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In Sakura's world, at this very moment in time–the term soulmates holds very little meaning.
As she steps through the doors to the elevator, grocery bag in hand, her mind recalls the unpleasant events of the previous week. The week itself had started out like every other one; early shifts, her usual patients, nothing too unusual apart from a few bumps here and there that she had no trouble dealing with. And now, on this chilly Tuesday, she gets to be home on Christmas Eve.
Alone.
This was the one unexpected bump in her plans. Something she hadn't even thought of, so she couldn't have planned for it–to catch her boyfriend of six months in the break room with his mouth glued to the new nurse's neck. She had stood there, watching them go at it for a whole minute before Ami had spotted her and shrieked. It was only the dawning horror in her eyes as she heard Sasori stammer out his pitifully weak excuses that told Sakura the girl hadn't known about the handsome redheaded doctor's girlfriend: her, Haruno Sakura.
Something Sasori must have been only too happy to take advantage of, she's sure.
That is why Sakura had accepted her tearful apologies with a stiff smile and continued on with her day. Ino, as soon as she found out, dragged her to the cafe, attempting to coax out the tears and curses with cold doughnuts–a reaction that just wouldn't come. That particular bit was reserved for her evening shower. Sakura was sad, yes and quite disappointed with how things turned out. Their relationship, while far from perfect, had been important to her. She had been trying to meet his expectations since before they even started dating but Sasori's nitpicking never ended; his complaints about her working too much had been increasing by the day. He also thought they weren't having enough sex.
'I guess he went fishing,' she thinks with only a slightly bitter sigh. They were never going to last, and she should have accepted it sooner. But it had been comfortable. It had been safe. And now it's over. All her life, she’s felt as if something’s been missing. As if she’s forgotten something, as if she’s been waiting for something to come back to her.
She realizes she's been standing in front of her door for more than a few minutes, and the sound of a shuffle reaches her ears, drawing her eyes towards it. Eyes the deepest shade of dark ink, brows furrowed in concern and a slender mouth curled into a gentle smile.
"You've been standing there for about five minutes," he says in lieu of a greeting. She blinks rapidly, shaking off the melancholic energy and smiling back at her neighbour.
"Itachi-san! I see you've got the evening off." She eyes his sleek jacket, sniffing as the subtle notes of his familiar cologne reach her. The plastic container in his hands looks out of place in the impeccable image he makes. "Off to see Izumi-san?"
"Ah. Our families are finally having dinner together," he divulges with a nervous little smile before holding the box out towards her. "And these are for you. I received the batch yesterday."
"Gingerbread cookies?" she guesses, her eyes lighting up at once as if she's been handed the one ring to rule them all. "Thank you. Your uncle is an angel."
"Just make sure you actually eat something before opening those bottles," he says sternly, with a pointed look at the wine bottles in her grocery bag. Sakura can't help but laugh nervously and shift the bag out of view in a futile attempt at hiding the contents from view. “And please don’t call him my uncle.”
"But he is your uncle, isn’t he? Also, don't tell Sasuke? You know he'll nag. And send Naruto."
"Alright. Only because I know you need space. Just take care and text one of us if you need anything. I'll be crashing at my parents'." He gives her a supportive pat on the back before continuing on, and Sakura adores him for trying. Itachi has been worried about her since she told him about The Break-Up, and he's also the only one who understood her when she said she felt more relief than sorrow.
"Will do. Good luck, I hope you have a wonderful evening," Sakura calls out after him before unlocking her door. Stepping into the darkened entrance, she fumbles for the light switch as she slips out of her shoes, wrestling with her puffy. Her apartment is completely silent, and it bothers her less than she thought it would. With a silent apology to her worrywart neighbour, she starts looking for the wine opener.
She does break into the box of cookies first. One of the small traditions she looks forward to every Christmas since she was twelve. The first time she tried these was in 6th grade when Sasuke brought some to class. One bite and she begged her grumpy friend for some every single year. His uncle bakes them for the entire family and ever since he found out how crazy she is about them, he makes sure to send some for her too.
