Disclaimer: I. Don't. Own. Naruto.
A/N: Another dose of the angst pill does the trick. (Warning: Written with cruder terms than Part 1.)
He rams into her, sparking words in her head.
Spearing, thrusting, piercing, breaking, doing.
What is she, a fucking corpse?
The thought pumps energy into her hard limbs. She isn't some cake for him to stick his knife into. She won't lie passive. She's had enough of that.
So she reaches up and grasps at his shoulders until she's fully stretched, and whispers in his ear, "This is nothing."
He snarls at her. "This is nothing?"
He shoves himself into her. "I'll make you forget him."
He overrides her retaliatory pumps; hands grip her hips and body presses to hers. He needs to fuse; he needs to have every inch of his sand-shielded skin plastered, wet and fervent, to this girl who is barely not a virgin.
"Do you remember now?" he hisses.
And Sakura is silenced by the sheer force of each blow. Erratic jabs pry her jaws apart and drag cries that crack from her moaning mouth. She's not on the verge, she's past the verge, she's surfing on the damn verge. It's a huge great swell that picks her up and dumps her on this never-ending current, this wave.
And she's forgotten. She's forgotten who had her last, who did her first, with tentative pokes and gentle pricks, she's gone and lost that dull white-walled memory.
What takes over is this cynical man with the maniacal glint in his pale green eyes.
Gaara does Sakura the night her lover died.
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