She watched him and wondered what it was like; waiting in the dark, feeling his way around all of life's obstacles. ItaSaku. Smut. Non-Mass.


She watched him from across the room.

Reading, quietly, alone, as was his habit. Watched his long, pale fingers slide across the pages, feeling his way around the words, the letters. It was practically a caress. In her mind's eye she saw his fingers slip over her own sweating, heaving, hot, aching skin rather than dusty, dog-eared pages. Her thighs shifted uncomfortably together as she momentarily squirmed in the chair, trying to return her attention to her own book.

In the close, heavy silence of the Uchiha compound library she could hear her own breathing hitch and knew that he would have heard it too. Her eyes never left his face, but his expression didn't waver in the slightest. That didn't mean anything; like all Uchiha he had a truly masterful poker-face.

The tension was so thick Sakura felt she could have grasped it with her hands and mould it into a shape. Perhaps it was only she who felt it. The heir himself had never, according to Sasuke, shown any interest in anyone. But he didn't seem like the type to discuss that sort of thing. He seemed like the kind of man who snuck up in the dark, who took furiously and silently, from behind, pinning, controlling, dominating... He...

The sound of a door being slammed in the building made her jump; her face flushed furiously as her train of thought snapped like a thread pulled taunt. It was selfish, but in the moment she was truly glad that he couldn't see her.

Her medical tome lay totally forgotten on the dark wood of the table; completely out of character. She had begged Sasuke for an age to be allowed in here; had threatened, bribed and dropped hint after hint. At first, she had voraciously devoured the rare and potent books, had been in the library so often she stopped getting suspicious looks from the multitude of dark haired Uchiha, but then she started to notice him.

Officially, they had been introduced. Sasuke had grudgingly done the honours years ago with a grunt, a dismissive gesture and a few words. However, they had never had a normal conversation, did not do more than nod to acknowledge if they passed so close it was necessary.

It just so happened that the philosophy section - which Itachi near haunted - was directly opposite to the medical one. It just so happened that she started to notice him. At first, it was only to spare the occasional glance in his direction, an appraising look. Then, her eyes started to linger, to notice. Now, she could barely not look at him.

It was the way he touched the books that got her thinking at first. That started the tiny trickle of thought that had morphed into a raging flow that she could barely stem.

She wanted to kiss his hands; press her lips against his palms, mouth the sensitive wrist, suck the fingers, and flick her tongue against the sensitive web of flesh between them, before guiding that same hand to her own skin. She wondered if he would be passive. If he would let her do these things... If he would slap her hands away and force her to be still as she struggled with him.

This was nothing like her brief, traumatisingly embarrassing crush on Sasuke years ago, like her brief infatuations and relationships since. She wanted to devour him. To be devoured.

"You haven't turned a page in over half an hour." His voice dripped across the silence, heavy and silken. Perhaps amused.

She couldn't ignore being directly addressed. His head wasn't turned in her direction, but it hardly mattered since he wouldn't be able to look at her anyway.

"I was thinking," She replied, aiming for casual but striking a breathy note instead that made her dig her pea-green nails harshly into her palm.

"Thinking." He echoed. It might be a question. The word hangs in the space between them like fog.

"Yes," she said, knowing he is looking for an answer and not wanting to give one.

Silence descended between them again. Sakura looks at his hand poised on the page. He sat motionless - still as a statue. She waited, barely breathed as several minutes passed on the big brass clock on the wall.

"You haven't moved your hand in a while." Her voice still came out throaty and suggestive. She cursed internally.

"I was thinking." He replied, minute twitch of his face suggesting, definitely, amusement.

"Thinking." She echoed. The words swirled around them like music to which they both danced.

"Yes." He finished the sequence. Silence reigned and Sakura could not restrain herself,"What's it like... I mean, not to be able to..."

"See," he said, knowing, always knowing. She's half sure that he can read her thoughts as though they are scrawled plainly in his mind's eye.

"Yes." She feels a possibility formed like a half open door. The word feels like she has made a suggestion, but of what, she didn't know.

He is quiet for a long moment and Sakura thought that perhaps she had overstepped the mark. She knew so little of him, really. Anecdotes, his official reputation... basically amounting to nothing.

"Would you like to find out?"

She didn't know what to make of that - half threat, half invitation. Her skin prickled as though thousands of fingernails had scraped across her entire body. She looked at his proud, cold face - still and calm as an undisturbed pool. Not a hint of his thoughts showed. Far away, in the compound, the high, thin cry of a child cut through the quiet momentarily. She wanted him, but realised that her desire had probably clouded the situation - warped his true meaning.