Two glasses in, she's pleasantly buzzed and curled up in her soft blanket, her laptop open on her lap. The first Harry Potter movie plays on the screen, and it reminds her of Sasori and how he hates the entire series. If he had been here, he would have insisted on watching something she has very little interest in herself. It's alarming how she's finding more pros to ending things with him by the hour, but than can only be a good thing now that he's out of her personal life.
The forty text messages from him are going to stay unread.
Just as she's contemplating getting another snack before she starts the second movie, the doorbell rings, and at first, she thinks she's imagined it. It's 12:04 on the clock, and if Ino had been planning to drop in at midnight, she would have texted first. It rings again, and Sakura starts to feel uneasy. There's a series of heavy, hurried knocks on the door.
'Please, please don't be Sasori-'
"Oi, Itachi! It's freezing out here, open the fucking door!"
And there's the magic word. Itachi doesn't give his address out to people he doesn't trust, and with how familiar this stranger seems to be with him–it's probably not a serial killer. A peek through the peephole shows unruly ebony strands, and with a deep breath, she opens the door just a crack. There is little point in the cautiousness as the stranger stumbles through the door, trembling violently as he nearly runs her over.
"Took you long enough! I really need to take a-" The man pauses as he finally stands up straight, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and the girl staring at him in concern. "Uh-you're not Itachi."
"Definitely not," she confirms dryly, crossing her arms over her chest, just tipsy enough to not feel self-conscious about her fuzzy pyjamas and an oversized sweatshirt. She has no idea who he is but Sakura has spent enough time with the Uchiha siblings and their relatives to know one of their clansmen when she sees him. "I'm his neighbour."
"Right, definitely prettier than him. Sorry. Fuck. Oh-sorry about that too," he mutters, a slight flush spreading over the high point of his cheeks. His sheepish tone contrasts greatly with his roguish look. Wild, dark hair that falls to his back. A black leather jacket that does little to hide his well-built form, and unusually deep-set eyes that stay strangely focused on her even as he squirms with discomfort. Her heart races, making her wonder if it's the alcohol or his cologne that's hitting her so hard. "I'm...just gonna go."
"Itachi's not home," she blurts out. "So, um."
"Oh," he sighs. His shoulders slump and she can't help but sympathize. "My bad. I should've checked."
"Yeah. Well, if you need to, you know." She points towards the hallway leading to the bathroom, and he blinks in slight confusion before he gets it.
"Are you sure?" he waits for her nod before he sighs once more, this time with relief, and begins to tug his boots off. "Shit, thanks. I'm really sorry to intrude, I just really need to-"
"Not a problem. It's right down the hallway, first door on the left!" she cuts in with a slight laugh, closing the front door as he hurries off. Just as she thinks to text Itachi, she realises she doesn’t have a name.
She probably shouldn’t trust a stranger this much, but she reasons that it’s Itachi she trusts, so it should be fine to flop back on the couch and resume her drinking.
Light footsteps indicate the not-a-complete stranger’s return, and Sakura turns to study him over the back of the couch. He seems calmer now, looking around her apartment curiously before he turns to smile at her.
“Thanks again. I probably would’ve-if you hadn’t-yeah. Thanks,” he flushes slightly at the sight of her trying and failing to hide a grin before he looks over her head at the coffee table. “Wait-are those Izuna’s cookies?”
“Itachi’s uncle? Yeah,” she affirms with a dreamy smile, reaching for another treat. He makes a weird face at her words.
“Yeah. His uncle.” She cocks a brow at his wince. “Right, I’m-his brother. Madara.”
Sakura can’t quite describe the jolt she feels at his name, and tries to ignore it as she takes the hand he holds out. His palm is warm and dwarfs her own, curling around it gently. Something in her shakes and she wonders if she’s always been so nervous around good-looking men she didn’t grow up with.
The name is a familiar one though, and she's sure it was Shisui who mentioned it. It explains how young he looks–Madara and Izuna are cousins to Itachi and Sasuke's father, born to a father who married quite late, at least according to the older generation's standards. It had the whole clan in quite a tizzy, according to Shisui. She's also sure she isn't supposed to be privy to clan gossip so she's going to keep her mouth shut.
“I’m Sakura.”
He smiles at that, his eyes softening in the dim light of her living room. “Of course it is.”
