The thing I hate most about romance is when it feels cheesy and overexpressed. Ugh. I like the rawness that comes out of a couple making love because they get tired of trying to figure things out and being physical has commutable levels of meaning. At the same time, what is love without a little angst over its existence? I can't decide if this stays away from pathetic or embodies cheez-wiz. Let me know what you think.
Either way, I'm honored that anyone has stayed long enough to read this. I don't know when or if I'll be writing in this fandom again, but I am always impressed by the fans who keep the expanse of the Naruto-verse alive. You guys rock. Thanks for reading.

Amalgamate

It was surprising to him, in a way that made him feel guilty with the callousness of it, that he had been so deeply satiated by a few hours with Sakura. Some part of him, once the decision—a practically unwitting one on her part—had been made, he had expected to find her a half-willing participant, squeamish and eager to go home as soon as possible. Instead, she had met his experienced demands head on with nearly as much lust as he had been keeping pent up in himself.

It had been hard not to laugh when her efforts became fumbling. Her first attempts at working her mouth around him had choked her and he had thought he would need to redirect the focus to other activities, but, before he could make that decision, she had tried again, more slowly, and—oh, god—he had been able to feel what she wanted to tell him.

His memory of the rest of the night was a blur of their bodies pressed together. They were still pressed together with Sakura curled up on her side while he cradled her with his body from behind. Their skin was hot where it touched, though he could feel her shoulder and arm were cooling when he moved his arm. He pulled the blanket up and tucked it under her chin. In order to observe her presence in his bed, he had pretended to sleep until she had slipped unconscious. Then he had propped himself up on one elbow. The view was tantalizing. It had been years since he had last had a woman in his bed, and he couldn't remember it ever being one he cared as much about.

Though the foreplay had been a slight challenge to her inexperience, she had taken like a fish to water to the rest. He had been the one scared and fumbling when it came time to go through with what they had been working themselves up for. She had squared her gaze with his, refusing to glance down as he pushed in—one slightly arched eyebrow a sign of her confidence and thrill. Her lip had trembled and she had bit down on it, and it had been hard to hold back after that. He hadn't been without his reservations, even then. When she had clutched at him, a desperate effort to keep their bodies in sync, he had bent his head next to her ear and the smell of her strawberry shampoo had nearly overwhelmed him. It was so like the innocent honesty he appreciated about her personality and all at once reminded him so strongly of her not so distant childhood that he couldn't help but feel conflicted about what he was doing to her—how deep he was in her. The satisfaction had won out against what guilt was left in him about their age difference, and for the rest of the time the conflict had only resulted in more eroticism, his excitement peaking when she had finally stopped choking back her voice. Her moans might have woken his neighbors, but, by that time, he wasn't worried about it.

Honestly, what he felt worst about, was that she had come first and had come early. Her inexperience had lent his ministrations an unfair advantage as a few short minutes had resulted in her growing tense, as he expected, but she emitted no noise to herald its arrival or warn him to slow down. She had shuddered with a muffled whine; the uneven grate of that moan his first clue that she had been holding back. He had been overwhelmed by the moment, almost frightened by seeing her in the throes of ecstasy. So, he had scooted back up and taken her, still trembling, into his arms, and he had laid calm, slow kisses along her forehead, as if to say, "it's ok if that's as far as this goes." She hadn't been interested in the hint, taking back his mouth with her own once her panting subsided and pushing him onto his back so she could work her way downward.

His mouth felt dry. Kakashi swallowed as he laid his head back down to the pillow his eyes tracing the lines of her short, pink hair as it draped towards him. He couldn't decide if he was more afraid this would be the only night like this or that it would continue until—who knew when. He wanted the night to last forever so that he'd never have to worry about the possibilities. Gingerly, he tried to pull her hips closer into him, but she stirred and his stomach did flip-flops as she resettled herself facing his chest, her breath moistening and warming the skin there. His fingers drifted across her temple, tucking pink hair behind her ear as she sighed contentedly.

"Kakashi?" she drawled sleepily.

"Mm?" He wondered if his pounding heart had woken her.

"I'm really happy like this."

That was so like Sakura, to rush headlong into her feelings. The regret began to press down on his heart. He could have held back, at most letting her sleep over without pushing the intimacy. He couldn't even tell if he'd been her first, as many women who trained to be ninja lost any sign of virginity from the intense training and she was tight, but she was also young. What right did he have to take something so sacred from her? She broke in again when he took a deep breath.

"I understand if you'll need some distance to figure out your feelings."

"Sakura-"

Her green eyes were open and looking demandingly up at him now.

