This is definitely one of my heavier fics that I've written in a while.

If you came here from my previous Shikatema fic, Revelations, this is much darker and loses any lightheartedness that was present there.

It's meant to be quite confusing, somewhat repetitive, and unsettling.

Shikamaru lapses in and out of being aware something isn't right to not remembering why he feels so apprehensive. The only thing that's keeping him from giving in to the numbingness of his dream world is his inability to give up the memory of when Temari and him made love.

Takes place during Chapter 678.

If you want pwp, then just read the italics. If you want to read something that's deeply psychological, read it in its entirety.

..::[::]::..

Passion Grasp

He slammed her against a tree, his lips greedily reclaiming hers before the gasp of surprise could fully escape her lips. Instead they found themselves occupied and thus began to respond to the contact. Her reaction wasn't shy nor reserved, he thought idly as he felt the familiar rush of need causing blood to flow south. Instead she was confident, almost to a point of defiance, as her own lips pressed earnestly against his own. He couldn't keep back a low groan when he felt her tongue trace his mouth, but he wasn't about to let her take control. He kept himself shut, instead relishing the small noise of protest from her as he lifted their tangled bodies, propping himself up against the tree, palm digging into wood as he dove back into their kiss.

It started with gentle laps against his head. When his senses flooded with black, he could feel its intrusion in the back of his mind. What the hell was it? It was strangely pacifying. More than that. It was numbing. His muscles ached and, frankly, he was weary. He wasn't allowed to feel much during the war, and even after having to watch his sensei die all over again, then to hear his father's last goodbyes, the adrenaline of battle had dulled his sorrow. And now, in this strange fuzzying blackness, he would've thought he would begin to lose it. After all, he was a crybaby. Instead was this peaceful lapping, washing over his senses like a tide against a beach. He soon found it comforting.

Comforting? A small part of his brain screamed in defiance. The part of his mind that strategized, that thought in ten steps ahead, yelled at him that something was wrong. The fact that when he opened his eyes again and he found himself Konoha was wrong. The fact he was in his home, hints of war had all but been abolished as he heard the happy laughter of children and the buzz of activity was wrong. It all felt surreal. Too perfect.

His first instinct was to dig into his mind and find something that he could hold onto, something he knew for sure was real to keep him sane as he forced his legs to move. He followed familiar paths, the bustling of activity not unnatural yet not entirely right. And there in his head was that lapping, that numbness that threatened the vocal parts of his mind, the part screaming at him to grasp.

Her tongue traced his lips once more, this time more of a question than an act of dominance. His mind played with the idea of letting her win before he reluctantly parted his lips. Before she could snake her way into his mouth, however, he carefully repositioned them so that he was more on top of her. The angle made it easier enter her first, a small smirk curling his lips as he reinstated his dominance. When her tongue met with his, he couldn't help but to momentarily lose control and he felt the bark splinter as chakra flared to his palms. He didn't really care even as she made a small muffled sound of surprise. It only made the position more bearable, especially as, when they parted for air, he could see her eyes lidding with pleasure and her breaths whistling from her lips.

The familiar sights of his village suddenly dissolved into static, before refocusing sharply before him. It was as if someone was tuning a radio, the fuzzy white noise sharpening before reappearing innocently in his eyes. Although it was easy to accept (a small, yet growing part of his brain told him to just accept), that vocal part in his mind spoke up again. It was procedure, really, for a ninja to always question his surroundings.

What was there to question, though? Everything looked normal to him, if a little fuzzy, but he blamed the part of his mind that didn't throb but instead seemed all the willing to just stop worrying. He took a long breath through his nose and out of his mouth, trying to still his racing thoughts that screamed in defiance and told him to stop this, stop this right now. As kids ran past him, he tried to focus on something else, look at something else.

The kid had no face.

Apprehension filled him and he blinked, but he found himself numbingly confused when he noticed the child's expression as one of joy, small eyes watering as he ran after his friend. And while his senses accepted the sight his brain didn't. It fought against the strange water, splashing in protest, yelling at him to hold on.