Her cheeks feel strangely warm and she feels like a fool, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. 'But,' the voice in her head that sounds a little like Ino's soothes her. 'Look at him. He's beautiful.'
"So, that makes you the other uncle."
"Ugh," he groans before doing an abrupt turn and smirking wickedly. "So that makes you the girl Sasuke wrote that poem for when he was eight?"
"Why do you know about that?" It's more demand than a question, but Sakura really doesn't bring up that long-buried memory unless it's for the specific aim of tormenting Sasuke.
"Who do you think helped him write it?" he taunts, snickering at her startled expression.
"And to think I'd been so impressed with the big words." Sakura shakes her head with an air of exaggerated disappointment.
"Well, I'm glad to see I got most of it right," he shrugs, the tips of his ears reddening tellingly. "If it’s any consolation, I'm sure he knows them now...I think."
Her responding laugh is cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing again, and they both look at each other as if expecting the other to have expected it. Madara shrugs and she moves to the front door, standing up on the tips of her toes to look through the peephole. Really, what's with her home attracting unexpected guests at–
She whirls around in a panic.
“Everything okay?” he asks quietly as she rushes back, looking like she’s going to throw up.
“Um, yeah. No. I don’t know. It’s my ex.”
“An ex you want to see...?” he trails off.
“Absolutely not,” she mutters, pressing the heels of her palm to her eyes. She can feel a headache coming on with the new arrival and honestly, it is so very like Sasori to drop in without asking, expecting her to be okay with him ruining her night. Madara watches her freak out for a few seconds before nodding resolutely.
“Okay. Leave it to me.” Sakura makes a grab for his arm as he moves towards the door, trying to tug him in the opposite direction.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“Well, I owe you one. And I can’t just leave you to deal with an ex you clearly don’t want to see–especially at this time of the night,” he explains easily, trying to tug his arm from her grip. He tries to uncurl her fingers from where they’re digging into his bicep, and she nearly jumps when their hands touch once more. It's only now that she realizes how close they are, and that she's nearly hanging off his arm in an attempt to stop him from opening the door. "Hey, it's okay. I'll take care of it."
He looks back to wink at her before bending over to slide his boots on, and Sakura has to nearly tear her eyes away from the ridiculously appealing sight. He reaches the door and unlocks it deftly, and she's thankful for him looking away, because that was nearly devastating enough to make her forget about why he’s answering her door.
Then she hears the one voice she absolutely did not want to hear again, at least until she goes back to work tomorrow.
“Saku-you’re not Sakura,” she hears Sasori say, and she can imagine his disgruntled expression with perfect ease.
“Definitely not,” Madara says in an echo of her own words, and she can’t help the subtle smile that stretches across her mouth. “Can I help you?”
“Who are you?”
“None of your business.”
“It is if you’re at my girlfriend’s house at this time of the night.”
At that Sakura steps up next to Madara, crossing her arms in annoyance and trying not to blush when Madara slides his arm around her. He keeps his hand on the curve of her waist, his touch gentle and loose, but mostly reassuring. It also serves to annoy Sasori greatly, who looks like he can't quite believe what he's seeing.
“Ex-girlfriend. What do you want?” she snaps. She's sure he didn't leave anything at her place.
“Sakura, who is this?”
“Like he said, it’s none of your business.” She shivers a little and Madara tugs her closer, moving his hand to rub it over her arm in quick, light movements. She's a little amazed at how warm he is and quite upset that she has to stand in the cold because Sasori can't speak quickly enough.
"Um, well, I was just at a party at Hidan's." Who happens to live nearby. "And I was just...wondering if I could crash here. I thought we could talk."
For a long moment, Sakura can't quite bring herself to say anything. Not because she's considering saying yes–but because the nerve of this man has, not for the first time, left her speechless.
"Sasori, we-"
"I know, I know," he grumbles. He then shrugs and grins in a way she had once thought was charming, leaning in slightly. "Your place was just closer than mine-"
"And no longer accessible," Madara cuts in. "Goodnight." He tries to move them back so he can close the door, but Sasori interrupts the motion with a hand on the door.