He finally let out the sigh he had been holding. That was right. In the end, she had been the one to push them over the edge with her blunt acceptance of his eccentricities. While he had been trying to use her age and status to disparage his desires, she had been willing to push through his defenses. She was giving him a look of niggling neediness; slipping into it while she waited for him to finish his thought. Kakashi felt his groin stiffen gratifyingly. The easiness with which he thought of things to teach her was a welcome distraction to building any realistic bridge to his feelings. Hopefully, her acceptance would stretch over this particularly sharp edge of his personality. He rather liked the way he could push her and she wouldn't give up; perseverance had always been her best trait. While he wasn't ready to understand what was happening between them, there would be no going back either.

"Reassurance is a promise," he offered coyly.

Sakura flashed a pleased smile, which quickly twitched into a mischievous grin. "At least you're listening." From under the blanket, her hand pressed into his hip to roll him onto his back and she nimbly slid one leg over until she was straddling him. The bridge between her legs was warm, and already wet, as her hips gently writhed, teasing him. "You don't seem tired."

Kakashi bucked his hips suddenly, making her yelp as he knocked her off balance. Before she could tip over, he clasped both of his hands around her waist and pulled her forward until her hands and elbows slapped down on his bare torso. He lifted his head up, distracting her with a kiss as he used one hand to prop himself and the other to press her hips down as he pushed in. She whined into his mouth. He stroked the back of her head as their lips parted. "I'm tired enough to make you do the work this round."

As her cheeks reddened and she bit her lip, he rubbed his thumbs over the peaks of her chest. She trembled in reply.

"Sit up and tell me again how happy this makes you." He put a finger over her mouth as it started to open. He was well aware of how the lop side of his smile was taunting her. "Don't use words this time."

—

Drip.

Sasuke had gotten used to the pressure of the cold, damp, underground air. The walls and floor of the compound in the Land of Sound were made of identical, plain, crude cubes that offered little of interest except their roughly textured sides. They might have been granite. They permeated small amounts of the water in the ground around the structure, by design, to reduce the pressure from above.

His mind was running through a movie-like reel of his visit to his childhood home. It was in the earliest stages of decay now, the thick layers of dust bringing with it insects and dampness that would soon permanently discolor and damage its wood. He was a matter of weeks away from knowing whether or not he'd ever be able to return there as a permanent resident. If he didn't, what would happen to it? Water from the ceiling taunted his patience as it fell into his short, dark hair.

Drip.

From the convex aperture of the hideout, Kisame waved back a sliver of the waterfall that served as camouflage. The spy from Konoha that had been observing the location had left the week before and, though he had anticipated it, no attack had yet formulated. He was itching to go, but it was prudent to continue waiting.

Being tracked had forced the decision to go to this old hideout instead of reconvening with the rest of the Akatsuki. There was no sense in risking the new location. It was easier if Leaf continued believing that this was the main operation. Luckily, the spy had given up in a quick two months time—a relatively minor inconvenience.

Water that had been misting into the cave from the waterfall was gradually collecting on the rock wall. It pooled and trickled down in a vertical stream. At times, along its path, it leapt from a spur on the wall, dribbling chaotically to the floor where it puddled at his feet.

Drip.

The frequent downpours had slowed the movements of Team Asuma as they drew close to the land occupied by the Village Hidden in the Rain. They weren't going to cross the border out of Fire, but it had been important to look like they were heading out on a legitimate mission; quote Tsunade.

Asuma didn't like rain. It was a significant barrier to enjoying a good cigarette—and, boy, was he stressed. He looked to his three charges, huddled to keep their female counterpart warm between them. She was crying again. It wasn't very like Ino to show this sort of weakness, but he understood its expression now. She had chosen the difficult road, forcing them to stay out of Konoha for at least six months—they had passed two already—so that they could mask the origins of her pregnancy. The guilt of burdening them was an overwhelming pressure. He focused on reminding her that it was a simple matter of time before they were all back, comfortable in their own beds; as if her mission would ever be over, but he tried to keep that aspect out of focus. She didn't need any further worry beside her health, which seemed to be in decline. They had stopped to allow her to rest. At this point, her face was wet and it was difficult to tell what water originated from her eyes and what originated from the sky.

Drip.

Sasuke hadn't gone to Konoha with the intention of asserting his needs so desperately. Had he anticipated what an unsuspecting fantasy Sakura's acceptance of his mission would be, he would never have crossed her doorstep. He had allowed himself to be enthralled by the idea of seeing his team again.

But that was somewhat unfair to his perceptions. Being intercepted by Itachi upon his arrival to Konoha had changed everything, especially his first reunion with Sakura. He wondered if he had chosen to protect her—though he had been confident in her ability to survive on her own—if she would have been more receptive to him later. The miscalculation of her state of mind and heart had been devastating. He had trusted her to be the same girl he had left behind, but maybe she had been and it was his obsession with revenge that was confusing him.