His free hand began to slide up her thigh, her breath coming in small gasps, their eye contact like fire yet never breaking. He could just register with his peripherals the blush that had crept onto her cheeks, the way her lips were a little swollen yet parted and slightly puckered. Her teal orbs were full of lust, the same desire that had been threatening to flood his senses were mirrored and reflected back to him.

Choji shook his bag towards him, to which he thanked his best friend and reached in.

The chips were tasteless.

But as he chewed, Choji grinned and smiled with relish. Sudden flavor burst into his mouth – sour cream and onion colouring his tastebuds and, as he licked his lips, traces of salt. Their conversation devolved into laziness and he desired a nap.

As he closed his eyes, he was jolted as if there were an earthquake beneath him. At the blackness of sight, his brain flooded with emotion that he hadn't felt before. Except he had, his mind reasoned, because he could classify each feeling - frustration, anger, sorrow. Passion. He could feel that one the most. Even though his waterlogged brain tried to dampen each feeling, when he grabbed a hold of them, the water relented slightly.

Each feeling felt foreign, misplaced. It still felt strange to his tongue, nowhere in him did it hint that he had known these emotions before.

But what had he felt before? Nothing?

Their tongues clashed once more. Every attempt she made to gain some kind of dominance was shot back down. A small sense of satisfaction coloured his dulling senses in response to her increasingly less but still frustrated groans. He could tell that she was barely able to focus on anything other than him. Admittedly, he was tempted to just allow whatever was left of his quickly-deteriorating control to crumble away completely. He was ready to do what he had been wanting to do with her for the past three years. Unfulfilled need, need that had been accumulating, need that had been unsatisfied for years, caused his heart to thud erratically and his hands to numb, especially as he carefully made his way from her legs up to her torso. He didn't waste any time and instead skimmed his fingers against the fabrics of her shirt, before getting to the point and instead slipping to touch the soft skin underneath. Her body jerked and pressed into his fingers, a sigh making its way out of her mouth despite herself as his knees buckled slightly at her response. He felt her own warm hands snake around his neck, her slim digits leaving small trails of fire as they dragged their way up the back of his neck and into his hair. He couldn't help but to moan into their kiss, passion igniting his vigor as he lost his grip into the quickly splintering tree. He gave up on that pursuit and instead used his now-freed hand to cup her chin, to pull her even closer into him, as his hand began its ascent.

He picked at his food without much enthusiasm, his brain feeling hollow. His mother clicked his tongue disapprovingly at him – and she chastised him for disrespecting her efforts. The food was tasteless. He lost his appetite. He set his fork down and excused himself, causing his mother to positively glower in disapproval as he dodged her pan and slipped out of the kitchen.

He was waiting for him in the Shogi room. When he entered, a small smile crossed his lips. "Hi, Dad," he murmured. His father raised a hand in acknowledgement and when he sat down, his dad began to arrange the pieces of their favorite game on the board.

The match began and the two males pondered over their pieces. Their conversation was lazy, lost to his fuzzying brain. As he placed a piece down, the elder Nara looked quizzically at his son.

"When are you going to give up?"

Inexplicable apprehension flared from his spine and his mind yelled at him again. Find it. Find it. He was suddenly aware of the numbing once more, the way his senses were forced into silence.

