When they informed her he had been found alive, unconscious in the seashore, at the brink of death, she had yelled at them, throwing them what she found in her way, ire boiling inside her veins as she struggled to keep herself under control. Fuck, why did they have to bring out such painful memory? Resentful, she had finally given in and ordered them to take her to the hospital. What could she have lost?

She had found him there, lying on the hospital bed, eyes closed as he had fallen into a peaceful sleep. In no time she knelt beside him, taking his hand between hers, asking the nurse for the patient's chart. The medic in charge had tried to assure her the man was stable, and the machine's beeping of his heartbeat did only to confirm it. She had sighed in relief and threw herself into the closest chair, waiting for him to wake up.

When he finally opened his eyes, his respiration rhythm quickening, she hurried to his side, smiling fondly as his glossy eyes tried to focus. He opened his mouth only to produce a weak, hoarse sound that seemed painful. So they stood there, silently, as she brushed strands of hair behind his ear, running a soft hand through his cheek, fingers dancing lightly over the red marks. As he caressed her hand between his, staring up at her in sincere devotion.

She had decided to not ask him about what had happened, and instead, she talked to him about nothing in particular, always trying to bring up the so long missed grin of his.

To say the truth, his presence had made her feel alive again. And she recalled, as they nostalgically began to bring out the past, how they had gambled his life away. She coyly trailed off how he had forced her to accept, mentioning that if he were ever to come back alive, they… well, it had not been explicitly said out loud. Still, tension and fervor had suspended in the room. It was clear he still remembered their foolish bet by the way he had looked at her with those black eyes of his, always penetrating her deeply in a way that made shivers ran down her spine, and drew a crooked, mischievous smirk. Yes, Jiraiya hadn't forgotten.

Neither she had.

And so two nights later Tsunade found herself standing uncalled-for in front of his house, bitterness and resentment ordering her mind. A raucous, severe knock at the door. Impatient fingers tapping the wood, anger increasing as a minute passed by and the man on the other side of the wall wouldn't respond to her need. When she was about to break the door down, the blighted man finally opened the door.

Jiraiya stared at her for a long time, taking in all details of her snarled hair, of her glaring eyes and considerably ragged figure. He raised an eyebrow. "Hokage-sama." He dared to mock. If it wasn't for that familiar -and unreasonably missed-, wanton smirk of his, she would have already hit him. Damn him. "Drunk, aren't you. And surely looking for-"

He wasn't able to finish the sentence as she tugged sharply on his hair, pulled him down to her, demanding hands on his shoulders as she crushed her lips against his. There was a split-second before realization flashed in his eyes, and then he grunted, pulling her inside the house, a hand closing the door brusquely behind them, his mouth never leaving hers. It was fierce, a feral kiss that spoke of longing, of hunger, of lonely nights where both bodies sought for mutual company. A heady breath was drawn out her lips as she was lithely lifted off the floor and carried through the hall. Long creamy legs wrapped around his waist, nails now maliciously raking his shoulders as he defiantly kissed her in response. Busy hands tugged her belt free, ripped the blouse open, tore off his vest to reveal tanned, skin covered in sweat. Fingers curling at the curve of her neck, he slammed her up against the wall.

There, Jiraiya devoured her mouth, and they kissed slowly, passionately, lustfully; tongues eager for a death match, their need and scent thick in the air. He ran his mouth down all over her pale neck, pushing her harder and further up the wall, slender legs still wrapped around his waist. He licked, nipped and bit at her salty, tender flesh as she shivered in pleasure, hands raveled into his white mane.

Tsunade opened to him, a feeble whimper escaping her throat as he pushed his body up against hers, his hardness a stark contrast to her softness. Her hands were in his hair, on the back of his neck and he reached around, cupping her firm ass easily in his hands and pulling her tightly against him with a groan. His eyes were mean and threatening, intense with purpose as he looked at her, eyes closed and head back, her scarlet, parted lips wet and swollen by his own doing.

"I won the bet, didn't I." He snarled into her ear in a hoarse chuckle, biting the earlobe in the process, eliciting a light moan escape her parted lips.

"Yes." She breathed out. Exhilaration building, she closed her eyes and arched her back as he heaved his face down her bare chest. Where lips touched her flesh was on fire.

