don't let go

theeflowerchild

Had she been one step to the left, one inch closer, the wound would have been fatal. She was lucky, really, and she knew that, as she lay in bed half asleep. She knew that the puncture, the puncture only a few centimeters away from her carotid artery, burned like a blazing fire, and that had it landed where it had intended, she would have bled out and died, unable to help not only herself, but also her teammates. She was aware of just how grateful she should be to whomever was watching over her that day, that moment—whomever had graciously spared her life.

Yes, Sakura was a great kunoichi, and an impeccable fighter—one of the best, really. Yes, Sakura was an incredible medic, and a shinobi of status—a Sannin, actually. And, yes, Sakura sure as hell knew what she was doing, and had a nearly one-hundred-percent completion rate of all her missions, but Sakura was not invincible, and Sakura got lucky.

She was so tired, and everything about her slow, languid movements ached. Her wound pulsed temperamentally on her skin—testing her, daring her. Each careful curl of her fingers, twist of her wrists, and purse of her lips palpitated. Her heart pounded dully in her rib cage, her bruised rib sorely noted. Her stretched legs cried, her stomach twisting, and gnawing with each, slow breath.

She awoke from her daze when she heard the door creak.

He was so obviously worried when he rushed into the room, eyes wet, and ready to spill over with tears she didn't know he could shed. He said her name so softly, releasing it from his lips with a tiny breath, words like feathers caressing her bruised skin. He reached out for her as if she was so far away, so unattainable, with a trembling hand. It broke her heart.

His footsteps were near silent as he approached her, knees like jelly, hands beckoning toward her mangled, messed form wrapped tightly in blankets. He didn't smile, eyes bursting, like when he usually saw her. He didn't frown, either; she was left to stare at a blank face that reminded her all too much of a broken boy she once knew many years ago, a boy who had lost it all, a boy with nothing to spare except his own life in the hopes of finding something to complete him.

And, on one stupid mission, she had almost taken that away from him.

It was in that moment, his blank, dark eyes drowning in a threatening ocean of confusion, that she realized how much he truly cared for her, how unable he would be to live without her. Sasuke had it all taken away once before, and to see it nearly happen again, to see her trampled form, to see the delicate scar that could have swallowed her, it destroyed him, and Sakura saw it.

Sakura saw it all; she saw it flash threw his eyes like a story, a gaze she would never be able to push from her thoughts. He looked at her like his world had come crashing down around him. He looked at her so desperately, so honestly, approached her like each step could cause her existence to take a turn for the worst at any little moment.

When he finally met her, resting his soft, warm hand on her wrist, her name left his cracked lips again like a prayer. His expression immediately faltered at contact, switching from deaf apathy to painful relief, as if touching her had truly assured him of her existence, of her livelihood. "You're alright," he whispered. "You're okay."

She nodded her head slowly, carefully, her throbbing neck shooting sharp pains down her body that she wouldn't dare show him. "I am, Sasuke-kun," she confirmed. "I am." She reached up haltingly, and gathered his cheek into the palm of her hand. "Everything is okay, there's nothing to worry about." Her voice was a hoarse, harsh whisper, searing up her throat like bile. "I'm okay."

He leaned into her touch, his expression soothed with each word. "I was so worried."

"I know, I know," she assured him, a lazy smile surfacing on her tired face. "But I'm okay. See? I'm here." She squeezed his heated cheek, held his marble skin in her tiny hand.

He seemed unsure for a moment, leaving an uncertain gaze to roam her crumpled body. His large hand carefully wandered up her arm, landing safely against her swollen jaw. "I thought I lost you," he whispered.

She nuzzled his calloused palm, closed her eyes, enjoyed his longing touch. "You didn't."

He paused and looked at her with a languishing gaze for what only seemed like a juncture; as if to check once more to make sure that she was still there, that she was alive. When he seemed satisfied, she saw his lips curl into something small of a smile, something that made her tired heart race. "I'm glad."

There was a moment of silence, raw and peaceful. She swore she could hear the console of his heartbeat, the pacifying pace of his breaths, as he bore into her with sooty eyes, and a languorous smile of respite. It was a moment she wouldn't trade for the world, a truce of earnest cure. He looked at her like she answered his pleas, like she was his place of worship, like she was the thing he was most grateful for, most proud of in his life, and it overwhelmed her.

