Author: Amaya
Characters/Pairings: [Genma x Sakura]
Rating: Mature
Themes: Romance; Drama; Smut; Tooth-rotting Fluff; Sakura knows what she wants; Modern AU; That's wholesome AF; Falling in Love; I think its a songfic?; Porn with a plot; Making Love; Genma is a closet romantic; Whirlwind Romances
Warnings: This story contains depictions of mature sexual content and use of strong language.

Summary: He reminds her of the whiskey she's been sipping on all night, in that he's something she longed for after a long shift, and he walks as if his soul is playing a bluesy rock ballad that only he could hear. Everything about him, from the toothpick nestled at the corner of his mouth, to the disheveled hair, the swagger of his walk, just screams "just for fun, not for keeps" but for some reason Sakura can't find it in herself to care.

The moment his lips press against hers, Sakura knows she's in trouble.

Author's Note

And we're finally back with the second part of this cute little fic. I've been so busy with work, since I've been called back, that I haven't had the time to work on any of my fics. I hate it, but there's nothing I can really do until the government issues another Shelter in Place order. I'm just glad I got to finish it in time for Genma Weekend! I went into overdrive trying to finish this chapter and start the next one, as well as working on a few other GenSaku oneshots, and one major GenSaku fic, which is called Home.

So for you GenSaku lovers out there, check out the note at the bottom to get a better idea of what I've got coming up! I hope you guys will check them out when they're up and posted! Anyway, I know I said this fic is going to be a 3-part series, but I decided to add a fourth part too tie up the fic properly. But I don't think any of you will object to that. At least, I hope. So, without further ado, here's chapter two of Like A Glass of Whiskey.

Like A Glass of Whiskey

To Be With You by Mr. Big

She's cancelled on him twice this week.

Normally, Genma isn't the type to fret over a skipped date. He's been through this routine enough times in his life to be able to brush it off and move on without a blink. But he doesn't want to with Sakura. He knows its not her fault, that she's actually busy and not just trying to duck out of another date with him.

Work's been crazy, She's told him at least four times, and he can hear the exhaustion clearly in her voice, even in her texts. She tells him all about the headaches of her shift, of the long hours, the customers she's had to talk down and the employees she's fed up with, so he knows she isn't avoiding him. He understands better than anyone, so he won't hold it against her. But that also doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

I'm the one who wants to be with you.

He hasn't seen her since their first date, hasn't felt the softness of her skin or tasted the romance on her lips, and while it may not seem like it to others, Genma loves physical affection. Craves it, actually. Its important to him and strokes the flames of male pride within him when he gets to run his fingers over her knuckles and press his lips against her neck. He likes being able to thread his fingers in her hair and gaze into that redwood forest that she calls eyes, because those eyes of hers take him back to days of campfires and drunken summers.

If he can't have that, it won't work.

And he wants it to work with Sakura so, so bad—Deep inside I hope you feel it, too.

Because even though they haven't seen each other much, he hears her voice on a daily basis. Even if its only for five minutes or an hour, even if it makes him feel like he's thirteen again, its enough for him. If his friends saw him now, fussing with the tangles in his hair, contemplating the placement of his bandana and fidgeting with his keys, they'd tease him for it, call him love sick, but he doesn't agree with that at all. To say he's sick would imply he doesn't like the effect she has on him.

Because despite what his friends seem to think, he likes the romance. Sex is fun, sure; he'd probably never say no to a night of debauched romance, of nails carving down his back and legs around his hips—especially if its with her—but he wants more than that. He likes the passion, and how just one kiss bathes him in summer rays, regardless of the season. He likes how he can feel her touch in his chest, making its way down his spine and his stomach, scorching him like cinnamon liqueur.

Because like a glass of the world's finest whiskey, Sakura is hard and strong, difficult to find; and she burns his throat as she drowns him.

So no, he's not sick. He's love drunk.

Like A Glass of Whiskey

She's already tired, and she still has eight hours left on this God-forsaken shift.

She was supposed to be off at three, home by three-thirty and ready to meet Genma for whatever he had planned by five; but that was all before Moegi called out sick. She tried calling Shizune to cover, Udon and Tenten, too, but her attempts were fruitless. And that meant she wouldn't be off until eight-thirty—which, isn't too late considering she's off tomorrow, but Genma isn't, and besides that, twelve hours is too long of a shift to recover from.

So when she calls him on her fifteen-minute break to reschedule again, Sakura feels terrible.

She hopes he understands, prays that he doesn't think she's ghosting him or trying to string him along; because the thought of never seeing him again makes her chest hurt. But she's lucky with him, she knows, because he doesn't yell, doesn't grunt or sigh or complain. He just pauses, reassures her—"Hey, its okay. You're still off on Thursday, right? Let's go out then."—and promises he isn't upset. The disappointment in his voice tugs at her heart, but that ache disappears almost immediately as he starts talking about what he's going to do instead.

