Chapter Text
This was the last time.
Sasuke could not remember exactly the first time she said it, how it started, but he had lost count of how many times the same words have been repeated since then.
They had broken up a year ago, with a history that spanned over years since they were teenagers. An unavoidable breakup driven by decade-long conflicts and emotional exhaustion beyond repair.
Despite it all, they did not know how to be without each other, so they engaged in this never-ending game of refusing to be together and refusing to let the other go.
Every single time, this was the last time, yet here he was again, feeling angry and sad and guilty and every other emotion under the rainbow over her reaching out to him again. As if he didn’t crave it to begin with. As if she wasn’t driving him to the point of insanity.
He had long given up on the idea of freedom. Freedom from her and the suffocating hold she had on his heart without her knowledge, and against his consent. Ever since she came into his life, all spring colours and warmth and a sense of belonging he did not even know existed, he abandoned any rational thought and hope for a life in which he was not drowning in his unwelcome, unbearable want for her.
At the end of the day, the result was the same. She needed him as much as he needed her, even if it hurt them. She refused to let him go, to pull the plug he had been threatening to remove for God-knows-how-long, and he refused to mean it. As it was, they both knew that nothing could hurt them as much as they hurt each other.
And how good it felt in the blissful moments before they were at each other’s throats for reasons they were too emotionally unequipped to dissect.
Being at each other’s throats, though, was even better. In the literal sense.
Addictive, even.
It was not a surprise when the call came.
What was surprising was the fact that it was not the sounds of a timid Sakura, but the familiar voice of the owner of the bar she frequented, asking him if he could pick up the sleeping woman.
By the third ring, he was already stretching his back, jumping out of bed followed by a string of swears.
It was such a common occurrence that he had stopped asking questions, stopped checking the time. He was a heavy sleeper in his youth, his mother had told him once, but he wasn’t anymore. He woke up at the faintest sound, his hand on his bedside table, reaching for the usual. A keychain with his car key and one to her apartment, pills for his constant headaches, and a box full of condoms that would be disregarded.
She did not have a predictable schedule, and she did not share specifics with him. They kept their contact to the minimum, which was limited to the times she contacted him at her weakest moments. The range covered by those moments was laughable at this point.
Human error during a procedure, brutal words from her mentor, exhaustion from an extended graveyard shift, consuming grief after delivering difficult news to a patient, and even fights with her best friend over him. She always, always called.
They barely talked these days, since their last fight three months ago. Sakura had called him during a date she could not get through, guilty with thoughts of betraying him as if any commitment existed between them apart from this codependency. The screaming match and tears after her stunt almost convinced him that that would, indeed, be the last time.
Sakura was quite weak when it came to him.
He was beyond hopeless when it came to her.
He would never admit that out-loud. He could not prevent her from interpreting his actions in whatever way she wanted, but he would not label them for her. If his gestures were not enough, that was her problem. He was never one for patience, especially for catering to her need for words of affirmation.
Not that she ever asked and not that he ever did cater to it. He did not have any words to give her.
They were not meant to be, not in a way that she deserved. She was cursed by the misfortune of stumbling upon someone so damaged, so unable to love in any manner that was remotely healthy, yet she decided to take it upon herself to love him instead, without asking for anything in return. Sakura’s only flaw was allowing herself to love him.
That was the kind of person she was.
Too good for him.
Too good for anyone, if his opinion ever mattered.
Only someone so inherently good would try to love someone like him, in whatever capacity he was willing to accept, which was not much. Somehow, she seeped through the crevices of his mask, and when she thought she had reached his impenetrable heart, he sank his own claws into hers. He held onto her heart with such force it was no wonder she feared bleeding out.
He did not know why he felt the way he did, or rather, he did not know why he couldn’t stop it. Whatever he felt was not enough for her, for him, for the life he was forced to live before he was even born. Her, this all-consuming longing, it would all die within him.
And he did love her, but only with the kind of love he knew. Love at a distance, with tribulation and burdens.
Regardless, no matter how much he cursed his predicament and inability to emotionally detach himself from her, his actions followed where his mind wouldn’t. He drove his usual commute to her.
Wherever, whenever, whatever she wanted.
That did not mean he was any less annoyed.
The bar was close to the hospital she worked at, which naturally attracted a lot of healthcare workers after their gruesome shifts. She did not have to go far from the hospital, or her home for that matter, to decompress. He was thankful for that, at least. The fact that he lived across town did not cross his mind.
It was well past anyone’s bedtime, some time around three a.m., when he walked through the front door. The place was still lively, somehow, with popular music playing on the speakers and crowds of loud doctors and nurses chatting and dancing the night away.
His eyes squinted out of habit to get a better vision of the dimly lit establishment, though he had ventured inside enough times to find his way around blind-folded.
The bartender who called him, the one who saved his number for nights such as this one, waved him over with an apologetic smile and pointed towards a dark corner of the bar. He sighed at her unnecessary guilt, though he could understand her embarrassment towards interrupting his sleep.
“Thanks, Ayame,” he nodded in gratitude, passing her a bill for the tab and her troubles, and made his way towards the isolated booth.
He was as irritated as he was relieved when he was finally in front of her sleeping form. Her arms were crossed on the table, her head resting peacefully against them. It was difficult to be mad at her when she looked like this.
