Anette Lyy

Standard disclaimer applies.
Edited 122809. I convince you that, no babies were whacked in the making of this one-shot :)

He smokes.

Ughh, that's so GROSS.

And a major turn-off when you've been completely turned-ON by that gorgeous face of his. And his smexy body. That you erm, totally want to glomp and—ahem!

Silky, jet black hair—that you fantasize to tangle your hands in when you commence to bite each others' mouths off—frame his flawless and defined face. While coal eyes, ski-slope nose, and delicious red-apple lips smirk at you with insinuation of the naughty-naughty yet to come.

A slender frame, but still firm and seductive. And can very easily over-power yours, if he resolves to shove you against the nearby wall somewhere reclusive, and yes, you both shall give into sweet temptation and commence to bite each others' mouths off.

Too bad he smokes.

Now all my teenage fantasies have been flushed down the toilet of You-Have-No-Love-Life. And there was so much to be DONE; I feel like a part of my life is missing. Oh yeah, the love and lust and lingerie part.

These days, I'm stuck at Akatsuki General Store, doomed to shelf toothpaste, tampons, and toiletries for the next three months.

Ughh, major suck-age. And yes, I'm well aware there is no such word. Cool it, Grammar Nazi.

Anyway, break time is the worst part of the day—for me at least.

I mean sure, I get to spend the whole thirty minutes in the 'Employees Only' break room alone with Sasuke—the center of all my wildest dreams—while I rape him with my eyes—I am so guilty of such—but the fumes of cigarettes that oozed sickly from the parting of his red-apple lips is so. Damn. Suffocating.

And I have asthma, too. So it's highly recommended by my physician—Daddy—that I not kiss some "dirty, rotten, scoundrel" who can possibly stop my flow of oxygen. You can't live on kisses alone, ya know.

So today, a particularly hot Tuesday, Sasuke and I are stuck in the break room once more—we shared the same shift times. I totally didn't stalk him for days on end to make sure of that. Really, I'm innocent. It's fate.

The only difference was that the ventilation system was down and thus, there was no air conditioning. It was sticky and the space smelled like wet cardboard. Sweat protruded from my armpits and salty drops rolled down the sides of my face and Sasuke—oh. Oh. Oh.

Oh no.

I erm, attempted to conceal the slight bloody nose I was experiencing—dammit!—due to Sasuke rising from his seat and taking off his wet shirt.

If I recall correctly, Sasuke was assigned to unpack and deposit the new shipment of frozen ham and turkey to the meat section an hour before break. Mmhm, I love a man with meat.

So, I sort of wanted to touch his—ahem! What I meant was, I sort of wanted/needed to leave the room ASAP. Ya know, before I die in my own pool of greatly spilled—nose—blood and Sasuke becomes freaked out by yours truly. Which will be the death of me.

But stupidly, it was required that employees take their break in the assigned break room, whether they wanted to or not. Itachi—Sasuke's engaged older brother, who doesn't smoke—says it has to do with child labor laws or whatever.

So there we sat, at different tables like per usual, and engaged in our own personal activities.

Sasuke had extracted a new package of cigarettes and was lighting one up and I was ogling at the Sex God from behind the disguise of last years COSMO Girl! magazine.

We sat in comfortable silence—if I want to proceed to ogle at him and live to tell the tale, I think I'll need to purchase the nose-plugs in aisle seven—till MY breathing interrupted the whole peaceful scenario and Sasuke, who had his smexy back to me, spun 'round, and for the first time in two weeks, acknowledged me.

He bestowed upon me the lovely words, "Stop breathing."

It wasn't even a decent question; it was an order. For me to stop. Breathing. And that translate to death. Well, eff you, buddy. EFF YOU! And to think I might've considered to snog you if the world depended on it, but now—I'll let the world suffer. And you will suffer, too! Ughh, I don't understand what I see in you!

Oh wait. I see the jet black hair, the coal black eyes, the red-apple lips, the chiseled chest, the slender legs, the upper area of aforementioned slender—ahem. That is not the point at the moment. I need to regain my dignity!

"Look pal," and yeah, I just totally called him 'pal,' "I don't think you fully understand the calamity of the situation here," I say with sticky arms folded across my nonexistent chest—puberty is so cruel.

He scoffed and took a lengthy whiff of the cigarette; the elaborate motion made me sort of nauseated and I blinked to stay focused—hmm, I never knew Sasuke had two noses. Or four arms.

"And what is the calamity of the situation, Haruno?" he inquires with a roll of ebony irises.

Oh! He knows me by name. I smile—giggle uncontrollably—at that and I feel a tad woozy. Probably because I'm happy. Or maybe it's because of the way his chest muscles flex when he breathes and it totally. Turns. Me. On. Or there's also the chance it might be that I'm a bit high on the fumes of gray fog encircling the room.

Even if you're not the one smoking, inhaling the nicotine-infused substance can get you high—that's why Daddy preached to stay away from "dirty, rotten, scoundrels." But I reasoned Sasuke is none of those things.