Being Tsunade's apprentice has made her brave. Her skills have made her confident. Time has matured her into someone used to going after what she wants, and getting it. But, still, she quivered slightly and wondered if he felt the disturbance in the air. At times, it seems as though he is omnipotent. A wrathful, blind deity from ages past.

"Yes." She said, finally. Tasted the word as it left her lips and found it as sweet and ripe as a fleshy fruit.

Itachi closed his book with an air of finality, stood with military precision and exactness. She admired the slender, lithe lines of his form and the way the autumn sunlight from the window caught the soft gloss of his dark fall of hair - longer and sleeker than her own. Imagined it slipping across her skin. She pressed her thighs together so tightly nothing could possibly wedge itself between them.

He put his book away, surely aware of her burning eyes, and turned to walk towards her. It is the first time she has looked him in the eye, possibly ever, and had she not known with iron certainty that he could see nothing she would have sworn he was examining her every detail. His steps are fluid and measured; not an ounce of him is wasted, everything about him is so complete.

She wanted to stand and meet him in a clash of lips and teeth and bodies, but is afraid to break the spell of his compliance. Afraid she has misinterpreted.

Itachi stopped in front of her, close enough to touch, and his hands went immediately to his waist. Her heart gave a painful thump as her imagination pictured him undoing his zip, the button, untying the sash and exposing himself right there. Her mind supplied images of male arousal, stiff, reddened shafts curving towards pale abdominals. The thought of him doing that; the painfully perfect Uchiha heir, is unimaginable.

He undid the sash and her mouth went dry. The little Uchiha fan sewed on it almost slapped her - reminded her of the exact brand of fire she is playing with; who she is with and where she is. The heart of the compound. This feels like a desecration.

Itachi reached out to her like someone testing the temperature of water. She realised that he is feeling for the heat of her breath to guide him to her face. He cupped her jaw delicately, finger pressed down lightly in such a place that Sakura knew he was testing her racing pulse.

"Are you sure?" His voice is lowered now that he is closer, little more than a whisper, but the weight behind it could move mountains.

Sure of what exactly, she didn't know, but an affirmative escaped her parted lips almost immediately.

His fingers slid across her face; felt the contours and dips, lingered at her lips. She couldn't resist at that point and flicked out her tongue, drew one finger into the hot cavern of her mouth. She sucked, languidly, luxuriously, tasted the bitterness, salt, the oiliness that came from handling weapons. Ran her tongue along the length. He could have no doubts of her intentions now, she thought, head muggy and thick as molasses.

Itachi's face was a calm, smooth mask, but she saw a muscle jump in his arm. Watched a vein throb beneath his pale skin. He extracted his finger slowly, as though reluctant, with an audible 'pop'. Ran the wet appendage up her cheek until he reached the thick dusting of her eyelashes. The sound of footsteps from the floor above persistently reminded Sakura that they were not in a private place, though she knew that he won't have forgotten for a second.

He took his hand away, and she found herself leaning forward a little to try and continue the contact. Itachi gathered the sash in both hands, held it up, and she then knew what he's planning to do. Berated herself for having not realised before. He placed it across her eyes - the thick fabric clouded out all light in a velvety swipe. She could smell him on the fabric so strongly that she wanted to bury her face in it. His arms encircled her head as he reached behind her to tie the sash in place.

She was consumed with the desire to turn her head and bite at his wrist.

When he withdrew his arm, she did so. Sightlessly nudged her face against his flesh. The blind leading the blind. He pressed his arm to her seeking mouth for a moment, indulged her.

"Now you can see the world through my eyes." He said, the words laced with irony. Playful in a sharp, niggling way she would never have guessed.

Sakura let out a pleased gust of laughter in return; abrupt and sharp as his jibe. It had a nervous edge. She realised that anyone could walk in, and Itachi proved his omnipotence once more when he asked if she would accompany him somewhere quieter. Asked with the formality of a Lord requesting a Lady's arm, to leisurely guide her to the dinner table.

"Yes." The word she has used all her life begins to take on a new shape - a pathway leading to somewhere dark, shrouded and all-together desirable.

It felt like a daydream, and Sakura couldn't quite bring herself to believe that it wasn't.


She didn't know where he transported her to, but it felt small, intimate. Sakura knew she stumbled slightly upon entry, and hated the hand that caught her arm to steady her. Hated him for a deep moment for being able to know her mistake without being able to see. She felt like a fish out of water. Ears strained to try and keep up with what he was doing.