He's playful about it—"I guess I'll just take Raido out for dinner since you're so busy."—and he teases her—"I'll send you pictures of my steak. We can pretend you're there."

And she's thankful for that because she wants and wants and wants him to stick around—Deep inside I hope you feel it, too.

They had chat through her entire break (and a little over, but damn it, she deserves that extra few minutes), and it would be a bold-faced lie if Sakura said she wasn't even a little sad to say goodbye. She had been looking forward to this since their last date, had missed the pine needles and the molten anticipation that comes in that half-second before his touch. She has no idea what the plan was (beyond dinner, apparently), but she doesn't care. She just wants to be there, with him.

Sakura is pulled from her thoughts as she notices Konohamaru making his way towards her. She plasters a smile on her face, fighting off the fatigue as he moves to the first register. "You're back?" She asks, glancing at the clock on the screen.

"Yup!" He replies, accompanied by the chirp of the time-clock as he punches back in.

Her shoulders loosen and she exhales in relief. "Good. I'll be going on my lunch, then. Think you guys will be okay for an hour?"

The teen waves a hand dismissively, rolling his eyes as he takes up his perch on the second register, which a tonsured customer immediately strolls up to. "We'll be fine. Go take your lunch, Bosslady."

Her hesitance is purely for show, but she plays the part well, taking her time in backing away from her counter and setting her clipboard down. She waits for Konohamaru to throw a pen at her before she whirls around to punch out, but she falters, nearly stumbling as she finds herself pinned by glazed caramel. "Genma!"

He grins at her, head canted just slightly and chin angled up almost smugly, the toothpick nestled at the edge of his lips quirked with mischief. He leans forward against the counter, drawing her attention to the veins in his arms and the muscles of his chest, all neatly wrapped up in an army green shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the buttons at the collar undone to reveal a tantalizing hint of skin that makes her want to remember the taste of him. The tip of his tongue appears, pushing his toothpick to the other corner of his lips as he hums an amused, "Hey."

She doesn't mean to be so obvious, but with him, she finds its hard not to be. He's handsome from the depth of his eyes, to the gentle expressions of his voice; from the way that shade of green brings out the warmth in his skin tone, to the way his gaze devours her just as fervently as hers does him. She doesn't look anywhere near as good as he does right now, with her blush pink button-down a little wrinkled from movement and her black jeans smudged with dust, looking like a frazzled Tough back from a run.

Yet, he still looks at her as if she were dressed to the nines—as if she were in the most stunning, little black dress in the world.

Nervously, Sakura smooths her fly-aways behind her ear, wipes her palms against her pulsating thighs. "What are you doing here?"

Genma outstretches a hand towards her in offering, waiting patiently for her to take it, and when she does, he tugs her closer, presses his lips against the underside of her wrist without tearing his attention away. And God, does that make her melt. "I'm here for our date."

Furrowing her brows, Sakura takes her lower lip between her teeth and glances around the store, blatantly ignoring the curious (and prying) looks from her coworkers. Without immediately realizing it, their fingers lace together, and when she does notice, she knows she's in danger. "I thought..." Her voice is more breath than sound, "But I'm working..."

He leads her towards the first register with a small huff of amusement. "You just said you're going on lunch, right? For an hour?" He asks, and when she nods, he continues. "I know you said you'll be too tired for our date tonight, and as much of a good time as I'm sure Raido would've been," Sakura snorts at that, "I figured I might as well take the date to you."

She can't help the smile that tugs at her lips. "You sure Raido won't mind being stood up?"

His chuckle ensnares her, envelops her like a blanket just like it had the first time she heard it, and it strokes pleasant memories within her. She imagines that women line up for miles just to hear it, its so rich and light, so she counts herself lucky for being at the front of the line. His shoulders shrug, thumb smoothing over the palm of her hand as if to bribe her into joining him. "He might cry. But he'll get over it."

She doesn't hesitate now. Her fingers fly over the keyboard to the time-clock, and she doesn't even wait to hear the monitor chime in acceptance before she's following him out the door.

They only have an hour together, and sharing a takeout box of chicken parmesean and carbonara in the bed of his truck, in the middle of the parking lot, isn't exactly what most would constitute as a date. But its the fact that the bed of his pickup is full of blankets and pillows, and a cooler with cold drinks, and that he bought a slice of cake from the town's most loved bakery, that made it so perfect to her. So they chat the entire time, their conversation jumping from her brunch date with Ino and the mimosas they sipped on over hashed browns and over-easy eggs, to where he bought their dinner, and somehow it ignites a conversation about what restaurants serve the best breakfast in town, and embarrassing tales of their respective best friends.

"Its not much," He says later, when his fingers absently toy with the collar of her blouse, and Sakura can't help but lean her head onto his shoulder. They watch the gulls swim across the impossibly blue sky, towards the beach two blocks down, listen to the soft guitar strumming from the radio—I'm the one one who wants to be with you—and when she breathes, its all him. All cocoa and oak and mountain ranges. His lips press against the side of her head, gently, affectionately, and it makes her chest tighten. "And this isn't how I wanted to do dinner with you, but I promise the next date will be better."