"I came back. Only for you, woman." He whispered into her breasts, tweaking and sucking. He lightly squeezed her ass, fingers tracing circles along her inner thigh.

She moaned and she yielded to him, handing over mind and body for him to toy. She tried tugging his pants down with her feet, hands tangling into his hair, ecstatic, savage instinct taking over. Instead, powerful thighs immobilized her legs as one hand grabbed her arms, pinned her wrists above her head while the other helped him balance his body against hers.

She whimpered in protest, but was listened by deaf ears as he growled and pulled her into his arms, the strong scent of the arousal coming from her making him go wild with lust, and everything about the woman now frolicking between his arms fueled that need.

Heat pooling between her thighs, burning like wildfire as shaking fingers fumbled the button on his jeans, as his heavy lust beat against her chest, intoxicating as wine. He opened the door that lead to the bedroom, rough hands peeling the pants down her ass, hard on her, searching, finding.

She was flung onto the bed like a mere doll as she pulled him down with her, dragged off her pants and tossed his jeans aside. Tall, hard as a warrior, broad shouldered, and ready. He stretched above her, finally skin against skin. Pressing his chest up her breasts he nipped at her neck as she bit his shoulder, cradling him between silky legs. Deep and raw they kissed while hands traveled down her body, exploring. She pulled away to breathe, pulse erratic as his lips moved down her jaw to the neck, teeth biting sensitive skin while his bantering fingers danced frivolously over shivering, sensitive skin. She gasped when insolent fingers found the soft, damp center of passion between creamy thighs. He wore a condescending smirk, feeling her desire radiate heat and zeal. Catching her breath, she dug her nails into his shoulder blades in expectation as he pressed his hand down her cleft, two fingers entering the fiery furnace in haste, by now wet and oh-so ready for him.

Desperate to relieve the almost intolerable heat that threatened to burn her up, she couldn't help herself and cried out a plea, humiliating herself for being so weak and such easy meat to carnal pleasures. But he was kind and, as he kissed her hard to hush her passionate cries, he consummated her need.

He thrust into her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, filling her fully. As she arched her back in pure ecstasy, lips breathing out a heady 'oh God', he buried to the hilt in her silken cavern. They panted into each other's mouths, savoring the moment of completion. Her hips began to rock, meeting him as he hungrily moved inside her. She was mad, and so was he, as she angrily tugged at his hair, biting him in harmony with each thrust, vicious and cruel.

Bodies working and minds disconnected, they understood they were made for each other. It was perfect, as they tangled legs and arms under white blankets, rolling their bodies in unison, furiously as she marked his back, as he pulled her by the hair to bring her mouth to his, biting flesh in carnal hunger. She tried to fight him, a mean lover with long nails and strong legs made for harassing his insulting, manly overconfidence. But it was all an useless feat as she was obliged to yield when his mouth found the mounds of her pleasure, nipped and sucked delicate skin. She finally surrendered to him, gave up her body for mutual bliss. It was perfect as he drove inside her, muscles tensing under the thin layer of sweat. As she unconsciously arched her back to meet his thrusts in raw pleasure, legs wrapped around his waist to bring him deeper. He understood then how perfect they were, as she cruelly dug her bloody nails into his back, screwed her eyes shut, faintly bit her lower lip already bruised by his heartless passion. She understood, as he grunted when raised her body to his, trembled when she sank her teeth into his neck, kissed her when she cried out in passion. It was beautiful, intimate as memories turned into caresses, as they spoke of old, wasted times, raveling their bodies together to become one. The air was thick, full of unspoken, unneeded 'I love you's. The purest form of passion from such unstable world where love wasn't made for lovers, where war outraged any attempt of finding peace between gentle arms.

After an agonizing moment of being poised on the brink, Tsunade tumbled, arched back, free-falling into a blissful abyss, white light disconnecting her body, glassy eyes dilating like with opium, lips sensually parting as she let out a long, loud scream of pleasure. Fueled by her release, his moans grew louder and louder as he gave himself over to pleasure. Cuddling the blonde between his arms, mouth on her back, his hips thrust once, twice hard and held. A rough, guttural sound came from the depth of his chest as his warmth spread deep within her.