"Well," I attempt to clear the haziness of the break room—oh hey, the coffeemaker is dancing the quick-step with the teapot; that's sexy—by blinking away the fog. "Well, as you can feel, it's probably over a hundred degrees in here, and we're trapped with the door closed. Damn air-conditioning is broken, too," I cursed aloud so I wondered if I really WAS high. "And you have to be Mr. Sexy and take your shirt off—you SLUT—to seduce me with your kissable chest and—" yeah, I'm high.

That, or socially suicidal.

I think I'm going to try to go outside now. So, I rise to my feet—oh, wobbly feet.

Sasuke stiffened a bit as I swayed from side-to-side.

"Are you—" that was him; I think he's worried 'bout little old me.

"I have asthma," I say, interrupting his question. "I hate smokers. They SUCK!" I bellowed in his general direction—whichever way that was. "And you're too pretty to die because of black lungs," I drawl as I fluctuated violently this way and that. "I like you, Sasu—whoa!"

Sasuke sprang up from wherever he was—I'm not sure anymore, the room is spinning. And shit, I don't want to follow any Yellow Brick Road and I will not wear those red tap shoes Good Witch of the East. They are so last year—and raced towards me.

"I wish you didn't smoke, 'cause I would've snogged you long ago," was the last remark I made before I greeted the tiled-floor of the break room—it was so cool and sticky, and the floor spoke and chewed gum. I think.

"SAKURA!" hmm, a bit panicked and rushed but I really do like the way Sasuke calls for me. Calls for me. Oh shucks. My cheeks are hot.

And then, the sky fell—and everything went black. Or blue. Oh wait, now it's violet!

Black. Black. Black.


When I woke up, there was noisy yelling outside my reserved room at the hospital.

The yelling was Daddy's of course—his yelling made me want to whack babies, so I knew right away—and he was furious with some dirty, rotten scoundrel who supposedly was almost the death of me and—oh, that must be Sasuke!

My vision had cleared up, and I was not high anymore—the inanimate objects have lost human characteristics, thank goodness. Luckily, I blacked out before the hospital, or else I probably would've openly voiced my concerns on Daddy's attachment to his wig.

I shuffled up and sat patiently on the bed. My head throbbed and my breaths were ragged gasps that resembled a cow attempting to swallow grass through its nose, but nonetheless, I felt genuinely better and functional, too. The brain lives on.

And then aforementioned brain deflates when Sasuke model-walks in and takes the spot beside me on the bed. Oh, we're on a bed. Together. How—ahem.

"Sorry," he says, with his head positioned away from me.

"S'okay," I reasoned happily, subtly scooting closer to him, "I mean, I'm alive." And I get to sit next to you. And smell you, and—hmm, for someone who smokes on a daily basis, Sasuke sure smells a heck lot like Drakkar Noir. Mmhm, I like it!

He grunts as if my aliveness hardly made up for anything—awe, Sasuke's upset because he almost killed me!

"And I'm sure you've been lectured—" Daddy, if Sasuke hates me because you yelled at him, I'll reveal your baldness to the entire world! Which is basically the whole staff of Konoha hospital, "—enough already. Just look on the bright side, I'll still be there to shelve toothpaste, tampons, and toiletries for the next two and a half months, so—mmphh!"


Sasuke is so romantic.

He simply just shoved me back onto the bed—gently and firmly like his body suggest—and kissed me. Sadly, we did not get to bite each others' mouths off; it was a sweet and endless sort of kiss. Umm, not to brag but, French kiss. And strangely, he doesn't taste like smoke at all. That's so weird, because just today when in the break room—

I drew away mid-kiss because my curiosity got the better of me—I know, it's sinfully. "You don't taste like," I mused for a suitable word, "Well. You don't taste like you're supposed to," I remark.

Sasuke smirked. "I've quit smoking," he said.

My brain acted as a sponge and gradually soaked it in.

"There's this co-worker who told me she wanted to kiss me. But she has asthma that she's failed to place on her health information sheet—Itachi is furious. So," he latched onto my expectant jade eyes, "I made some sacrifices."

For me. I beamed. I bet my entire face was split into a ridiculously stupid grin.

"But, it's only been a day and you smell fantastic—"

"Sakura," Sasuke interjected sternly, his coal eyes intense. "I used two tubes of toothpaste to get rid of the smell and now my mouth burns like hell." He smirks and hauls me back into his embrace, "Just kiss me."




(And I'm pretty sure the toothpaste he used was the one that I shelved. Score!)





The narrator (first person!) was Sakura, and she obviously got high off of Sasuke's smoke. Oh Lordy. Either that's impossible or doesn't happen often. Erm, I hope it wasn't tremendously confusing, since I aimed to portray the mind of an individual on Cloud Nine. (That rhymes!) Not that I would know, really. Took a guess. It wasn't meant to be offensive in any way. Only romantic :)
Reviews are appreciated :) Constructive criticism is always welcomed.
Thank you.