"I'll take the couch!" Sasori pushes back against the door. "Sakura, babe, we've-"
"Alright," Madara steps out the door instead, forcing Sasori to take a few steps back. "Why don't have a little talk?" He turns to a confused looking Sakura, gesturing for her to go inside. "I'll be right in, sweetheart. Don't worry." He doesn't wait for her to reply, closing the door before she can say anything. Sakura stands with her ear pressed to the wood for over a minute, but doesn't hear a thing. She goes back to the couch, trying to figure out if this was really okay, but Madara comes back in before she can come to an actual conclusion.
"Well, he's a prick."
"I realize that now," she says, looking him over for any signs of damage. "Sorry, did he give you any trouble?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle. And you don't need to thank me either," he adds before she can even begin to come up with a way to express her gratitude. She also realizes that they're both alone once again, and despite how nice he seems, Madara is still a stranger. He looks a bit awkward, looking as if he doesn't know what to do with himself, or his hands which clench and unclench before he shoves them into the pockets of his jacket.
"Um, I should probably wait a few minutes before leaving...did Itachi say what time he'd be back?"
"He said he's going to stay at his parents' tonight," Sakura tells him, wincing at his dismayed expression. "He hasn't given you a spare key?"
"Shisui 'borrowed' it."
"I'm so sorry." She thinks it's a little funny, but works to keep her face sympathetic; Shisui would be extremely amused by the current events.
"That's alright. I think I've intruded enough, so I should probably go."
"Where do you live?" she asks, forehead wrinkled up at the thought of him having to make his way home in this weather. Sasori lives about ten minutes away–which is why she hadn’t been worried about him, she tells her guilty conscious.
"...Senju apartments."
"Fancy. Also on the other side of town," Sakura states flatly. "Did you drive here?"
"Ah."
"In a car?"
"...Bike."
"Right. Look," she begins, unable to actually believe she's doing this. "Just crash here tonight. I'll let Itachi know."
He looks taken aback at her suggestion, and shifts uncomfortably. "I wouldn't want to-"
"It's alright. I'm not comfortable with sending you off into the night," she reasons. "Plus, Itachi and Sasuke are practically family. That makes you...distant family. Sort of. Just-you're welcome to stay if you're comfortable with it."
Madara, who had begun to flush, looks extremely amused by the time she finishes. "Distant family."
"I said, sort of!"
"Hah. Well," he rubs at the back of his head hesitantly. "I guess. You're really okay with it?"
"Really okay with it. One hundred per cent." She waits for him to take his shoes off before herding him towards the couch. "You sleepy?"
"Not really," he admits sheepishly, taking a seat, sitting a little too properly for this time of the night.
"Great. You like Harry Potter?"
"Yeah."
"Wine?"
"Yes," he laughs, accepting the clean glass she brings him.
"Even better. It’s been ages since I had a sleepover. I'll bring more snacks."
The mildly awkward atmosphere dissolves quickly as they begin watching the movie, and Sakura's pleased to see her new companion loosen up and put his feet up on the coffee table. In an unexpected turn of events, she's found a new companion who's up for binge-watching the entire series, which is a little too ambitious for someone who has to work the next day. They open a new bottle as they express their mutual disappointment at the wasted potential of Tom Riddle, discuss their own Hogwarts house placements and the first time they read the books–before starting the third movie.
Sakura groans as the light hits her face, turning it to bury her head further into her pillow.
Her pillow, which seems unusually warm and smells like cedarwood. It's only when it shifts under her that her eyes fly open, and in her haste to spring back she tumbles off the bed.
"Ow-" She rubs her backside in slight disgruntlement, glancing up at Madara only to see him yawning widely as he stretches like a contented cat; he smiles softly as he notices her staring. She can't quite get her brain to process what she's seeing–tan skin stretching over long, firm planes of muscle. His wild hair spills over her pillows and she's hit with a memory of nuzzling it, of knowing what it smells like.
"Morning," he mumbles groggily, looking like he's ready to doze off again.
'Ah, fuck.'
"Morning," she replies in a tone a touch too shrill, jumping up when he just blinks at her. "We...uh..."
At her panicked expression, he seems to step out the doors of slumber completely, his cheeks reddening as he realizes she's struggling with their current state of undress. "Yeah. Uh, sorry?