Exhausted , both panting, the man collapsed onto the bed next to her and stared up at the ceiling while she tried to catch her breath. As the air in the room started to cool their heated forms, he grabbed the blanket and pulled it over them before wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to his side, her head resting on his chest. Kissing the crown of her head and resting there for a moment, he heard soft sobs coming from the blond beauty underneath him, her body quivering under his touch. She seemed so breakable.

"What's wrong?" He whispered, feeling overwhelmingly sad at the sight of silky tears dripping beautifully down her lover's temples, hiding between her golden hair, soaking the blankets where they had just made love.

"It's you, you stupid, stupid man! Why did you leave me?" She cried out, feeling suddenly outraged and empty even though he was really there, warm above her; real flesh and soul. She felt tears boiling up inside her eyes, how they broke free, how they traitorously ran down her cheeks, leaving her feelings and sorrows at the mercy of the night. She felt betrayed and completely, utterly lost although she knew he wouldn't dare leaving her again. No, he wouldn't.

Not giving a moment to inhale again he was already hovering over her, arms tight around her fragile figure, pulling her into an amorous, bone-crushing embrace. She yielded to his caress.

"Yes, stupid of me." He murmured in the silkiness of his mistress's hair, lips kissing her tears away. "But I won't leave you… no. Not anymore. I swear to you -God-, I swear to you you'll be mine as I will be yours forever."

She felt a warm feeling spread settle down in her stomach, peaceful and soft as she held to his chest. And then she understood how wasted years could be gained back, making them beautiful again with just a second of delight. "I love you."

"I love you too."

There they laid, listening to each other's breathing, pulse tranquil as she closed her eyes and fell into a wondrous sleep of sweet nostalgia and dark memoirs.

Tsunade smiled and reached out for him, waking with a start as her hand encountered the familiar empty space beside her. Jiraiya was not there, or rather, she was not with him. She blinked, eyes adjusting to the glaring light coming from the large window as she sat up with a squeak of resistance between soaked, white blankets. She looked around, searching for him. She had woken up in her own apartment. Not his. On her own bed. Not his.

It had all been a dream.

He had not come back for her. They had not made passionate love on the bed of his apartment.

It had all been a nightmare.

Air painfully left her lungs and her head fell back against the pillow, eyes closed in defeat. She stood that way for a long time, until she forced herself to stand up, walk on weak legs and take a cold shower.

Just like any other time when she dreamed about seeing him again, she swore to herself she would strangle her sleep to keep away the pain. So she lied to herself, repeating inside her head she was stronger than this. That she had more important matters than herself to be worried about; that there was no time for being selfish. A war to win, a village to rule. No time for oneself; no time for love or weakness. And just like any other time, she sought not to cry and failed.

She stood in the shower, leaning forward, trembling hands opened to press against the wall, providing much needed support. Her eyes closed, head craned down, the showerhead directed at the top of her head. Cold water cascaded down over her body, cooling her burning flesh, soaking her golden hair and shrouding the tears that had fought against her will and won. A lousy fight where she had lost against her own self.

It had become the time in the day when she was on her own, usually undisturbed, so it was the only moment where she let herself break, let herself be the real her as grief would drip down her cheeks and disappear down the drain, not a sound made. Seconds later she would close the running water and look at herself in the mirror, running a hand over the damp crystal, staring at her nude figure, hunched by the weight of loneliness over her shoulders. Sorrow had crushed her heart, had felt painfully as the weight of remorse pulled her miserably down. She glared at those dull, tired eyes, seeking for the ghost of what she had once been.

"Who are you?" She growled tartly at the figure that stared back impassibly and wouldn't respond. Deadened and dishonestly lovely. Damned and pretty. Miserable, months that seem years of abysmal pain, where a day of not dreaming felt like a decade of lost, unforgiving time. Just like always.

A fucking routine where time had stolen the beauty, radiance out of her and had muted the voice of her hope. But it's okay,she repeated inside her head like an endless, sick mantra. It was fine, perfect as she stood there under the cold, white light of the bathroom, smiling at the false reflection her madness had created; the daunting, dark figure of a man by her side, uncaring hands at each side of her face, cold black eyes boring into hers through the mirror as a luscious smirk laced the words he scornfully whispered into her ear.

"I won. You'll be mine. Forever."

He was not there, or rather, she was not with him. But soon.

Soon she would.