For a full minute he left her sat in her chair, blind to the world, before they left. She heard and felt his chakra signal move as he put her book away for her; ever the correct perfectionist. In those long moments she felt the blood rushing in her ears and wanted to scream at him. Only the feeling that this was some kind of test kept her still; the desire to please was immense and terrifying. She would never tell him how much she wanted to do exactly as he asked. Whatever he asked. That kind of power over her would never be admitted.

Sakura wondered what everyone would say if they could see this scene playing out, but decided that she didn't care. At least, not at the moment.

Hands grasped at her slender waist and walked her backwards until she is pushed onto a futon. She resisted this, half-playfully, half not, and tensed up her muscles - pushed against his firm shoulders, his chest. He let out a tense noise and shoved her backwards in a single, sharp movement. She bounced slightly on the mattress, squirmed, and reached for him.

She dragged Itachi down on top of her and they struggled together for a moment; felt the fabric of their clothes as they twisted and rubbed together, their bodies simultaneously strained to clash together and pull away. His teeth nipped at the delicate skin of her throat as she pulled at his long, lovely hair. It twisted around her knuckles like liquid. The slight smell of his sweat was the most intoxicating thing she had ever breathed. In the ever present darkness, she wanted savagely to see his face.

To see if that perfect mask has slipped a little.

The darkness lent a surreal edge to an already unbelievable situation; she wrestled among the sheets with one of Konoha's most infamous Uchiha. Her team mate's brother. A man she could count the number of times she had spoken to on one hand and still have fingers left over. She wondered if he did this often and that thought made her dig her nails into his pectorals where she had shoved her hand up his shirt.

The hiss he let out made her feel feral.

"Sakura," Itachi said her name so calmly she might have thought they were engaged in casual conversation.

The use of her name gave her a jolt. For some reason, she thought he might not have known who she was.

"I would say I've been watching you for some time, but you would know that's a lie." He muttered as he mouthed at her ear, breathed hotly around the delicate shell.

"You could have seen me, once. You have."

He made a noise of assent. "Pink hair." He buried his face in the strands, more tactile than she would have ever guessed. "Green eyes." He ran his tongue along the skin just below the sash blindfold. "Tiny little thing." He lifted her bodily and tossed her under him, pinned her with his weight to prove a point, although the hardness that prodded her stomach may have suggested other motives.

Beneath the blindfold she narrowed her eyes, stomach tight with anger and desire. She pushed at him, arched her back. "And you. The cold-fish ANBU captain, who would have thought this of you."

"You." His confidence was unshakable. "All those times in the library you sat with your thighs pressed together. I could smell you across the room - "

She slammed her mouth against his, guided by the sound of his whispered, barbed voice. Her teeth nipped at his thin lips before he wrested control back and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, tasted her so thoroughly she felt like he was trying to draw her into him.

"I wanted you," he said, growing more verbal,"before in a fleeting way. The Uchiha yearly celebration of her clan. That,"his teeth clicked together,"tiny little kimono you wore, and how sweetly you wished me a good year, good fortune. How my foolish outou tried to shield you from my view. And after, when I lost my vision, in the hospital, you brushed against me when the Hokage sent you to check the medical charts. I felt the outline of your body against mine for the tiniest moment and knew that you had flowered."

His cool hand had slipped into her underwear, two fingers already inside her, scissoring, stretching. He crossed his fingers and began to thrust them in and out. Her tightness seemed to excite him. She showed her inexperience by pulling away and whimpering before whining when he made to ease off. He made a harsh noise. "As responsive as I expected."

His words sent a hot shock to her core. She had expected intense silence. Instead he seemed to delight in talking to her; in feeling her reaction to his words as her inner muscles fluttered around his invading fingers.

"And then you began coming to the library; pouring over those medical books. I wished I could have seen you then; hunched over and engrossed. I must have imagined taking you a thousand ways. And then you began your fidgeting... your obvious arousal. Did you even realise how very blatant you were being? I was sure you were provoking me... were trying to make Sasuke jealous."

Anger boiled over her arousal; sharpened it into a pinpoint and she squeezed his manhood tightly. He groaned, jerking between her fingers. She felt the slight wetness of precum that she so wanted to taste.

"But you are not."

"How can you be sure?" She enjoyed how he bit at her neck when she whispered those words with a teasing snap.

"I know, foolish kunoichi."


Itachi pressed his thumb into her clit with a savage force that made her hips twitch spasmodically. "As if my outou could make you even half as wet as you are now. You are dripping down my fingers, girl."

"Boy," She retorted, not teasing.