"D-don't apologize," she says, trying to reassure him with a weak smile. "So! Breakfast?"
"Sakura." He sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist and she looks away before she sees more than she can handle. The plain black sweatshirt that was snug on him falls to her thighs when she stands up, and she sees the way his eyes fall to the bare expanse of her legs before he forces them back to her face. "I-I'll take care of that. You okay with scrambled eggs? Tea? Coffee?"
"Um-yeah. Here I'll just..." She looks around the room, spotting his pants by the door. She can't help the way she tugs at the hem of his sweatshirt as she bends her knees, grabbing the jeans. "Here. And–coffee. What can I do to help?"
"You need to be at work by ten, right? You can go get ready, we've got time." It's 8:30 on the clock, but how does he know what time she needs to be at the hospital? Her baffled look must tip him off because he shakes his head in mock seriousness as he washes his hands. "You don't remember that conversation, huh?"
"I'm sure it'll come to me," she sighs. "Alright I'll...go shower." She misses his distracted nod in her haste to retreat to the bathroom, his eyes struggling to focus as she leaves him to his thoughts.
It all does, eventually, come back to her while she's in the shower. She’s grateful for the privacy because she’s convinced Madara would think her a lunatic if he saw her smiling so hard.
(flashback, nsfw content ahead)
"Madara?" she asks, lifting her head off his shoulder so she could look at him. They sit side by side, watching the credits scroll past as they contemplate moving. Sakura’s cuddled into his side, unable to muster the will to move away from his warmth.
"Hm?"
"Have we met before?" The question has been on her mind since she first saw him earlier. He seems so familiar, but she’s unsure if it’s just because of his features, which do remind her of Itachi.
Her question is met with a slow blink as they both sit up a little straighter. "Could have. At birthday parties, maybe?"
She purses her lips at the thought, trying to recall any interactions that might have taken place in the past. Madara watches her for a moment, as she chews on her bottom lip, before tapping her chin to interrupt the rough treatment of her mouth. She’s struck by the urge to flick her tongue against the pad of his thumb, and the thought has her squirming in embarrassment. He looks completely serious, while she’s over here thirsting.
"Would you believe me if I said...I feel like I've been looking for you?" he asks hesitantly, flushing deeply when she looks amused. "Ugh, that sounds way cornier than it was intended to. I'm serious!"
She sobers up at his firm tone, studying his features in the dim light of the lamp. She smooths his bangs away from his eyes, feeling slightly overwhelmed when he takes the hand tucking his hair behind his ear in his own, lacing his fingers with hers.
"...I think I would," she whispers, mirroring his own tiny smile. "Then, would you believe me if I said I feel like I've been waiting for you?" She's only half-teasing. She feels at home, sitting next to him, arguing with him over fictional characters and concepts, watching him tap his feet to background music, eating cookies they're both shamelessly obsessed with.
Her heart feels warm and full when he kisses the back of her hand.
"I think I would," he says, his smiling turning embarrassed and shy and so soft that she can't help but lean in and press her lips to it, her heart pounding madly when he melts into it, into her. He groans low when she climbs into his lap, tilting his head to deepen the meeting of their mouths.
Desire drips into a pool at the bottom of her spine, where his hands splays and glides up to rest at the nape of her neck, tangling in messy, rosy strands. They kiss, and they kiss until her lips feel numb and her mind is muted for the first time in what feels like ages.
The first grind of her hips against his feels electric and the helpless way he bucks his hips up is something she wants to see repeated. He clutches her to him, peppering hot kisses down the slender slope of her neck and she knows what she wants. "Be-bedroom."
He stills, tilting his head back until the tip of his nose brushes hers. His eyes are reminiscent of hot pools of obsidian, and she thinks she would be okay with drowning in them. "Are you sure?"
"I want this." His mouth perks up even as he presses it to her jaw, winding her legs around his waist as he rises from the sofa with her holding on. Long fingers dig into the plump flesh of her rear, keeping her close and whimpering.
"Wait. Are you sure?"
His responding chuckle is edged with roughness, but not a straight enough answer. Once again, he manages to steal her breath before it can form words, sliding her lower against his body until she can feel him pressing into her, hard and straining.