Her lips quirk into a smile. "You think there will be another?"

The arm around her shoulders tightened, bringing Sakura closer to Genma's side. "I mean, we've still got four more dates left."

"Left until what?"

He presses a kiss to the tip of her ear and she can feel his smirk, his teeth grazing, and its the only warning about his cheekiness she has. "Until you fall in love with me."

So as her cheeks smolder and her belly undulates at the sheer confidence Genma radiates, the lions in her chest roar, Sakura can only think that honestly, she doesn't care for better—I waited on a line of greens and blues, just to be the next to be with you—Because nothing is better than this.

Like A Glass of Whiskey

"You lucky bitch."

Sakura's attention flickers back up to Ino, who's brows are furrowed into something akin to annoyance, her nose twisted slightly and lips tugged towards one side. Her arms are crossed over her chest, sharp, lavender nails tapping against her forearm, but Sakura knows the anger is all faux. She grins behind her glass of wine, not even bothering to hide the smugness from her expression as Ino huffs. The blonde is a sucker for romance, with her fiance easily one of the most unromantic people to ever exist, so Sakura couldn't help but brag about her latest impromptu date. That's what best friends do, after all.

"You lucky bitch," Ino repeats with more of a wistful whine to her voice. "I hate you so much."

Beside her, Karin snorts but Sakura is more than aware of the jealousy simmering in her adverted stare while Tenten sighs and Hinata smiles in that soft way of hers. The latter's hand settles gently on her knee "I'm happy for you," Hinata says, glimpsing at the other two women. "We all are."

"Yeah," The redhead grunts a moment later. She leans back into the couch, tilting her glass in idle circles. "If Suigetsu could be even a tenth as romantic as that, I probably wouldn't try to strangle him every night."

Tenten laughs. "You'd strangle him regardless."

A fond smirk threatens Karin's lips, twitching as she fights it off. "True. Knowing that prick, he'd spill everything all over me or something."

The girls chatter on, swooning as they bring up memories of their own soft moments and cackling at their failed ones, taking pride in the hearts in each others eyes, when Ino breaks the mood. She's grinning widely, ear to ear with a hint of mischief weighing on the edge; her hair curls around her finger, acting like an omen to Sakura.

"So Forehead," She begins in a singsong that makes Sakura's glass pause against her lips. Her impossibly blue eyes flash, glittering coyly. "When are we going to meet him?"

Sakura glimpses towards the side, worrying her lip between her teeth and sipping nervously at her drink. "I don't know," She admits after a moment. "We're not that serious."

A collective scoff comes from all the girls, Hinata too, much to Sakura's embarrassment. "Please!" Ino guffaws, eyes rolling far more enthusiastically than Sakura is used to. "You two are practically engaged at this point."

This time, Sakura rolls her eyes. "We've been on two dates."

"Three," Tenten pipes in.

Sakura rounds on the brunette with a mock glare. "The first time we met doesn't count!" Sakura takes a heavy sip of her wine, lips pursed in the forming of a pout. She doesn't want to get too far ahead of herself, doesn't want to jinx it because his smile is ingrained in her bones and it would be a shame if the space were a waste. "We're taking things slow."

"He's bringing you lunch," Karin says, as if its something obvious. "To work. That sounds pretty husbandly to me."

"He's just a gentleman," Sakura mumbles, now grimacing as she stares at her near-empty glass. She doesn't mind the dry aftertaste usually—could chug it down in a few gulps on a normal day—but suddenly, she wants something a little stronger. There isn't enough alcohol in this room—no, in this world—to deal with this conversation, much to her frustration. And knowing her friends, they aren't anywhere near done with it.

That particular gleam reappears on Ino's countenance, making Sakura's body stiffen further. She never trusts that look—learned not to years ago—so Sakura warily watches as Ino folds her hands against her chest like some animated character. "Mmm, you really are lucky," Ino sighs, leaning her shoulder against Sakura's. She lays her cheek upon her shoulder, eyes narrowing impishly, and links their arms together. "He's got that cute, country boy charm."

The girls coo in agreement, talking about his hair and the way he smiles, how he towers over her like her own personal guard and it makes Sakura perk her chin up higher. They've only seen pictures from their date together, and the first-hand descriptions from Hinata and Ino, so they don't realize that he's more than a smattering of apple butter. He's something else all together; something smoother, actually, like whiskey with sugar maple and a generous spoonful of Tennessee honey, chilled.

Absently, Sakura acknowledges the smile that stretches across her face. Its a dumb thought, childish in a way, but her tongue suddenly craves that little bit of sweetness because it makes her think of him.

Like A Glass of Whiskey

If Sakura's learned anything about Genma, its that he sees every occasion through with feeling, and that he likes to top his own high expectations.