He had always rubbed her a little the wrong way. His coldness. The way his actions, his father's favouritism, had made Sasuke so desperate for approval. So prickly and seeking. He didn't answer her question. Sakura is almost half sure that he was trying to convince himself as well as her.

"I am hardly a boy." He pulled his fingers out of her so quickly that she gasped, empty and grasping. His hard seeking member replaced his fingers at her entrance in an instant. His hands dug into her soft thighs, tipped her backwards until they almost touched her shoulders. The renewed feeling of blindness that hit at this change of position made her feel disorientated and excited.

"Say yes." Itachi murmured to her, gentle as a summer breeze. His voice has calmed again, but she can hear the tension beneath it. How could she have ever thought him cold?

She thought for a minute, straining. Knew that she would say yes, but wanted to prolong the moment and savour the brief power she had over him.

"Yes, please. Please, Itachi." She used his name almost shyly.

Then he was inside of her; filled her up to the brim. She felt like she was about to burst out of her own skin - the stretching tightness nothing compared to the stab of pleasure as he circled her clit with one poised finger. This is what she had imagined as she watched him skim his fingers across the books, the table, as though reading braille. Now he read her skin with practise sweeps. Releasing her thighs he reached between them to slide his hands under her still-on clothes to tweak a hard, rosy nipple.

Sakura wished deeply that she could see his face. Imagined the straining tendons of his neck, and acutely felt how robbed he must feel trapped in his Sharingan induced blindness.

The harsh rub of his clothes against her, the cold press of his zipper as he slid forcefully in and out of her only heightened her pleasure.

"I had such a crush on you when I was younger," she gasped, remembering in a flash that long, hot summer Sakura had all but forgotten. When she wrote him painstaking love letters in glittering pink pen that were never sent.

All after she had seen him coming home after a mission; sweaty and tired and absolutely the image of a ninja in her mind.

Itachi let out a disbelieving sound and drove into her all the harder, but didn't rebuke her. He wanted to believe what she had said, even there was an element of doubt. Sakura wondered how long they have thought of each other this way, but the edge of her vision started to spark beneath the blindfold. Her every muscle tensed and relaxed sporadically. She heard his breath coming harsher and knew that it wouldn't be long.

He pressed his thumb almost viciously into her clit, but came first. Twitching and hissing, he spilt his hot seed inside of her. She felt a little of it trickle out, but was struck - pole-axed by her own pleasure, just short of the pinnacle.

He rolled off of her with a murmur,"It's been too long." Her heart clenched painfully. She thought that he was leaving. Her core throbbed.

Then, suddenly, his hands grasped at her thighs, thumbs peeled her swollen, slippery lower lips apart. She couldn't think. It was too much. He breathed hotly on her twitching flesh and she felt his smirk against the flesh of her inner thigh right before his tongue swiped her from bottom to top. It was too much. She tried to wiggle free, but he held her in an iron grip. He sucked at her clit and she realised that he must be tasting his essence as well as her own.

With that thought, she tumbled over the edge; hands twisted in her own hair, mouth opened in a silent scream. Behind the blindfold, a supernova of colour erupted.

They lay still beside each other for many minutes. The smell of sex hung in the air like an unanswered question. Sakura felt like she has stepped through a door and it had shut behind her. There was no going back. Eventually, she heard and felt him move as the bed dipped a little. The blindfold is peeled off of her sweaty skin, but she keeps her eyes closed for a minute.

When she opened them even the dimness of the room assaults her eyes. They are in his bedroom, she realised. She had guessed that earlier due to the fact that his smell permeated the air. Sakura had no idea what to say. She had no precedent to fall back on, no knowledge from books to draw on. She looked at his face and saw a sliver of satisfaction on his patrician features. The tingling feeling in her stomach increased.

"Well, that was enlightening," she said, finally, when the silence became too much to bear.

His mouth tightened. She is fascinated by looking after him after being starved of sight; her eyes greedily traced over his features.

"I would have thought quite the opposite given that the entire point of this was to teach you how it feels to be blind."

She knew he was joking because she could see it in the arch of his eyebrows, if not hear it in the tone of his voice.

"I find," Sakura said, weighing her words carefully,"that sometimes it takes a few lessons before I learn something."

There was a pause. His sightless eyes narrowed.

"Itachi-sensei," she said, the words rushed from her mouth before she could stop them.

His teeth clicked together and he reached for her suddenly. Tugged at the clothes that still clung tightly to her form.

"That can be arranged." He said, the ghost of a smile on his pale, proud face.



Unbeta'd! Smut exploded from my fingertips. What can I say.