"Oh. Okay," she gasps, pushing back into it until he stumbles with a curse, pressing her back into her bedroom door as he kisses her deeply, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth.
"Keep that up and we'll never get to the bed," he groans, grinding into her urgently as she nibbles on the shell of his ear.
"That's fine, just-fuck." She loses her train of thought when his hands squeeze her ass warningly.
"I'm not fucking you against a door," he says firmly, cutting her off with a quick kiss when she tries to protest. "Not the first time."
And so he fumbles with the door handle as his teeth dig into her skin, stumbling in blindly. He tosses her on the bed, reaching for the collar of his sweatshirt and sliding it off swiftly. Her mouth waters at this unveiling of his chiselled form, torn between reaching out to run her greedy fingers over it and reaching for her own clothes. He makes the decision for her by sliding his fingers underneath the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and over her head. Warmth flushes down from her cheeks to her chest when she realizes she had forgone a bra earlier, leaving the upper half of her body exposed to his burning gaze.
The moment his chest presses into hers, warm desire spreads down to the tips of her toes. It sinks into her bones as he kisses her temple, her cheeks, her lips. He carves a fervent path down her neck, teeth and tongue leaving hints of their efforts behind in blooming marks. The first curl of his tongue around a taut nipple has her gasping loudly, her fingers tangling in his hair as he splits his attention between her breasts.
His journey around her body continues with kisses down the soft planes of her abdomen until he reaches her waistline. Her heart pounds madly as she lifts her hips, allowing him to tug her pyjamas down her legs, followed by her underwear. It leaves her squirming beneath his gaze until he bends over her to press his lips to hers.
"You're so beautiful, darling," he groans, his hands gliding down her waist and back up. "Can I taste you?" He waits for her slow nod, smiling as he climbs back down, spreading her legs until he's found himself a spot between them. Sakura, who waits breathlessly for that first contact, nearly yelps when she feels his teeth sink into the tender flesh of her inner thigh instead. He soothes the spot with his tongue, and just as she settles down with the comforting motion she feels a languid lick along her slick sex that steals any capacity for thought still present in her head.
Lifting up on her elbows proves to be disastrous for her heart: he locks eyes with her as he licks fervidly into her, his eyes crinkling and lips twisting wickedly.
Sakura thinks she might have invited the devil into her bed.
He doesn't let her move until she's dripping with her desire, pushed to the brink of madness and digging her heels into his shoulders. He's unfazed by her pleading, coaxing and tonguing but never letting her tip over.
"Madara, Mad-fuck, please, please," she whimpers, one hand clenched around her sheets and the other smacking into the headboard.
"You need to tell me what you want, babygirl," he laughs, drawing slow, torturous circles around her clit.
"Fuck me, fuck me, please." She's practically begging but she needs this. She thinks she might actually wither away if he doesn't let her come. She feels him move, blinking her tears away so she can watch him slide his pants off and reach for his wallet. She's never felt more focused as she watches him tug the boxer-briefs down, freeing his straining erection and leaving her swallowing with one motion.
Sitting up, she reaches for him as he tears the foil square open carefully, but he stops her with a hand curling around her wrist. He brings her hand up to this mouth, kissing the back of it and urging her back down. "Later."
Any arguments she might have had are ripped away when she feels him at her entrance, rubbing the tip of his head against her slickness. When he pushes through her slit, tearing a moan from the depths of her throat, he kisses the corner of her mouth softly. She's convinced no one has ever felt this good, and no one ever will.
He's watching her, she realizes belatedly. She reaches up to cup his cheek, smiling faintly as he kisses her palm quickly, as he waits for her to adjust around him.
"Is this okay?" he asks, dropping his forehead to hers, his muscles straining as he keeps himself from moving. She pulls him close, leaving open-mouthed kisses over his tense shoulders.
"It's perfect." She pushes up, her walls squeezing tight and a startled groan escapes him before he pulls back and snaps his hips into hers–over and over again, aimed to tear her apart and make his mark in the very depths of her, until she's shattering to pieces around him and trembling in his arms. He whispers softly, incoherently as he thrusts frantically, and she kisses him through his unravelling.
