Prompt: an artwork of Sasuke smexing up Sakura in a kimono

He wants her.

It is as inevitable as the sun's daily rebirth in the East. Every man Sasuke knows has wanted her at some point - who is to blame him for being no different? She is everywhere, utterly impossible to miss in her signature red kimonos. She flits around court like a beautiful brocade butterfly: stunning, captivating, and hauntingly out of reach.

He hauls open another door. The room behind it is empty. Furiously, he goes on to attempt the next one.

He recalls perfectly how she has captivated him today. She had eyed him across the room with eyes of emerald fire, her shimmering gold fan drifting in and out of vision, granting him only glimpses of her glistening lips.

He had gone hard in seconds.

She must've known. Her laugh was telling, daring, as she'd left the room in a whirl of crimson fabric.

The same fabric he now eyes at the end of the corridor. It disappears quickly, but not so quickly that he doubts ever having seen it. This is her, finally. He hurries, no longer bothering with discretion. Reaching the room, he hastily slides the door shut. He turns.

She is glorious in this light. The sun lights up her kimono and emphasizes the porcelain of her skin. She is a goddess rising out of a rose, binding him to her with a flick of her hair. There is no hesitation as he fumblingly rids himself of his robe. He hears her laugh quietly at his eagerness, but she makes no move to aid him.

All his life, he has been the flame. With her, he is the moth.

Finally unconstrained, he marches towards her. She eyes his manhood appreciatively, the tip of her tongue escaping to moisten her lips.

"Sakura."

Her eyes flick up to his face, just in time for his mouth to fall atop hers.

They are a catastrophe. Together, they touch and taste all that they can of each other, as if each were an exotic delicacy only to be sampled once. Their moans and whimpers punctuate the lazy silence of the room as they devour each other: body, mind, and soul.

She will never belong to him, Sasuke knows, this beautiful daughter of a wealthy merchant. Imperial Prince though he may be, he will never be allowed to claim what his heart truly desires.

Instead, he settles for stolen touches and wicked kisses. He burns the softness of her thighs into memory, gouges the outline of her breasts into his hands, and times his heartbeat to the cadence of her sighs.

In the West, the sun sets brilliantly.