Funny, because she would have never guessed from their first meeting nor from appearances alone, that he was a closet romantic. At first glance, he's bluesy, country rock music and twangy guitar, bass-baritone notes and rebelliousness, wrapped up in a generous dollop of southern charm. And, well, he's definitely all of that—and more. He's also all romance and manners with a little bit of measured ruggedness, topped off with a rim of sugar that's pleasant on her tongue.

And he isn't afraid to show it.

So when Genma appears on her doorstep in dark wash jeans and a flannel shirt, a jacket in that shade of green she likes draped over him and his hair free from its usual bandana, Sakura isn't sure what to expect. Part of her wants to curse him for being so attractive without trying, because it's just not fair. While another part wants to pull him inside, ravish his chest with greedy fingers and kittenish nips and become one with his soul; while a third part is a little exasperated that she can't figure out his plans through his outfit.

He doesn't offer her any inkling of what he has in store, much to her frustration. He just chuckles and dishevels her hair, winks every now and then as he says, "We'll see."

Meanwhile, Genma can't help but tease her. She's so easy to rile up, full of rose pedals and honey but quick to scorch like a good ol' bottle of Johnnie Walker, and he likes that hint of hazelnut that follows in the form of a pout. Its what makes her so endearing, he thinks.

He hides it well (or at least, he hopes he does) but he's fully aware of the anxiety that rumbles in his belly because he's jumped through hoops and climbed mountains in an attempt at making tonight perfect.

Its all careful planning and a bit of chance (and a little bit of bargaining with his roommates, but Sakura doesn't need to know that), but in the end it actually is perfect. He managed to get his roommates to not only leave the house, but to help clean the place in preparation for the night, with relatively minimal complaints and a Hell of a lot of ribbing. He can't recall ever seeing the living room so spotless, or the bathroom so tidy, so perhaps it would be wishful thinking on his part, but he hopes it stays this way.

When they pull up to the single-story building, Genma's nerves flutter. He jumps out quickly so he can round the side of his truck and help Sakura out, and when he chances a glance at her face, which is marred with both confusion and excitement, he feels his shoulders stiffen.

"Is this your house?" She asks, eyeing the windows overlooking the yard.

"I mean, who else's house would I take you to?" He replies, leading her around the side of the building with a hand against the small of her back. He works the latch on the gate in the back, then once its pushed open, Genma eases her inside.

The resulting gasp that leaves her lips a moment later makes his heart stutter.

Fairly lights twinkle, bridging from branch to branch like an intricate cathedral of lights that trace the footpath into the back. The yard is intimately sized, offering cover from neighboring yards with a healthy canopy of trees. There's a picnic bench at the center of it all, adorned with flowers and unlit candles, a set of plates and wine glasses on either side and a heat lamp on the end. Its the kind of thing depicted in romance movies, that women dream of from their men.

And he did it for her.

Ino is really going to hate her.

Sakura approaches the table, her fingers grazing over the sunflowers and baby's breath that's piled atop the table, then picks up the bottle of wine to inspect it. After a moment, she whips around to pin him with glossy eyes, revealing the flush that colors her cheeks without hesitance. "Wow, you must really like me to go through all of this."

Genma combs his fingers through his hair, scoffing and turning his gaze elsewhere. The tips of his ears burn with his fluster, his words knotting up for just a moment before he huffs a laugh. "You done making fun of me?" He grunts, making his way up the deck.

She follows after him with a pleased smirk. His back is to her as he toys around with the grill, lighting it up, so she wraps herself around him and presses a kiss to his shoulder; he relaxes into her embrace almost instantly. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, although its all mirth. "I appreciate you doing all of this for me."

Genma turns in her arms so he can dishevel her hair, ignoring the batting of her hands and her indignant shout. "You deserve it, especially after that last date."

"Hey, I liked it."

He hums. He liked it, too—the spontaneity, the intimacy, the implications of his intentions. But a woman like Sakura—no, any woman of his—deserves much more than an hour of takeout in the bed of his pickup. She deserves some real food, something made with soul and fire and passion.

"Go take a seat while I get started on dinner," He says as he disentangles himself from her, then makes his way to the sliding door.

Sakura follows him a few steps, waiting politely right at the entrance. "Anything I can do to help?"

He shakes his head as he pulls what he needs from the fridge. He had prepared everything earlier; marinaded the steaks, softened the potatoes, washed the green beans and chopped the carrots. He's even got a slice of that cake she likes so much sitting on the top shelf. All he has to do it cook. Raido said it might have been a little much for "just a date", but Genma disagrees. His Pop used to say that a well-fed woman is a happy woman, after all. He's trusted that for years, so he wasn't about to go back on that now.

Initially he was going to tell her, "Nah, go ahead and take a seat," but she looks so determined, that he can't help but chuckle. He waves her into the kitchen, noting how brightly her eyes glow with the approval. He gestures to the stove. "You can cook the vegetables and the mashed potatoes," He says, then gives her a look. "But don't go digging into the fridge!"