More surprisingly, there was no sense of relief with Itachi dead. His last-ditch effort to complete his goals had been less than vindicating. He might have taken his own advice and suffered less. There would be no going back in time to change his decisions. He had gambled part of his soul on hope of a future for his clan, but Ino might not have gotten pregnant. The child might take after her instead of him. Sakura had been the more certain guarantee, having no strong clan genes of her own.

On top of that, Itachi had been right to challenge him about his pink-haired teammate. He had been unable to bear using her as the tool he needed, yet he had immediately regretted abandoning the idea of her love for him for the function of Ino's willingness. He had thought it was about rebuilding his clan but there were nagging thoughts about family in which Sakura's visage seemed to center.

Either way, he had surely driven the last divide between himself and Team 7. The memory of Sakura's blood falling from the tips of Itachi's fingers would wake him in the night for months to come.

Drip.

It had been sweaty work carrying Itachi's limp body the first few dozen miles. Kisame regretted that his effort had been wasted on so little accomplishment. The fight with the female Hokage had drained him and nearly prevented the retrieval. Itachi had insisted on going to Konoha to, "prevent my little brother's foolish plan." Sometimes he wondered why the Uchihas were so obsessed with their clan. One wanted to stamp it out while the other wanted to revive it. It made little difference to him what clans were thriving; they were all his enemies.

Once Itachi had awoken from his jutsu imposed "death", Kisame had been sure to remind him of his opinion.

"What happened to Sasuke after the battle?" Itachi had asked in a cool, deceptively exhausted tone.

"He went to that pink-ninja's apartment, just like you said. I overheard ANBU reports that he was unsuccessful with her," Kisame said, a thin smile forming. "He did something you weren't expecting though."

"He did not leave Konoha after she rejected him?"

"No." Kisame's dark eyes gleamed, his teeth bared behind his sickly, blue lips. "He knocked up some other girl instead. How did you not realize your little brother was such a whore?"

Itachi was silent after that, his blunt features expressing little beyond the deep churning of his thoughts. Kisame found himself disgusted by the lack of excitement and grunted a scoffing laugh. "The brat panicked. Don't look so baffled. We can kill the offspring later. It was with the blonde one who looks like Deidara."

Cold eyes regarded Kisame's monstrous grin with disdain. The recovery from the jutsu had, by this point, been sufficient, because the Uchiha stood and began to walk. The dark mood he radiated made the fish-man shiver, a fresh drop of sweat falling down the curve of the back of his neck.

Drip.

In the span of an hour, their situation had begun to change drastically. Ino's tears had increased frenetically into panicked moans and whines, her teammates forced to set up an emergency shelter in order to protect her from the cold. Asuma had lit an anxious cigarette despite the reproachful glare from Shikamaru who sighed and muttered about it. The smoke from that cigarette took a winding path out of their shelter while he quietly observed the situation. Choji was devastated, his trembling hands attempting to comfort his teammate with the miserable petting of her right hand and sweat-streaked forehead.

Earlier, Asuma and Shikamaru had stepped aside to discuss the situation. It wasn't unusual for the younger intellect to have better general knowledge and Asuma had grown casual about deferring to his perception. So he was surprised to see the look of confusion and fear that was pressing lines into his youthful face. Asuma had already figured what was happening before seeing that look but had hoped for a different explanation. With the slap of a reassuring hand on Shikamaru's shoulder, Asuma nodded his understanding and the younger man returned it.

Ino was miscarrying. There would be no friendly cities or medics for many miles around. They would make her as comfortable as possible and wait it out, apply aid as best they could. Eventually, she stopped crying, even her whimpers dissolving into a blank and vaguely traumatized stare. When asked if the pain had eased, she nodded stiffly.

The three men worked to prop her up comfortably on their packs as rivulets of red emerged from between her legs.

Drip.

—

The secrecy of their love affair became an unspoken mission. They said it in the moment they had kissed goodbye that first morning, Kakashi abruptly pushing Sakura up against the back of his front door before she could make a shy, uncertain escape, and in their first time seeing each other again in public where she fought back her all-too-pleased grin and he limited her to a neutral nod that barely disguised the quick inventory his eye took of her.

To outsiders, it seemed like Team Kakashi had finally found itself. The awkward resentment that had held its leader and female member at a distance had vanished, replaced by an easy nature that spoke of new understanding. The trio started training together again—much to Hinata's disappointment—and it wasn't long before Kakashi's peers began to notice the more hands-on approach.

Genma commented to other jounin at a bar one evening that it seemed like Kakashi had finally taken their "equality" to heart. Surprising, after being the one with the most initial reservations. Guy suggested that Sakura's youthful bravery in the face of Sasuke had caused him to finally accept her worth.

"Good for them," Kurenai interjected, the males unaware of her presence at their backs, "it's about time they got comfortable around each other." Her eyes sparkled, a slow, thoughtful nod the only sign that she was insinuating anything at all.