He cupped her breast from below her shirt, chest bindings halting him from doing anything much more than that. She moaned in response and whatever was left of her defenses crumbled before her as he dragged his lips to her neck. His name blew from her mouth in a feathered gasp, her unhindered lust causing him to grow even harder, something that even he thought wasn't possible. He left small nibbles along the ligaments, earning another moan that was barely to form his name. His hand carefully cupped under the swell of the bandages, rubbing lightly, before coming around to cup its entirety. He could vaguely make sense of a puckered nipple, but the bindings were a huge barrier between him and her desires. There were a couple other barriers, too, but he barely lingered on that as he pressed his mouth back onto hers, suppressing a hiss of surprise as he squeezed. When they broke apart to get more air, her fingers played with the hem of his shirt. Their eyes locked and hers narrowed. He smirked and dragged his hand off her breast reluctantly, before reaching over his back and dragging the useless piece of fabric off him. Her hands were immediately on his abs, running up and down in an almost worshipping manner. Fire exploded from her fingertips as he groaned: her touch was both addicting, pleasuring, and not enough. His mind imagined those same fingers grasping him, pumping him, her teal eyes that he often found himself lost in locking him in place. He couldn't help but to return to her neck, her breath hitching as she jerked towards him, her fingers torturously dragging their way to his back. They traced the outlines of his muscles, following each contour of definition. He bit down, a sharp hiss of surprise registering in his ears. Her fingernails dug into his flesh, not exactly painful but satisfying. It only encouraged him further as he reached for the fabrics of her shirt.

Ino was talking to him but the specifics were lost to him. She was prattling on about how Asuma and Kurenai's baby was due soon. Of course, he knew that before she did, after all he was always closer to their sensei. He admitted to her that he was excited as well, that it was lucky how peaceful the times were. He agreed, his mind feeling logged down and heavy. She seemed to pick up at his discomfort and he only registered her tone of concern, to which he shrugged off and told her not to worry. She grinned and told him to hang on, that her dad could help him out.

The response in his gut was surprising, as if something had surfaced from the dark waters, struggling against the viscous fluids as it protested. The clash caused his head to throb, his brain numbed yet spiked with emotions he couldn't grasp. He couldn't shake the uneasiness, the part that suddenly fought the strange pacifying he wasn't aware was occupying his senses.

When her father appeared he was suddenly weary. He didn't want Inoichi to poke inside his mind and realize what was wrong with him. Actually, he didn't want to know what it was, if he was truthful to himself. Maybe he was sick. Yeah, Ino agreed, maybe he was. He was being stubborn, she had chastised, and he should learn when enough was enough.

Enough was enough?

His brain kicked, disrupting the thick, blinding waters.

He slowly pulled upwards and he couldn't help but for his eyes to follow. Soon the fabric was discarded with his own. He left kisses along his collarbone, dragging his tongue gently, tracing her skin, relishing in her taste. Her own hands fumbled behind her before her chest bindings came loose. With both of their coaxing, the bandages fell away and were soon forgotten on the ground. He backed away and glanced at her breasts, both round, larger than he had expected, dark brown nipples pert from her arousal. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer, the fire in his navel unable to be quenched as compliments spilled out of his lips, to which she flushed and replied in a teasing tone. He descended upon the left breast first, another moan satisfyingly blowing along the top of his head. He left kisses along to top of the mound, his hands fondling the flesh carefully. He teasingly made his way to her nipple, barely able to control himself from completely ravishing her. He traced the erected flesh with his tongue before giving it a teasing pinch between his forefinger and thumb. He was beginning to lose reception to her responses, the focus he was barely able to maintain only managing to fuel himself further. However her labored breaths were encouragement enough, and when he gently suckled, she shuddered and another moan escaped her mouth.

When they met at the gates, a smile caused her teal eyes to sparkle. Their hands slipped into each other's with ease and a lazy banter began as usual. When he called her troublesome she grinned cheekily and he couldn't help but to admire her as he usually did.

She didn't live in Konoha but she was around often enough to know most of the haunts and to be on a first name basis with most of the people he knew. On her visits, his friends knew to give them a wide berth, at least on the first day as they got to know each other again and catch up.

They had taken a rest stop at a bench. Their conversation continued, evolving from petty insults to the necessary reports about the happenings on either side of their village. He teased her at her punctuality and she punched him lightly in the arm, another toothy grin causing his heart to settle pacifyingly, numbingly.