The moment came to a halt, though, when he unhurriedly dipped down, only losing eye contact to rest his cheek against hers. His breath tickled her skin, his warm jowl mollifying to the touch, caressing her bruised face carefully. "I'm so glad," he repeated against the shell of her ear, earnest. His voice cracked, allayed, and caused her heart to swell like a balloon. Never had she heard him so fervent, so impassioned, so absolutely honest in his feelings for her like those words padding her eardrum.

"Sasuke-kun…" she whispered, gathering a fistful of his hair in her weak hands. He nodded his head against her; she felt his smile pressed against her side. He pushed his lips softly against her cheek, warm and decent.

He slowly made his way to her swollen, marred lips, pressing softly against them. She felt her cheeks warm at the gesture, a gesture so filled with adoration she could have boiled over. It was as chaste as it was affectionate, and he had pulled away before she could gather her thoughts, caught her gaze with his own in an ardent explanation of his feelings through his eyes that he couldn't quite express with words.

What she was sure would feel like an hour, though, passed in but a moment when something quick like fire caught in his gaze and his lips were, suddenly, pushed up against hers. She squeaked when he gathered both of her hands in his large ones, intertwining his twiggy fingers with hers. His lips were devout, pious in their attempt as, before she could even think, he was beginning to push himself above her on her cot. Her eyes widened in surprised, grassy green meeting with closed lids that she was sure were hiding desperate, loving charcoal.

He, incredibly carefully and attentively, placed himself above her, hovering over her depleted state. All common sense flew out the window with his next kiss; lovingly, he pushed his thin lips against hers in a harsh attempt at conveying his emotions. She had never felt him so moved, perhaps so devastated, as he moved his mouth against her in a kiss dipped in sweet adoration, and honest relief.

This was stupid, she knew—ridiculous, even—as Sasuke moved above her, against her. She was in a healing process, only hours earlier having to be revived desperately by a subpar medic in an open field. Even just moments ago, her neck had been pulsating in soreness, and she could barely move her joints without screams in return, but his diligent mouth left her unfulfilled, his delicate hands pressing against her contused skin left her wanting. With him hovering over her, she was more of a mess now than hours ago, and there was no way she could tell his loving touch, and fierce kiss no.

His hands left a blazing trail of inferno on her blemished skin, leaving no spot untouched. His large hands grasped at her boldly, contended by her pulse, lulled by her soft releases of breath, and the beating of her working heart. He pressed open-mouthed, wet kisses on her neck, danced his lips to her racing pulse. He sucked on the vibration, reveled in her life, traced the scar that could have just as easily taken her away from him as it did scare him like he had never been scared before with the pad of his thumb.

It occurred to her, as a passing though, that they could get caught, and there was absolutely nothing stopping a nurse from walking in to check on the very injured, best medic in all of Konoha. In fact, it was incredibly likely, their getting caught, and would easily cause a scene of embarrassment, and perhaps a little trouble, too, if the Hokage ever happened to find out. Still, she had no will to push him away, his kiss at her collarbone, his fingers dandling by her sharp hips.

He was so docile, lazily propping himself up above her with his elbow, hand locked in her pleated, pink hair. He had never been so careful in his approach, so slow with her, taking his time with each thankful kiss, and each obliged movement. He was grateful to her with each sweeping of his hand, and each pressure of his lips. He made her feel so incredible, so needed, so vital as he held her frail form against him with every fiber of his being.

He didn't even have to say it, each fleeting contact, each crashing mix of skin expressed the fondness he held for her, expressed the gratitude that surged in his heart for her health, her existence. Just moments ago he had looked at her like she was his world, and now he was showing her.

He was so quick with his movements, pushing aside her hospital gown to make way for himself. He pushed his pants down his long legs, and she immediately felt his erection against her leg, velvet soft. He was as prudent as he was loving with his actions, placing himself between her thighs like she was the holy grail. He pulled his lips away from her tempting skin for one long, desperate moment to look at her so affectionately, so zealously that it caused her heart to splutter, and crash like she was fifteen again; searching for the boy she loved as much as anybody could. She felt his tip against her warm core, felt his dark, reverent gaze, and nothing mattered anymore.

She didn't care that anybody could walk in, or that anybody could hear them. She didn't care about her wounds, or her marred skin, or the cut that would certainly scar into something nasty. She didn't care about her rushing pulse, or her failed mission, or anything. The only thing that mattered was Sasuke, and Sasuke's gaze, and a touch she had searched for so desperately all of life that was finally hers.