When she grins, all mischief and challenge, Genma shakes his head. She'll be the end of him.

Like A Glass of Whiskey

Let's Make Love by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill

They're laying on the couch today.

Her couch, specifically, with throws draped over their legs and his head cradled in her lap. Sakura's fingers comb through his hair absently, manicured nails soothing away the headache that had been stewing away ever since the middle of his shift. He had planned for something different today: a casual walk around the pier, maybe up into the trail that climbs up the Ridge, then have dinner somewhere in town. But his head throbs so badly that he can't imagine doing any of that anytime soon.

Hell, he hasn't even changed out of his uniform and he smells like sun-dried pine needles. He was going to reschedule their plans, but when he heard how excited she was, he didn't want to trample on that. She invited him in, and his Ma always told him to never say no to a woman worth the headache. And honestly, he's glad that he came by anyway. They called for delivery from the sushi shop across the street and he downed a handful of aspirin, and now they're watching some movie in her living room, something romantic from the 2000's. He's probably seen it before; it sounds familiar (from what he's actually tuned into) but he isn't too concerned with the plot.

Baby I've been drifting away, dreaming all day.

All he can focus on is how nice it feels to be in her embrace, to have her skin against his, the warmth of her body around his own. He loves this.

Genma tilts his head to peer up at her, assess her facial features as if its the first time he's seeing her. She doesn't notice his perusal of her, she's so in-tune with her movie, but that's fine because he just wants to enjoy the view. He traces the slope of her nose, the curves of her lips, counts each little eyelash that frames those pretty eyes—Of holding you, touching you—and then she glances down at him and all the breath leaves his lungs all at once.

Sakura's fingers slide through his hair one last time before they slowly, cautiously, trail down the edge of his temple and the side of his jaw. Her thumb brushes over the corner of his lips once, and before she can pull away, Genma's hand rests on top of hers, keeping her in place so he can lay a kiss to the base of her palm. Her breath hitches as he ghosts a lick against her skin; he can feel it from his position on her lap, and all that does is make him wonder what's going through her head.

Her lashes lower, leaving her gaze as slivers of lusty jade, and then she bites at the edge of her lips. Tentatively, as if he's worried he'll spook her somehow, Genma feathers his fingers down her arm, strokes the underside of her wrist, telling her without words what he wants—The only thing I wanna do is be with you, as close to you, as I can be.

And its as if that was all they needed.

He sits up, maneuvering so he's facing her. His hand finds purchase against her cheek where he pulls her in for a searing kiss. Every time he kisses her, its like the first time. Its steeped in a passion that ignites and smolders and it reaches so deeply into his soul that he forgets how to breathe. She melts into his touch like milk chocolate on a hot day, tastes just as decadent, and the flavor of her moan is felt as deeply within him as his tailbone—Let's make love all night long.

With a shattered breath, Genma cants his head further so he can feel more of her, shifts so his right hand is planted beside her thigh. He feels both of Sakura's hands lace behind his neck, and when she rubs circles below his ears, he moans. Nothing about this kiss is innocent, not this time. Its demanding and fiery, all tongue and teeth and damn, if it isn't intoxicating. He takes her lower lip between his teeth, playfully pulling away but then reclaiming them with a vengeance at her tightened grip, lapping up the thread of saliva that bridges between them.

Sakura whimpers with anticipation, tugging on Genma so he'll come closer and dragging her hands from his neck to splay across his chest. She rubs his shoulders, fists the front of his shirt, caresses his abdomen. It flutters under her touch, flexing with his sharp intake of breath—ripples with waves of excitement. She feels his skin now, rubs at his lower back encouragingly because she wants this.

I wanna feel you in my soul.

Genma moves again so he's on the chaise in front of her, takes hold of her beneath the knees and pulls so she's dragged down under him; and that little bit of roughness makes Sakura's stomach twist. She laughs as he chuckles, both caught up in just how right this feels.

Their spell is broken when Sakura's irises flicker down to his waist, towards the thick arousal straining against his pants, and with her smile bitten like that, Genma finds himself struggling to reign in his want. His desire is all knotted up and frayed, sewn into his chest haphazardly and when she starts pulling her shirt up, Genma's hands quickly work his own shirt over his head. When he finally gets it off, he finds himself faltering at the sight of her, nearly bare, to him.

He wants to admire her as she is, he really does, because he wants to be able to recall every little detail of that lacy white bra on those rough days, but she's already slipped out of it and he can't concentrate.

Their lips clash again, but this time its with a hunger twice as devastating as before. Genma's hands caress every inch of her that he can reach in an attempt at memorizing every crevice, his fingers plucking at her nipples and his knuckles rolling the pert buds. He pulls away from her with a thick breath to trail kisses down her neck; he nips her, nuzzling the sensitive skin just below her jaw until she mewls and God, its music to his ears.

