to dance like that and expect no one to notice.

He downed the rest of his sake and stood up from his perch on the stool beside the bar.

He had to be just as wasted.

He paced himself on steady feet, and dragged his huge frame through the crowd. Some stared up at him with fear. Others looked on too drunk to care. Many parted ways. She didn't even flinch. She continued to wind her body in ways only a ribbon could. She swung her hips slower as the tone became more sultry, and he took large steps to reach her. He stalked his now prey. He could practically smell her seductive perfume as he drew near. As he stood before her then, she glanced through parted lids at him: slowly turning her head to the center, her eyes on him at all points, her head turning to the other side, rubbing her face into the smooth skin of her arm, her legs parting slightly more and bending at the knees, and she rolled her hips back and forth. He knew she was inviting him in. And he would be damned if he didn't take advantage of it.

He slid himself cautiously up to her, glided his right leg between her parted ones, and captured her own leg between his muscled thighs. She ground into him softly and he groaned in the back of his throat. He carefully skimmed his fingers over the sides of her body, and he grinned down at her when he felt her shiver. When his fingers brushed her hips, she ground into him harder and he flashed her a deadly, predatory smile. This time around, he gripped her hips and pulled them back to his hips (he had to bend his knees so that they fit just about right). He felt a puff of air escape her partly parted lips, and he felt his cheeks lift even further. Her face was close to his chest and her head bobbed right below his collar bone. Her perfume was stronger now that he was so close to her, and he loved the scent.

He had to get its name for sure. Not that he would buy it, he thought, just for future reference. His thought became somewhat distorted as he closed his eyes. Her hips pressed flush against his and she panted slightly upon a tad bit of his exposed flesh.

"Kisame, what the hell are you doing?"


A.N.: Continue? Not continue? By all means leave a review and let me know. This could just be a humourous one-shot or a full story. Interested? Opinionated? Please, do fill me in.