A/N: I have nothing to say but that I just found this old one-shot lying on my notebook and that I hate past tense.

Warnings: Smut. Cursing.

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She loved him.

She loved everything about him. The dark orbs that would melt her with just one look; the half-smirk he would shine when she'd do something stupid and clumsy, or something daring and dangerous but, either way, it was because he was amused; the way his hair felt under her palms, bristling, coarse but silky in its way and with its shine; the little nothings he would only whisper in her ear in the aftermath of their love-making, leaving kisses all over her face, making her sink into the mattress of their bed, closing her eyes; the way his eyes would darken while training, looking at her like the graceful killer he was: with hunger; the shine in his eyes when he's about to kiss her, hard.

He made her knees go weak.

So, as the usual routine was taking place, and she was sinking into the mattress of their bed after her high was over, she felt like she could touch the stars of the night sky. He started whispering sweet nothings in her ear, hovering over her, propping himself on his elbow at the sides of her torso albeit without touching her.

And she closed her eyes.

He started leaving small, slow butterfly kisses over her face: on her forehead, on her eyelids, on her cheeks, on the tip of her nose, on her jaw, her neck. But never on her lips.

And that's how they started falling asleep.

After—what she presumed were—forty minutes, she fluttered open her eyes, no doubt in her mind about what she was going to do.

And while she'd been laying on her back a second ago, she now found herself on top of him, looking him down. He frowned, slightly confused.

Never-minding his look, she took his face in her hands, and she kissed him.

Soft, sweet, innocent.

He stiffened, for she'd never done this before; they had always found themselves content with their usual routine.

Not letting him overthink her actions too much, she moved her hands over his shoulder-blades, over his torso, down to his abdomen, to his lower stomach, and then she gripped him—hard.

He hissed, feeling that a renewed sense of pleasure washed over him and collected in the pit of his stomach. She squeezed him harder at the reaction, moving her hand up and down his length, and he could only do so much as to throw his head back onto the pillows beneath him.

Leaning down until their torsos were touching, she purred his name in his ear, never breaking the rhythm she had set for him, and instantly he swore he could already feel himself almost there. Just a little more, just-

She stopped.

She stopped and he cursed out loud at the sudden interruption. He'd been so close. "Shit, Sakura, why'd you st-"

"I love you," she whispered against his mouth, looking at him with a serious expression, as if she'd waited all this time to have his utter and complete attention, because she probably had.

His breath hitched in his throat at the confession. They'd been together for some months now, but she hadn't—without any exceptions—said the three words she'd been holding onto for so many years since the war. The few words that held so much meaning and affection. The two times she had said those words in the past had ended with him walking away and disregarding her feelings.

The sudden realisation made him want to tell her that he wasn't going anywhere anymore, not without her.

He found himself staring back at her and biting his tongue, wanting to say them back. But he couldn't—not yet—because the words won't come out just yet.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything that could let her know that he cared, that he appreciated her and everything she'd been doing. But she only made him grunt low in response when she lowered herself down quickly and without preamble.

He felt his eyes roll to the back of his head as she started moving with the rhythm his hand led her to. They were still sweaty from the last time they reached their top, just some minutes ago, before she decided to take the lead for the very first time.

She started moving faster, going in deeper, small, pert breasts bouncing with the movement and making him bite his lip in order to contain his moan.

Instead, he directed his hand, previously on her hip, inward, until his thumb found a small bundle of nerves that he knew always put her on edge. He flicked it at a fast pace, finding himself already lost in the erratic movements of her hips and the image of his length moving inside and out of her warmth, as if they were meant to be.

She moaned loudly and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Oh, fuck!"

It still surprised him when she cursed in the middle of sex, but he couldn't feel anything less than turned on by it.

He could feel her warm walls close around him, making him growl back, the sound melting with the slaps their bodies made when uniting. He gripped her hips harder.

In the midst of everything, he tried to focus his eyes on her face, and the air left his lungs in a heartbeat.

He knew she loved him. She never stopped to begin with. He was not in love with her, not yet, but she was everything he'd ever needed. She was strong, she was brave, she was sweet, hard-working, devoted, caring, kind...

She was beautiful.

With a growl, he left her bud and, grabbing the back of her head in his hand, he kissed her slowly. When they finally came, they came together, him with a long sigh and her with a small whimper, as if it was the last time they would ever be together even if it was not.

She let her head fall on his shoulder and he caressed the pink tresses falling messily on her shoulders, looking up at the ceiling with a confident, tiny upward on the corners of his lips—it was the closest thing to a smile he could perform. He closed his eyes.

Maybe, one day, he would love her just as much she loved him.