Genma frowned, as he visually took her in, but pensively agreed, "Yeah, good for them." He chewed his senbon thoughtfully after that, his finger tapping the bar top. "If only all teachers could be so comfortable around their former students."

A tense quiet overtook the group, Kurenai looking like she was regretting getting herself involved in the conversation. Guy sat up straighter and crossed his arms as he puffed his chest with a single, resolute nod. "He's finally opening his youthful nature and modeling his relationships after the success of mine and Lee's. If the rest of you did the same, you'd be enjoying yourself happily with your grown-up students just like we are!"

That had done it. The bar erupted as jounin, both involved in the conversation and mere bystanders, began rapidly closing their bar tabs and evacuating amidst a mixture of boisterous laughter and uneasy giggles. The goodbyes had been curt and their footfalls brisk and Guy found himself remarkably and utterly alone in minutes. To the benefit of Kakashi and Sakura, Guy's comment prevented most of Kakashi's peers from questioning the changes in their team dynamics any further, for fear of the vivid images of two emerald men that might follow.

Blissfully unaware of such an exchange, Sakura and Kakashi kept a habitual pattern of meeting with Naruto in the evening for training, sometimes getting ramen with him and always saying goodbye as if they were going their own way. Later, if Kakashi didn't give her a signal that meant shower at my place, Sakura would head home before taking a meandering path through back alleys, transporting some distances until she arrived at the window to his living room, which he left open for their convenience. The discreet arrival generally made her feel like she was running late, too late, the door already locked—the irony of it a laugh that she kept to herself.

He was always antsy until she was right in front of him, her green eyes full of anticipation. They were having an irresponsible amount of sex, he'd debate to himself, but if he didn't immediately greet her or take her into his arms, she'd take the initiative to step forward and stroke his cheek or plop down next to him with her head against his shoulder, and his concerns would dissipate as soon as his body tingled at her touch.

For her part, she liked it when he was aggressive and quiet, demanding her clothes off with his hands. But what she liked most was the comfortable aftermath when they were naked and perspiring. Half asleep, his breathe would tickle strands of her hair against her forehead while his fingers drew lazy circles on her shoulder, a ghost of a walk home, from a time that seemed years behind them, or years ahead of its time. They would talk then, often more banter than openly meaningful conversation, but instead of suffering his silence or a disappearing act when they would breach a topic he grew uncomfortable discussing, he would lean over and occupy her mouth with his own. That always made her forget her curiosity.

Kakashi might feel a sneaking sense of guilt or angsty nausea when reflecting on Sakura's lingering girlish aspects, but, as his erotic sensibilities grew comfortable with their situation, those feelings became vague, like the murmur of a bystander. He also slept better with her in his bed which gradually increased his apprehension towards getting used to the situation. Whether the nightmares were afraid to reveal themselves to her or mattered less to him with her legs tangled around his—he didn't care. He dreaded any reason his restless nights might see resurgence.

The first time Sakura had come back to his apartment after their initial tryst, panting, hesitant, entering through the window and clearly uncertain if she was welcome, she had made his favorite expression again. It came when Kakashi nodded at her from the living room doorway, slumped against it and undressed to the thin, tight cloth of his undershirt and mask. Her anxiety had drained out, replaced by a smile, before it smoothed out to that calm, pleasant, soft-eyed look he had come to crave. She was happy to see him, he had realized with a jolt. His memory of that face, made similarly by his former teammate Rin, had nearly brought him to his knees as the two females' faces converged in his mind. It was pleasure at his presence that she had been expressing all this time and, maybe, the truth was, he had been afraid to see it.

That night, as his fervor overcame both of them, Kakashi made unspoken promises with his mouth and with his hands. He knew Sakura didn't want them, so, in his mind, he made them to someone else.

Rin—I was afraid to touch her with these hands.

She has your enduring spirit and that indomitable commitment to those she loves, like you came down from heaven and breathed into her soul. Did you also whisper my name in her ear?

It worries me, how young she is, but I can't hold it against her. She has always been more mature than me.

I covered these hands with her blood. I ignored her. I failed her. She stays.

Pray that she can teach me, with her medicine hands and her racing heart, to feel again. I've been trying to forget how to hope, because of its stifling ache, but I might as soon forget how to breathe.

She is a delicious pain and a charming torment and, thankfully, I haven't mistaken her for you.

I promise—I'm not lost.

Fin.

A single decision may collude the destinies of many.
Heartache can be the backbone of success.
A villain might be a victim and a saint a sinner.

If you have questions or commentary on the way I handled this story, please don't hesitate to ask.
Don't forget to sign in when you review so I can hit you back.
Thank you so much for all of the reviews, follows, and favs.
Until next time.