When he looked into her eyes he found herself lost in the vibrant colour. He somehow suddenly felt bashful and to hide his discomfort a hand flew to his neck, rubbing subconsciously. She teased him at the action, wondering if she was being too troublesome again. He lifted his head to respond but was quickly enraptured back into waves of teal.

It was then when that happened again. It was a whine in his head, telling him that her eyes were empty. But they weren't – they were dancing with mischief and, if she would admit it to herself, admiration. No, his head reasoned, you've seen more than that in her eyes before.

Once again his head thudded, battering him, before that weird feeling of numbingness clashed violently against his mental spasms. He clutched his head in pain, and her exclamations of concern only coming out as fuzz in his unhearing ears.

Her skin was hot. When they pressed against each other, the satisfying feeling of skin rubbing skin caused himself to ignite. In truth, he wasn't in control anymore. He was able to direct himself but he could no longer say he was able to stop himself. It was evidenced when he didn't even bother trying to remove her pants. When he undid her belt, the clothing began to slide right off on its own. Her fingers skimmed the side of his head when she reached down, his attention still spent on her breasts. She slid them off, the slacks pooling at her feet. When he looked down, he flushed when he realized she didn't bother with having one other piece of fabric in their way. He could see just a hint of fluid between her legs as she unabashedly rubbed her thighs together, and when he caught her eyes in surprise, there was no traces of sheepishness. His manhood had been uncomfortably restricted in his pants for a while yet, but now it was growing unbearable as he reached up and reclaimed her lips, their calculated kissing now gone as their contact grew sloppy quickly. His hands stroked her thighs, his mind barely able to register the feeling of skin. He moved inwards, managing to pry her legs apart with barely any resistance, and slipped a finger inside her. It was hot, wet, and slippery. Her long satisfied moan tickled his ears as he gave a strong pump, the squelch of her womanhood caused his knees to buck once more. She rolled her hips towards him, trying to find a better angle to satisfy herself with. He wasn't having any of it, however, and he pulled his finger away, to her angry and dissatisfied hiss. He instead undid his pants and gave it a quick tug, both briefs and slacks falling away in conjunction. He was harder than he had ever been, and her own look of appreciation to his unbridled modesty was all the encouragement he needed.

On some days it felt like he had been swimming all day, which was stupid because he didn't even like swimming. He was okay with soaking, he supposed, but not swimming.

He had been called out to go to the bathhouse with all of the other males, to which he agreed to because why not, really?

The conversation between the eight of them didn't pertain to much, in fact it felt more like white noise in his ears. He hadn't been to a bath house in a while, not that he could remember, at least.

Lately he felt as if his memory has been fuzzy. Surprise filled him – he wasn't even aware of that fact until now. But something soothed him, told him not to worry about it, and to flush away the doubts as he cleansed himself before his soak.

He tried, he really did, to push the thoughts out of his brain. But a small part of him told him to hold on to it, because it was always good to doubt. So he did.

When he finally sank down into the waters, the unsettling feeling in his stomach suddenly flared and began to positively flail. His mind felt like it was drowning, screaming for help. It was yelling, voice muffled through waters that seemed to be thicker than molasses. Think, think, think, it was shrieking.

Think? Think about what?

His mind spasmed as it tried to reject that voice, try to quash it like unwanted trash to bury. He didn't realize he had was writhing in the water, unaware when the boys had pulled him out and asked if he was okay.

Time had passed and he was unsure of what was going on, barely aware of his surroundings except for the hollowness in his head and the pacifying numbness that seemed to extend into his fingers and toes.

His body lurched into a sitting position, a pair of hands rubbing his back but he didn't know whose. When her voice feathered in his ears, not quite forming words but soothing enough, did that weird feeling reignite and thrash in the murky waters.