His muscles ripple then as the pads of Sakura's fingers skate up his spine. She's slow in her teasing, inquisitive, painting a line of fire up his back until she reaches the nape of his neck while her knees dig into his sides. Genma growls—Do you know what you do to me?—rolls his hips so he can press the head of his arousal against her heat. Her hips lift, grinding against his while she finds the nape of his neck with her fingers. She massages the muscles there, smiling at the soft purr that rumbles from Genma's throat.

He paints violets against the hollow of her collarbone, hot and wet, down her chest and to her navel where his tongue glides against the edge of her navel, coaxing his name and a pleased shiver from her. Then, he works his way back up, licking up the valley of her breasts to her throat, ending at her chin in one continuous movement.

Hearing the heated affection in Sakura's moans makes Genma hum in delight—Everything inside of me is wanting you—so he responds by taking a rosy nipple between his lips. His tongue swirls around her nipple in time with his fingers, accompanied by teasing grazes of his teeth and soft suckling. He caresses the underside of her breasts with the lightest touch he's capable of, smooths his palms down her sides just as gently, evoking miles of goosebumps along her body.

He releases her swollen buds, marveling at the redness that colors them now, opting to dust her abdomen and sides with feverish nips that make her breathing hitch—touching you—Sakura lifts her hips again when his lips tickle the sensitive skin below her navel, then her hands move to work on the buckle of her shorts but Genma pushes them away. He ignores her grunt, grinning so mischievously that it makes Sakura pause, but before she can call him out on it, the brunette has her sprawled over his shoulder.

"Genma!"

He laughs, wholeheartedly and cheekily, and gifts her a playful nibble to the back of her thigh while taking a handful of her ass. She gives a puff of measured mirth but Genma knows she's smiling into his back. He finds her bedroom quickly, opening and shutting the door with his heel and dropping the rosette almost haphazardly onto her bed; she's hardly fallen onto it, when he's already reclaimed her mouth with his own.

Reaching between them, Genma works on the belt cinched around his waist, pulling away with a grunt as his excitement makes his fingers fumble and giving Sakura the chance to slip out of her shorts. Soon enough, what's left of their clothing falls to the floor, and Genma is left on his hackles, breathless.

She's gorgeous.

There's thousands of other adjectives he could (and should) use because that one just doesn't do her justice, but his brain just won't process them. He's stunned stupid at the sight of her; all soft curves from the crests of her hips to the dips of her waist, the delicate swell of her breasts, skin flushed with desire and bruised with his affection, her gaze heady and half-lidded. All he can think is how he's so, so lucky and—I'm so in love with you.

Her knees sway, lightly nudging him out of his stupor. His cock throbs, twitching as he fights off the desire to burrow into her. He wants her so bad, has been wanting her since the moment he first laid eyes on her, but he can't rush this.

Genma takes his time exploring her, bringing his lips and teeth and hands everywhere he can reach, learning how she likes to be touched, what spots she likes sucked. The underside of her breasts are one of her favorite spots, he learns, as she keens and arches when he so much as blows on her there. But the further down he goes, the more haggard her breathing becomes and the more abruptly she reacts to his touch. He kisses her hip bone, right along the seam of her thigh and hip, fingers feathering along the inside of her thigh as he hitches it over his shoulder while one arm curls around her knee.

He peers up at her—Look in my eyes, let's get lost tonight with each other—gives her one last disastrously heated look before he dives down. Sakura stiffens beneath him at the first lick. Its long and slow, tracing the length of her womanhood all the way up to the hood. Her breath stalls in her chest, nearly choking her, and her first instinct is to sink her fingers into Genma's hair. Her stomach dissolves into a smoldering puddle of oil that threatens to catch fire with every movement of his mouth. He circles her clit lightly, his hot breath teasing her folds just as mercilessly as his tongue and when he moans, as if she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, it makes Sakura's shoulders jump from the mattress.

"Gen," Sakura sighs, lashes falling over her eyes.

He traces her entrance with a finger then, dips it inside to the first knuckle before pulling out while he spells his name against her clit with his tongue. She's soaked for him, and only him, and fuck if that's not the most enticing thing in the whole damn world.

Sakura writhes beneath him, her shallow pants bouncing against the walls and they only get louder when he finally sheathes two fingers inside of her. Her velvety walls clench him tightly, pulling him deeper but not having anything left to grasp, so he slides out just as easily as he enters. He picks up the pace, basking in the sounds she makes as he curls his fingers within her; she's so wet, that each movement makes her juices spill but that's okay.

Genma can be, among many things, a greedy man.

So he sucks and licks and his thumb flicks her clit until she's gushing for him with such unrestrained moans that Genma can't find it in himself to swallow his own. He reaches down so he can ease some of the strain on his manhood, shivering minutely as he feels the sheen of his arousal beading against his engorged tip. He strokes himself as best as he can in his position, slowly, because he wants to be able to feel her around him as long as possible, just enough to coax away the almost painful intensity of his lust.

