GaaSaku snippets and pieces. Might continue this.

As always, let me know your thoughts.

If he was an animal, it was because others had made him that way.

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It was what it was; now that he had no use as a weapon, he was a profoundly antisocial person, struggling to reintegrate with society at large. He often found himself watching others, wary of their motives, curious at how they acted. There were few who truly piqued his interest.

He was profoundly bored with humanity.

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She was an intrigue, a shiny new thing, and absolutely delicious when she was angry. She was sharp as a tack and didn't allow him to steamroll over her. Her buttons were far too easy to push, but she'd push his right back.

He found himself seeking out her company. She was intelligent, and refreshing, a figurative oasis in the middle of a desert.

They would sit on the rooftops and look at the stars; she was fascinated by them, and he would indulge her. He once found himself with his head in her lap; another time, she had leaned against his side, asleep.

It was then that he found himself craving her touch.

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He would look for excuses to see her; in her presence, he would find a reason to stand close, to brush his shoulder against hers, to take her arm. She wouldn't pull away, but wouldn't reciprocate. She would maintain a polite but friendly distance.

A guard, an observer, a spy for the Council once informed him that, technically, she was below his station, and according to some archaic laws, he could order her to acquiesce to him –

The sick bastard hadn't seen the suckerpunch coming.

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It was that same guardsman who, earlier in the day, had tracked her down. She'd greeted him, but he went straight to the subject: Gaara.

"Beware," he said, "The Kage's affections."

Sakura frowned. She'd never thought Gaara would harbor feelings for her – he was strange, yes, but she had always chalked up how he acted to just that: he was strange.

"He does not," she began, but he cut her off.

"We have laws here, Miss. Laws that would render you in an unfavorable position."

It was then that she realized exactly how deep in she was.

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From then on she was more aware: of the glance, of the small touches, of the favors and niceties.

And she was terrified.

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The first time they fucked it was in his suite, all heat and sweat and need. She left marks on his neck and he left ones on her hip, and after, as he fell asleep, she dressed herself and fled.

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She stood on the precipice of a stupid decision, gazing into the abyss that lay before her.

Of course, that was all metaphorical. In reality, Sakura stood on her doorstep, and she was looking at Gaara. The man looked incensed, and a frenetic energy was rolling off him in waves.

"I – hello, can I help you?"

This wasn't the first time he showed up on her doorstep, and this certainly wouldn't be the last, but this was different. He said nothing, but stepped forward; Sakura sidestepped to let him in, shutting the door behind her.

He sat at her kitchen table, declining her offer of tea with a wave of his hand. When he spoke, his words were sharp and his voice was rough. "I'm done with your games."

She arched an eyebrow. "Games?"

"Don't play stupid. It doesn't work for you."

And, filled with disgust, Sakura left her own apartment, both unable and unwilling to have the discussion that Gaara was pushing upon her.

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The sex was good – the sex had always been good – but it wasn't worth being strung out over.

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It wasn't fucking, and it wasn't lovemaking; he would ravage her senseless and she would return the favor. He would feel her heartbeat against his ribcage; he would leave marks on her neck, her hips, her breasts. She would moan and breathe into the dip of his neck, hips bucking under him, nails leaving welts on his back.

After, he would push her hair behind her ear and plant a chaste kiss to the back of her neck and wrap an arm around her waist. She would turn into him and entangle their legs together, sigh a soft "goodnight" and drift off to sleep. Sometimes she would leave, but he vastly preferred the nights she stayed.

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She was the closest thing to a lover he'd ever have.

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"What do you want from me," she asked, desperate, unsure, distraught. He had remained in her apartment after she'd left; he had still seated at her kitchen table. Now he stood across from her, arms crossed, teeth bared. She did not fear him, not really, not anymore, but he was her superior – in both position and skill.

If he wanted to hurt her, there was very little she could do to stop him.

He didn't reply; regardless, she went on. "This is my own fault. You – I'm not toying with you. There isn't any game. If you are under any false impressions, Gaara, that's your own damn fault. I didn't – "

"Nothing," he said at last. Sakura's annoyance at being interrupted came second to her confusion.

"There is nothing I want from you," he said, voice unnervingly calm.

"Good," she snapped. "Now get out of my apartment."

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They would find excuses to be around each other, alone, and late. He took her to dinner, once – Sakura hadn't realized until halfway through that it had been a date – and afterwards was the perfect gentleman, walking her to her room and pointing out the winter constellations.

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"Name your terms."

Sakura looked up, surprised at his sudden appearance. "Excuse me?"

"What is it that you – that I – " he cut himself off. She waited. Words did not come easily to him.

"I am yours," he said, at last. "And I want you to be mine. What are your terms for this arrangement."

Sakura didn't know what took her aback more – his confession or the way he went about it.

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He would display the love bites proudly; no one but his sister dared question him.

Temari immediately wound up regretting having brought anything up.

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Green eyes met green eyes from across the room; the fight was a bad one, filled with vitriol and words sharp enough to cut.

"You leave. You hide. You are infuriating."

"You're confusing! You – you came onto me. You made it casual. You - I don't have to do anything, Gaara!"

"No," he shot back, venom dripping from his words, "Why would you owe me the courtesy of being there in the morning."

To that, Sakura had no counter.

"Is the thought of being with me," he said, voice low, "Really so repulsive?"

"You said," and now, her voice was shaky, "That you didn't want anything from me."

It was then he realized how many sorts of fool he had been. "What I want," he said, "from you – I wanted you to want it as well. I did not want my position, my authority – "

"What did you want?" she asked, voice hardly above a whisper.

He reached out and grabbed her hands, clasped them to his chest. "Everything."

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It was a rare moment without tension; they sat under a tree, secluded from life and their duties. Sakura traced the lines of his hand, and he shut his eyes, enjoying the touch.

"It's been a year," he said, absently.

"So it has," she agreed.

He opened his eyes and sat up, pulling her into his lap. She obliged, relaxing her back into his chest. He laced his fingers into her right hand, and pulled something out of his robe pocket and pressed it into her left hand.

It was a ring: silver and inlaid with three sapphires.

"It is yours," he said softly, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "If you want it. If you…want me."

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If he was human, it was because she had tamed him.