Sinisthesia
Series: Naruto
Ship: Sasuke x Hinata
Preferred Rating: R
Themes: Abstract Existence, Drowning in Clouds, Masquerades

To be taken after your recommended dosage of Shades of Grey.

Tinted Red

She wondered at the point of it all. It must have been something Hanabi decided would be an abuse of power no one would complain about. A masquerade ball for Valentine's Day. Like most of the friends they had weren't already pretending to be something they weren't. Hanabi had essentially thrown all the doors and windows and ventilation shafts wide open to allow everyone and everything in a twenty kilometer radius to come eat, drink, be merry and trash a public park, all on the Hyuuga tab. It was sound, if expensive politics.
Hanabi reasoned her way gave Love a sniper's chance at success, since there would be thousands of people and things all in masks. Not that Hinata would be able to see the festivity of it all, but it would supposedly be fun. For who, she neglected to say. She should have known things would have gone downhill from there.
Ino had decided from the start that she would be the one dressing her, determined to prove vampire boy hadn't completely corrupted her natural charm, but how the hell was she supposed to know what that looked like? She let the debates fly over her head, harmless chatter considering she wouldn't know how much a fool she would look. She was just tired. She'd been staying up late, to wait for Sasuke to return from his patrols, and it was getting to the point where even the ghosts 'felt' more alive than he did. They often stopped by to report to her the temperature of the other planes and their politics, since the major players were often busy if not behind very strong wards. He hadn't had a proper meal in weeks, and it wasn't just her dissatisfaction that made her fidgety. He'd come back to their apartment, not staggering, but each footstep felt so heavy, and he'd all but collapse into bed next to her. He'd only open a thin line over her wrist and drink till it clotted, which she always felt was too soon. She knew he was doing this so nothing would interrupt the actual night of the ball, but she didn't care about that nearly as much as she did him.
Anemia and insomnia teamed up and she fell asleep in Hanabi's daybed while the others argued over pirates, ninja and samurai.

They said it was the color of frost and moonlight, glamoured to shimmer and sparkle like opals. All she knows is the skirt feels too short and the train is awkward to walk around in. They'd left her alone for the most part, leaving her hair to fall loose; save for scattered beads of cut glass that refracted rainbows of all colors, she is free of decoration. A fine mist hovers about her, to soften her features into a smoky oblivion. She might have felt out of place and underdressed if she had been able to see what other immensely masterful creations grace the Hyuuga. As it is, she simply finds an unobtrusive set of trees and stands there, looking serene. She isn't waiting long.
"And what are you supposed to be?" A warm hand snakes around her elbow.
"I'm an abstract existence, as yet unformed and uncontained by thought or expectation. You know, the little wispy grey things you find in the pocket dimensions." She flutters her lashes at the source of the voice.
"They told me to wish on a star." His breathing into the curve of her neck makes her sigh a little.
"No, that's the Blue Fairy. Though they could have been lying to me about what I was wearing." She pulls him closer so she can kiss him like she hasn't done for days. "You have a wish?"
He glances around and growls a whisper into her ear. "The tables here wouldn't be strong enough for that."
She curls further into him, just so glad he's here. He pulls away to take her hand and tug her toward the nearest exit.
"The food sucks, we're leaving early."
"Sasuke, Hanabi had seven different suppliers for tonight—"
"You can pick at hor d'oeuvres for an hour, or we can go now and have a real meal. One that will," the words are hot against her skin, "sustain you through the rest of the night."
She can't help blushing, despite how used to it she has become. She allows herself to be drawn away, and pretends not to hear Ino laughing somewhere behind her.

Sasuke wastes no time when they get back to the apartment. The oven is on and preheating before her left shoe hits the floor. He goes to change out whatever he was wearing so he can start cooking. Her hands wander the kitchen counter. Careful exploration reveals kale and spinach, fresh clams and bloody cuts of beef.
"Plenty of iron," he says, dispelling the mist with feathery strokes on the pulsing vein in her neck. "Because I'd hate for you to pass out before dessert."
The promise in his voice liquefies all the bones in her legs and all the sweet aching desire crashes down on her at once. The darkblood thrums in him, when he loosens his control that strength keeps her body flush with his, holds her as she comes apart. And afterward, he is so gentle it hurts in a myriad of wonderful ways. She doesn't mind discovering the bruises and throbbing muscles when she turns on the mattress; they always mean he is running the bath, waiting for her before the mirror, to take her hands and guide them over every inch of cool skin, tickling her hands with healing energy, voice thick with heady words of apology if not regret.

He nudges her toward the living room so he can cook distraction-free and she all but collapses against him, suddenly unable to separate herself from his presence. Something of her desperation must show in her face, because he turns down the heat on the stove and forcefully bends her over the sink. The slide of his teeth into an artery is deliciously sharp and the dull thud of her blood hitting the steel basin is a slow echoing staccato. He rasps something about patience and rewards, but she can't give his words any attention when he is drinking; it is an age old phenomenon, this joining, igniting in her core, coyly grasping darkness tickling at her soul; it is drowning in clouds, swallowing fire and ice, breathing of lust and bubbles.
She feels him shaking magic into her fingertips and tenderly closing the punctured flesh under his mouth, tongue rubbing along the tapering length of each digit, teeth pricking butterfly kisses. She can't fight back when he carries her out of the kitchen and leaves her on the couch so he can finally sauté the meat.

She refuses wine and champagne and chocolate liqueurs, knowing her boyfriend is a hundred times more sensitive than any DUI device. It's not much, but it's all she can think of to do for him. Ten Ten suggested lingerie, Ino suggested whipped cream, Hanabi told them to get the hell out and Neji radiated disapproval from the next room. It's Valentine's Day, so she had anticoagulants and fruit and chocolate for dipping delivered, and if Sasuke knows, he isn't rushing through dinner anyway.
He puts away the plates while she is balled up on the sofa, chin to her knees, still in an almost obscenely revealing dress. She hears him set down bowls, presumably filled with fruit, and reaches for the strawberry she knows he will give her. It is halfway in her mouth when his hand brushes against her toes. She doesn't foresee him lifting her ankle to his lips, is surprised when he continues down to the back of her knee, is not expecting to feel his smile through the lace of her roommate-approved panties. It's not until a dozen tiny tingles wrack her body all at once does she realize he has peppered her leg with superficial cuts that cease bleeding after one languorous lick.
The strawberry falls from her slack hand, to be offered to her once again, held against her mouth in a manner that can only be teasing. Her teeth scrape his nails lightly as she takes it back, although she doesn't get to enjoy it long before Sasuke has her dripping chocolate on the familiar planes of his torso, so they can both appreciate dessert.