Meanwhile, Sakura can't help but peek at him. The raw concentration on his face as he devours her, the way his brows scrunch and his eyelashes lower, fluttering whenever he peers back up at her, is so, so attractive. Its an image that will haunt her dreams for years to come, she's sure. Then when he brushes against that bundle of nerves one time too many, she feels her muscles tense; they flutter and her knees tighten into place, while her torso trembles and—"Oh fuck Genma!"—Fuck she needs him.

He savors the taste of her a little longer, enjoying the feeling of being tipsy, noting just how sensitive Sakura is with how much she bucks at his languid licks. And when he finally gives her mercy, moving to pepper her inner thigh with appraising nips, his eyes are dark.

It takes Sakura's breath away because she's never seen him—or anyone for that matter—peruse her with such latent intent before.

Genma crawls over her, purposely dragging his body against her own heated one. He doesn't look away from her for even a second, so intent on watching her when he finally takes her, and the image it conjures sends perverted waves of excitement crashing into her. So Sakura stares back, watching blatantly as his fist twists lazily around his length until she can't watch anymore. She pulls him down into a rough, demanding kiss, forcing him to let go of his manhood in favor of steadying himself over her.

"Are you...?" Genma murmurs against her mouth, his sentence breaking as he probes her sodden folds with the head of his cock.

"Yeah," Sakura breathlessly replies. "I'm on birth control."

Setting his brow against hers, Genma gives one last playful brush of his knuckles against her entrance under the guise of aligning himself with her. He wants to see every emotion in her eyes as he enters her for the first time, feel her soul as deeply as he feels her, so he braces on an elbow and cups her cheek. There's a moment of pause, where all the other can do is stare—evergreen against hickory—and in each other, they see the pure adoration reflected in one another's stare.

In him, Sakura can see every individual swirl of color in his eyes; raw umber and caramel, a bit of whiskey dotted with specks of dark chocolate and flecks of gold. They glow with playfulness and something that looks like love, and it sets her entirety ablaze.

In her, Genma sees an ageless beauty full of promise and hope, colored in verdant galaxies and splinters of cyan that contrast the liquor in his eyes. They're alight with excitement and arousal, and if he isn't just imagining it—a little bit of love, too.

Sakura smiles, closing her eyes as he places a sugary kiss to the tip of her nose. Its innocent to its core, a brief fluttering of lips to skin, but its enough to ease the nervousness that swarms in her chest. She can feel him, not quite entering but just beginning to stretch her, so she looks back up at him, taking his face in her hands just as he does hers.

Let's make love all night long.

She cries out, her moan strangled and elongated as he sheathes himself inside her. Genma's own moan is just as shaky, transitioning into a heady curse that's ground into shivers. He stretches her, deliciously so, with a faint twinge of pain that makes her back curve up and her head spin. She swears she can see the sunset now, all corals and sherbets and shades of indigo against the stark whiteness behind her eyelids, and he hasn't even moved yet!

Genma slides back, slowly, before easing back in, just barely managing to keep his eyes open as Sakura clings to him. She's so tight, it could be painful, but the way her walls flutter around him make it all worth it, and she's so wet that he doesn't need to wait but he does anyway just in case.

He doesn't move until he feels her knee nudge him, until she whispers, "Gen," against his lips. He pulls back almost completely before snapping his hips forward, laying down the pace almost immediately. His thrusts are slow and steady, but powerful all the same, clearly an attempt at savoring every single moment they have together. He wants this to last, to go on forever—until all our strength is gone—because he can't recall ever feeling so much pleasure in his life.

And its all because of her.

He loves the way she feels around him, so snug and hot and soft. He loves the way her pallid skin glows beneath him, how it ripples under his palms. He loves how her hands slides down his neck, his shoulders, his back, angrily raking crescents and lines into his skin like a personal branding.

He loves it all.

Genma picks up the pace as he feels his climax beginning to dance away from his grasp and reaches down to swirl his thumb around Sakura's clit. She gasps, twisting in his embrace at the abrupt roughness and tugs at his hair. He groans in pleasure, moving to nuzzle her neck next. He tastes the salt on her skin, and that somehow only provokes his excitement further until he's facing the edge of an orgasm; but he doesn't leap. Not yet.

"Holy shit, Sakura," He grits out, nearly pulling out in a attempt at stalling his end.

She pants, laughs actually, while pushing aside the sweaty strands of hair that cling to her face but doesn't say anything else. Genma eases up onto his palms so he can stroke her at a different angle, and is immediately rewarded by the sight of her beautiful breasts bouncing with each, powerful rut of his hips. He bows over her to take one of her nipples into his mouth while he kneads the other with a more desperate roughness than he had previously.

And Sakura loves it.

"Gen—Genma—!"

She feels him bite her, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for the pleasure to bleed into something else, yet it still isn't enough. Sakura snakes a hand between them so she can take over rolling her clit between her proximal knuckles, ignoring the burn of her muscles as she begins to twitch. Noticing, Genma hooks her knee with his elbow, opening her wider to him and making her see stars. And then, when he shifts his hips just right, those stars erupt into whole galaxies.