He pushed into her slowly, with a low, earnest groan that caused her to throb. He was so slow, so careful with her as he began thrusting into her. He was gentle, amiable in his ardent lovemaking. He looked at her, locked their heated gazes with his own steely, onyx eyes.

He was so tender she felt her self tear up, big, fat drops welling in the corners of her eyes, taking a deliberately slow, and sweet pace inside her. God, he loved her, he loved her as much as a person could love, with every fiber of his troubled, earnest being, she knew. She knew as he lay with her, intimately drove into her like she was the only color in his dark, dark world. He looked at her like she was the sun, the water, the foliage in the apocalypse that was his mind, looked at her so sincerely he made her heart clench.

He held her against him as he made love to her; pushed into her just as slowly and passionately with each stroke that it made her cry out. He watched her, and seemingly apathetic eyes glowed with absolute adoration as the woman he loved wept below him in her own devotion.

She came first, clenched around him desperately as her hands searched for something to keep her sane. She whispered his name like an oath, pulsed in ecstasy and veneration as he dug into her for his own clemency.

His release tore through him like a bullet. He groaned softly in her ear, said her name over and over again like a mantra, like the only spell that could keep him alive. She held him closely, wrapped her fingers in his sweat-soaked hair, pressed her hips against his as he spent himself inside her.

Wanton, she said his name, again and again as he pressed religious kisses against her forehead, her jugular, her clavicle, still limp inside her as he held her like his dying breath. He looked at her like he was looking at the answer to all his desperate questions, to every impetuous inquiry he had ever had in his life, and she returned the gaze with love he had never truly known, but suddenly needed.

They laid like that for a moment, him inside her, holding her gaze like a brace. He was glistening with sweat; cheeks flushed a pretty pink, breath harsh as he found some semblance of accord. She was so warm, so soft in his large hands, staring at him like he had cured her, with unfaltering love that his withered heart drank like water. He held her like he couldn't let go, dragged the moment like a heavy weight, watched her with a fervent gaze he'd never truly relent.

What felt like far too soon, she hailed softly when he finally pulled out of her, arms still wrapped around her waist like a vice. She knew he'd have to release her sooner or later, but she realized she preferred much, much later when he pulled his arms away from her to lift his clothes up.

She shifted her gown so it was covering her bottom half, laid her hands stretched on her thighs, wishing they were his. His weight shifted off the hospital cot as he stood to button his pants, and place his t-shirt. She watched him longingly, her soft gaze following each taut muscle, each stretch of his skin, and sparkle of sweat.

When he was finally dressed, his gaze fell to hers like a waterfall, rushing her body with enchantment. She wasn't sure she remembered him ever looking at her like that, like she held the key to everything he wanted, needed, but she was sure she could enjoy that look for the rest of her days.

He sighed warmly, his eyes twinkling with sentiment. He took his spot at the seat next to her bed, leaving her room on the cot that felt more like emptiness than respect. She almost asked him to lay beside her, to take his rightful spot with his chest against her back, arms wound tightly around her, but she easily settled for the placement of his hand around hers, and the hold of his gaze.

"I…" he started, his voice raucous in his throat. He paused for a moment, searching for his words, sifting through his thoughts for the right thing to say. "You are very special to me, Sakura," he said, watching her, wary of her reaction.

She looked surprised for a moment, bottle-green eyes widened in incredulity, only for her mouth to settle in a pleased grin. "Yeah?"

His vigilant expression immediately relieved to something more relaxed, a smirk replacing his frown. "I don't know what I would have done if anything had happened to you."

Her expression became soft as her grin slackened into a tender smile. She squeezed his hand in hers tight, wrapped her digits around his in an affectionate embrace. She couldn't say anything, couldn't find her voice, couldn't find it in her heart to break or destroy whatever he was about to say in its wake. She simply watched him, watched the quiet rise and fall of his chest, watched the nervous twitch in the hand that wasn't holding her.

"I'm so grateful that you're okay," he quaked, and smiled softly. "Nothing like this will ever happen to you again. I promise."

A dry giggle escaped her parched throat as she nodded her head. "I believe you." And she did.

tbh just wanted to write some cute smut and this is what came out. My second smut scene ever? Let me know what you think please because I think I'm getting better? The ending is shitty but w/e

Review xo.

Peace.