She curls into a ball, after, nearly vibrating her contentment when she feels his fingers in her hair, rubbing at her scalp. Madara proves himself to be a cuddler when he moulds himself to her back, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. "Okay, I have a confession."
She turns around in his arms, raising a brow at his conflicted expression.
"I...have seen you before."
"Oh?" she lifts up onto an elbow, watching him struggle with his words. She's filled with curiosity because she's certain she'd never seen Madara before today. He’s not someone she would forget.
"Yeah. It was at your graduation party a few years back. The one you all had at Fugaku’s place," he tells her, his eyes unfocused as he thinks back to the time. "We didn't actually meet, but that was... I thought you were beautiful even then."
It’s strange to hear him address the older man so casually when he’s closer in age to her than Fugaku, but then they are cousins.
"Oh." She rests her head in her palm. "Let me guess–and you've been smitten ever since?" She shouldn't tease when he's being so serious, but she's come to really enjoy his blushing responses–a reaction she doesn't get this time. Instead, he meets her eyes steadily, if a bit solemnly.
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Madara!" She laughs, pinching his cheek, prompting him to smile as well.
“You don’t believe me.” He sighs, pressing his lips to her forehead.
"Mhm. I'm glad you got the wrong door," she whispers, feeling him smile against her skin.
"Me too." She sighs and presses her face to his chest, snuggling closer when he winds his arms around her. They’re quiet for a while, and just before she slips into sleep, he speaks up.
"Sakura?"
"Hm?
"Meeting you like this...being so close to you," he shifts slightly, pressing his lips to her hair. "Right now, I almost feel like...you belong to me." His admission is said so lowly that she nearly misses it. "And I belong to you. Is that strange?"
She smiles drowsily, tilting her head back to kiss him, soft and slow. "No, I think it's lovely."
"I think you're lovely." She can’t keep her eyes open, drifting into the dark with warmth all around her. “And...I don’t think I want to let you go.”
“...Then don’t.”
For the first time in a long time, she's smiling as she falls asleep.
Sakura's still smiling as she steps out of the shower. Wiping her hand over the fogged up mirror, she squints at her reflection. She looks bright, despite a terrible headache, and she feels warm–on the inside and out; her skins nearly burns when she spots the marks over her collarbone and thighs.
Waking up to soft greetings, offers of breakfast and a very pleasant ache between her thighs–it's something new, but it's nice. Madara is nice.
'And I'm fucked. Literally and figuratively'
But is she? She may have started him by kissing him, but he more than reciprocated. She's never felt more loved, and that includes actual relationships. Then there were the mind-melting things he said. A bit intense, but they were both more than a little dazed in the aftermath.
She’s a little worried about starting something this soon after ending things with Sasori, but– and she may be speaking too soon, but she never felt this way with Sasori. The redhead had started their relationship, dictated most of it, and she had been okay with it, accepting that she’s not the sort to take charge when it comes to this stuff.
But with Madara? She feels the sparks of excitement. She wants. So many things. So badly. She should, however, take it slow. A little too late, but she should still try. The man might be more than a little alarmed if he finds out just how into him she already is.
Her stomach growls loudly as she follows the smell of frying bacon to the kitchen. And there he is, the man in question, arranging food on two plates, her coffee ready on the side. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, his pants tight around his waist–and backside–and Sakura nearly swoons at the sight of him.
“Are you real?” she asks, completely serious.
“Real enough to have burnt the toast a little,” he answers with a sheepish grin. She hands him his sweatshirt apologetically, but he's unfazed as he pulls it on easily.
She wonders if this is all very normal for him, and the thought stings a little.
“I like it burnt.” She shrugs and pauses as she reaches the counter. She turns around to see him watching her; with a quick prayer to whoever’s listening and a hand on his shoulder, she rises up on the tips of her toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
His fingers curl around her wrist before she can step out of his space, his eyes searching her face before he pulls her close. She should be alarmed by how natural it feels to have his arms around her and his lips coaxing her mouth open. In the light of the morning, he kisses her softly; once more, she’s filled with a yearning that makes her ache.
In what’s quickly turning into an irritating pattern, her phone rings. A quick glance at the screen assuages her annoyance, but she still has to take a deep breath before answering.