She was warm, wet, and enticing. He dragged the tip of his manhood along her entrance, a low whine whistled through clenched teeth at his teasing. He chuckled at her renewed frustration and his lips caught hers. Before he could react she had ravished her tongue straight into his mouth, the only part of her body that she could use currently to express her own desire, her need for him. He couldn't resist much longer himself. With ease, he lifted a leg and wrapped it around his waist. Sliding his foot against the tree for support, he hoisted her up, flushing when their abdomens grinded against each other. The shaft of his cock rubbed against her abs, a hiss of satisfaction not quite muffled by her own tongue.

Her kisses were like poison, for each one ignited something inside him. It was funny how it required the opposite for him to identify what he was feeling – which was nothing.

Even he didn't get where that logic came from.

He focused on something else, which wasn't too hard to do, considering the situation. Temari was at it again, trying to assert her dominance even though they shared, as they had agreed forever ago.

"I don't want this to change," she murmured.

Their shogi game forgotten, she leaned on his shoulder as they stared out into his backyard. He smiled as she hummed in contentedness.

He could hear the muted sounds of his parents blabbering. He could make out his sensei's protests, before small cries of a baby shut the adults up. Then there was laughter before they were calling for Kurenai.

A rush of footsteps pattered in response.

The usual buzz of activity filled his ears with a pleasant buzzing.

Every ambient sound registered dimly in his head – the chatter of birds, the laughter of children, the dripping of water after the rain from the day before.

Temari leaned in.

Their lips met.

The recesses of his mind struggled feebly.

He finally entered her, thrusting all the way to his hilt. She was tight yet dripping wet, her groan of satisfaction blowing past his ear when he buried his face into her shoulder, trying to stifle his hiss of pleasure into her skin. She rolled her hips, her insides gripping his cock, when she tried to readjust to a more comfortable position. "Move," she had moaned, and he complied. His first thrust pushed her voice through octaves. He couldn't help but to grin as he pulled his head back, observing the way her eyes were squeezed shut, the way her teeth bit her lower lip as she attempted to suppress more carnal sounds of pleasure. It didn't take much for him to begin thrusting powerfully, his arousal surmounting to this moment. Soon they were both grunting, panting, moaning as her hands flew aimlessly to his abs, to his hair, to his neck, to just latching onto him as she enjoyed the ride. He gripped her sides, unable to hold back as their mouths smashed, teeth knocking against each other but neither took notice, instead their tongues rubbed hungrily, whines bubbling in her mouth as he slipped in and out of her. She pulled her head back, hair catching on the splintered bark as she let out another guttural moan, her hands grasping at her blonde locks as her bark arched in pleasure. He gritted his teeth as he felt himself cantering towards his release, the buildup of desire that had been building for three years causing himself to numb from their passion.

His eyes opened.

He could barely remember his dream.

She was beside him, half naked.

She snuggled into the nook of his arm.

He was drained, felt as if he had been fighting to keep himself afloat.

He didn't think it was because of the sex.

His head filled with a pleasant buzzing.

"Don't go," she whispered.

Her teal eyes danced.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She came first, her voice augmented to the heavens as her body spasmed violently, juices squirting against his abdomen. A rush of fluids flooded his manhood, dripping on their forgotten pants. He helped her ride out her orgasm, pumping into her before he peaked as well. He pushed deeply into her, seed spilling inside her as her voice cracked to a moan, himself unable to bite back his guttural purr. They remained in silence, their arms finding their way around each other in an embrace. Every time his arms tightened possessively, her grip matched his. Soon he lost control of his legs and they collapsed against the poor tree that had somehow managed to stay up through their rendezvous. She giggled and he couldn't help the way his heart thudded, and when their lips met again, her eyes danced with passion, fire flowing from her lips, threatening to engulf him.

Was it even real?

He didn't know anymore.

He didn't know what to call it.

It was no longer water.

It was cement.

Somewhere he could feel it.

The helpless scratching against the cold stone.

She lowered herself onto him again.

She buried his manhood within her.

She moaned.

He couldn't feel it.

Physically, he did.

Emotionally?

He couldn't feel anything.

..::[::]::..

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