Never had the young Kazekage imagined such violence to go hand in hand with this sort of pleasure. Not speaking, of course, of that which was the typical hostility and brutality enwrapped and intertwined in the life of a shinobi. No, this was entirely a violence categorized by itself, because seated and sheathed in her warm pulsating madness made such a realization possible; for it shuddered, throbbed, and sex was wholly amongst itself a violent affair. Calm rationale, the need to hide emotion and shield himself from the world, was lost somewhere between the moment he plunged inside the depths of her heat, the ferocity of womanhood which he had never truly understood, and the waves of growing pleasure which tried to drown him.
“Gaara…”
She was moaning his name, letting it slip between her sultry pink lips, articulating it with her warm wet muscle which the Kazekage found to be more talented with things which didn’t concern words. She was magnificent, and he felt wholly inept being in her presence in this way, seeing as this was new, completely foreign to the powerful shinobi who reigned over the ninja of Suna, but who was unknowing and unsure of things and situations like this.
“Gaara…uhhh…”
The sound of her voice, the soft sigh which seemed to spill forth and cover the awkward air. It tugged and pulled and made him groan as he felt the rippling of her muscles contract around him. She was close, but not quite there, even he could tell that. Gaara, himself, was almost too far gone, but he thanked the powers that be for the fact he had not already spilt into to her by trapping himself and pulling away in some ethereal and disconnected experience.
Her fingers, long, slender, and gracefully expressive, were also increasingly insistent, tugging and tearing at the skin of Gaara’s back. Kunoichi’s were deadly, strong women who reeked of a powerful vitality. It was something which Gaara found to be exciting, utterly enthralling—a type of game for which he desired to play and win, but winning was something the Kazekage wasn’t sure he could do today.
Glancing down, capturing her eyes with his own, Gaara realized how similar the depths of their vision were, a secret (yet wholly obvious) shared trait, but hers were glazed over in some lost moment of lustful admiration. Gaara thrust, he pushed hard into her, and once again the rippling flesh consumed him and caused him to shudder, her fingernails digging into his sculpted muscles of his shoulder blades.
He thrust again, rhythmic, pulsating, again and again. Pushing, pulling, thrusting…wave after wave. She cried out, screaming, whimpering, indignantly begging, hoping and praying Gaara would continue the onslaught of pleasure. Like so many things, the Kazekage was a genius who needed little instruction.
Gaara repositioned himself, lifting her hips and teetering over her body. Her lips were close, easily reachable and he captured them in some heated war between their mouths. It was a sweet, yet forlorn kind of war. He wondered if this was only momentary, only a chance encounter. The subtle pause and break in rhythm alerted Sakura to the hidden sadness in Gaara’s eyes, and the kiss slowed, like all the movements between their bodies, as emotion spilt from her to him.
He wouldn’t, couldn’t express what she could, so she shared it freely, hoping Gaara would respond and accept it, and he did. Never before loved or wanted, never having anyone until now…
“A little more,” she murmured, contracting around him again, urging him on, hoping that the moment would last longer.
His eyes caught her in some sideways glance which whispered of earnest longings, feelings which he wasn’t ready to admit, but were there. A bit more, a bit further, longer, sweeter, slower—no faster, thrumming against her in the rhythmic, tympanic voices of flesh on flesh. She shuddered, pulling him in, sucking him into a world which he hadn’t known hours prior to this coupling, never imagined to exist among some secret hidden moment between two people.
Sakura arched against him, he felt the spasms pulsating through every inch of her flesh, sucking, milking, pulling him to completion. A little further, a few more strokes as the feel of her rigid body molded to his own.
“Sakura…” the soft, tiny whisper and admittance which was her name.
They clasp onto one another as he spilt into her, filling Sakura with what was the first, but not their last experience together. Lonely, always alone, but now never alone; a journey which was rocky and difficult, but ended with Gaara being in the arms of someone who cared. He shuddered, sighed, nestled his head into the crook of Sakura’s neck and let the pain which was inside of him leak and dissipate, hoping that it would be mere memory in the aftermath of a violent war such as this. Sex was violent…consuming, feeling, a completion, a physicality of emotions locked and kept hidden until they took form, an identity would and could only be known in moments like these. It was a complicated violence, one which Gaara wasn’t sure he’d ever understand, but he would attempt to, he would sincerely try to appreciate and comprehend it.