At this point, she can't breathe. She can, but she can't. Her whole body is burning, the coil in her belly compressing tighter and tighter along with her inner walls with each thrust he gives. She wants to scream, can feel it building up in the back of her throat, because it shouldn't be possible to feel so much pleasure from one man but Genma somehow manages to intertwine his fingers with hers, hushes her with sharp whispers in her ear—Hold on tight. Just let go.

His thrusts become more desperate now, alternating between steady and deep, and erratic and sharp, making it impossible for her to keep up. He's going to come. Sakura's grip on his hand—and cock—tightens, prompting him to lay back down against her and cup her neck with his free hand.

"I'm gonna—" His words catch in his throat, coming out as a low growl against her shoulder that makes her toes curl. "Fuck Sakura."

"Don't stop," She pants, rubbing at herself with a carnality that makes her entire world rock. She cries out, her walls pulsating around Genma's girth as that river of fire within her crashes. His brain short circuits at the sheer force of her orgasm, and now that its finally passed, his desperation for release grows. He shifts back when Sakura releases him from her vice-like grip, takes her hips with his hands and he pounds into her with a vengeance.

And when he finally, finally, comes, its with shallow thrusts that make her whine in pleasured pain, and a broken curse into the air.

Once he's sure he's finished, Genma pulls out of Sakura, both quaking with the over sensitivity, then lays down on top of her. She accepts him with a glowing, exhausted smile, combs her fingers through his hair just as she had earlier in the day while her other hand splays across his back. He strokes random patterns into her shoulder in tandem, content with listening to her heartbeat as it tries to right itself, kissing the ride of her breast every now and then. They stayed like that for a while, basking in the warm afterglow of their passion, content with just the feel of one another, until the evening glow darkens into a shade of gray.

Genma sits up slightly, just enough for him to chance a glance at her, hoping to permanently burn the memory of her every curve into his mind. Then, when Sakura's brows furrow in curiosity, he leans down to press his lips against hers.

He kisses her, slowly, languidly, communicating to her without words every little thing he feels. Its different than every other kiss they've had until now. And he can feel the change, too. It steals words that didn't need to be said, bares all their passions and adoration that exists between them. A kiss like this is a beginning, a promise of much, much more to come.

Let's make love.

Author's Note

And that's chapter two! I honestly put my heart and my soul into writing this chapter, and I'm honestly surprised I managed to finish it before the end of Genma Weekend. So I hope you guys loved it as much as I did.

Also, back at the top, I mentioned working on a oneshot and a whole new fic that I hope to post soon. Well, let me tell you a little about them!

[Home]

Summary: Genma always knew that being a single father meant doing what was best for his daughter, whether it be tea parties in the yard or wiping her tears away. And he likes to think he's done a good job at it so far. But then she comes to him one day and says, "I want a mom," and it makes him realize that maybe, he doesn't have to do it all alone. And apparently, his little girl already has somebody in mind.

In this slow burn, multi-chapter fic, Genma is a 30 year old, single father to a 7 year old named Kaiya, who is struggling to keep up with work, bills, and raising Kaiya. Her mom, Anko, is hardly in the picture, so Genma often has to rely on his parents and his best friends (Kakashi, Raido, Iwashi and Yamato) to help him raise her. Kaiya's teacher, Sakura, is a very kind and loving 26 year old who is very involved in her students lives and has taken a particular interest in the rambunctious little girl after an incident that resulted in an impromptu parent-teacher conference. So Kaiya, wanting a functional mother figure in her life, decides "why not make Ms. Sakura and my daddy fall in love?"

There's a lot of wholesome moments, steamy moments, and "just kiss her already, you idiot!" moments. So if you like Like A Glass of Whiskey and its bluesy, southern gentleman aesthetic, definitely be on the lookout for this fic. I'll be posting the first chapter during Genma Weekend, along with everything else!

[Good Samaritan]

Summary: Genma isn't sure what he's done to deserve this, but as he eyes the curves of the pretty, stiletto-heeled woman bent over the hood of his car, he decides its best not to question it. [In which Genma's car breaks down on the side of the road, and a good samaritan takes pity on him.]

This oneshot is exactly as it says. Its his birthday, he's ready to go have some fun with his friends, when his car breaks down. Flat tire. And after some searching in his trunk, Genma realizes Raido still has his tire iron so he's stuck waiting for him to come and help, when another car pulls up. And what does he find in the drivers seat? A pretty woman with pink hair in a pencil skirt and stilettos, wielding a tire iron. And as respectful as he wants to be to the woman helping him out, he just can't help himself.

Anyway, that's all I've got. I really do hope you guys will check them out, especially Home, because I'm putting my soul into that one, too. Especially since Kamen is coming to an end, soon. So, yeah.

Thanks again everyone!