“Morning, Itachi. Happy Christmas!”
“Happy Christmas. I just saw your text. Is Madara still there?”
“Uh, yeah, he is.”
“Alright. I’m nearly on our floor. See you in a minute.”
“Wait-“
But he’s hung up already, and she turns to see Madara sipping at what looks like green tea, failing to hide his disappointment.
“I heard.”
“Yeah,” she sighs, moving towards the entrance, then doubling back and pulling Madara into a quick, hard kiss that leaves him slack-jawed. “Sorry.”
“Please don’t be,” he murmurs hoarsely, making grabby hands at her as she skips away. Beaming, she opens the door to Itachi’s suspicious eyes and boxes of what she’s sure are his mother’s cooking.
“Yes, this is for you,” Itachi says before she can ask, moving past her to peer into her apartment. “Ah. There you are.”
“Morning.”
“Good morning,” Itachi looks from his uncle to Sakura, as if expecting more. “I’m going to go ahead get it out of the way–did you guys...?”
“Yes.”
“N-What!” Sakura squeaks, glaring at Madara when she spots the grin he tries to hide behind his cup.
“Right. Okay. Well, I’m gonna go get some more sleep. Sakura, have a nice day at work. Madara, let's go. Bring the plate, I’ll return it later.” Itachi doesn’t seem to be asking, and Madara, to her surprise, does as the other man says. They stare at each other for a few seconds, before Itachi raises a brow and turns to leave. A tiny smirk curls along his mouth, and she knows she can expect a call from Shisui within the hour.
The second he’s out Madara’s arms around her and his lips are on hers.
“Have dinner with me,” he asks as soon as he pulls away, his eyes wide with hope.
“Tonight?” she says, her answer clear when she kisses him again. Madara grins down at her, pulling her in for a hug that leaves her gasping for breath as she laughs.
“I’ll pick you up.”
Bonus:
“He made you breakfast?” Shisui asks over the phone, for the third time.
“Yes, Shisui. Honestly, it’s not like he gave me a manicure! Why are you so surprised?” Sakura glances around to ensure there aren't any eavesdroppers as she exits the elevator in the hospital. Ino has the evening shift, so she didn't get a chance to talk to her. She's not sure what she would even say. Her entire day had been a struggle with focus, but she had managed to keep the Madara-related thoughts at bay until the end of her shift.
And then she called the one person who could give her some insight.
“Because! Madara does not make people breakfast. In the rare occasions that he does spend time with them, he exits those occasions as quickly as humanly possible.”
“So he’s...”
“Not a dick! Not exactly. He’s just had a hard time getting emotionally involved with partners. You’re sure it was him? Not Izuna?”
“Yes, Shisui, of course I’m sure!”
“Okay, okay. Hm. I think...he might like you?”
“Yeah?” she can't help but smile as she opens the door to her car, flinging her bag inside.
“Yeah. Weird.”
“Why is it weird?”
“You’re going to be Itachi and Sasuke’s aunt-“
“Uchiha Shisui! Don’t even put that crap in my head.” It's way too early to even go there.
“Fine, I won’t. But what will you do about the crap in his head?”
“I’m sure there’s nothing like that! At least, I won’t know until I talk to him. Which won’t be possible until dinner tonight. I also need his number. Which is why I called you.”
“Ah, right. You were so preoccupied with his mouth that you forgot to even ask for his number?”
Sakura makes a silent vow to punch him the next time she sees him.
“...I’ll text it to you. Are we telling Itachi you're planning on asking his uncle out?”
“...not yet.” She's not sure how her friend would react. Itachi has always been a supportive presence in her life, but he didn't actually say anything this morning.
“It's not like he'll be surprised!”
“Probably. But let me talk to Madara first!” She gets inside and closes the door, leaning back and closing her eyes tiredly.
“Fine, fine. If he’s an ass to you, let me know. I’ll...tell Izuna.”
“I’m hurt. You won’t even kick his ass yourself?” she teases.
“Not when I know I won’t escape with my limbs unbroken. Your new flame is a scary dude, you know.”
“Please. Are you forgetting I’ve met the guy? He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.”
“...Madara...nicest...Is-is this what they call a Christmas Miracle?”