Taking a deep breath, he nudged her shoulder until she reacted.
“Sakura, wake up,” his voice did not come out as firm as he intended.
It took some time for her eyes to flutter open, and even longer for her to process the situation. Her eyebrows shot up, then, and her lips quivered.
“Sasuke,” she said as she straightened up. “Why are you here?”
“Let’s not do this right now,” he felt his headache kicking in. “Get up.”
“I did not ask you to come here,” Sakura folded her arms across her chest, still upset from their last fallout, he assumed.
“Yeah, I know that,” he sighed in exasperation. “Let’s go.”
“I am not drunk,” she explained, annoyance clear in her expression. “I can walk home.”
She rarely drank more than a couple of units of alcohol, he knew. It comforted him to know that all her choices were of sound mind, but he wondered if she avoided drinking to be in control when she inevitably came to him. There were thoughts and feelings that she kept close to her chest, even away from him.
“Sakura, you fell asleep at a bar. You are in no condition to walk for over forty minutes. How long have you even been working?”
“That’s none of your business,” her reluctance to meet his eyes and answer his question would’ve been indication enough, but the pronounced purple under her eyes made it blatantly obvious already. She must have been working double shifts again.
“I am already here. I can just drive you home,” he reasoned, dreading to have an argument in public after sleeping for less than four hours. “Can you be easy-going for once in your life?”
She laughed sardonically, with a raised eyebrow.
Fair enough, it was not like he was a walk in the park either.
He gave her a full minute to acknowledge him, or move, or anything. When she didn’t, he bent over by her waist, grabbed the back of her knees, and threw her over his shoulder with ease. He was used to lifting her up for a multitude of reasons.
The squeak she released when he turned her upside down would have been funny if he weren’t so tired.
Actually, it was funny. Getting under her skin was a particular guilty pleasure of his.
He walked out of the bar with a goodbye wave to the patrons.
“I wish I hated you, sometimes,” she muttered, dejected, with affection in her voice.
“Aa,” his tone matched hers. “You have tried.”
As soon as her head hit the backrest of the car seat, she fell asleep. Driving through the city at this hour was relaxing for him, during the return trip. The roads were empty, and the streets were quiet, with most citizens resting at home on a Tuesday night.
He parked in the underground garage of her building less than ten minutes after leaving the bar. The halt was enough to wake her, though she did it slowly. She was facing him, and her eyes glinted with the warmth of the parking lot lights, glossy with sleepiness and feelings he urged himself not to look into.
She gazed at him with that fondness he had only ever learned from her, with a love so apparent that it pained him to stare back. It also hurt to look away. It had been so long since they were this close, since he heard her voice in person, since he ran his hands through her hair and her body.
“I am sorry, I–” the tenderness in her melted his anger away, as it always did. “I do not know how not to miss you.”
Her hand reached over, landing on his cheek, tracing the contours of his face. He felt his eyes close at their own volition.
And he would never take from her, not more than he already had, but he would give her the little he could, whenever she asked. Because he was selfish, and he needed her, too.
So when she crossed the distance and tentatively placed her lips against his, he did not fight it. He let her take what she wanted, because the moment she tore down the wall they had deliberately raised between them, he would consume her.
Her touch was shy, barely there, and he basked in her earnest attention. She repeated her motions, placing kiss after kiss against his mouth, the corner of his lips, his jaw and cheeks.
“We are not stopping,” he warned as she continued her reacquainting mission.
Delicate hands threaded in his hair, a sigh of relief. “Good.”
“Regret it all you want tomorrow,” Sasuke said with finality, but he was stalling to give her time to change her mind and she knew it.
Her nose nuzzled his pulse point. “I have never regretted you.”
As her teeth sank into his neck, not enough to draw blood, but plenty to leave a mark for a day or two, his hand sneaked behind her and pulled her by the hair.
Eyes blown wide, mouth parted, rosy cheeks. He would have probably died before refusing her.
He yanked her towards him, her mouth landing on his in a clash of teeth. This was the way he loved her, possessively and without restraint, even when he had no claim to. Their lips moulded together, his teeth pulling at her bottom lip until he was certain they were bruised pink.
His tongue darted out to lick her lips, probing at them until she granted him access. She moaned when she felt his tongue move against hers, and from then on, it became a push and pull, a relentless attempt to melt into each other. In his case, to take, to conquer, to kiss away any possibility of her considering there could ever be anything else, anyone else, that could bring him to the brink of desperation like this.
With a tug from his other hand, Sakura climbed her way over the centre console between the passenger and driver seat, scrambling as she managed to place her legs on either side of his. There was no awkwardness or hesitation, no spared thought to their current location.
She dropped her weight on him, and he closed his eyes at the first contact with his lower body. His fingertips found purchase at her backside, her forehead leaning against his from her place above him and her hands around his neck.
The low groan that escaped him was the most genuine sound he made in weeks, as she sensually rolled her hips against him. She was eager for friction, rubbing and breathing irregularly while he guided her rhythm. His pants were becoming unbearably tight with every move of her hips, his blood gathering in one area.
His head fell against the seat, his eyes almost rolling back when her hand reached between them. She took him out from the confines of his sweats with shaking fingers, impatient, and stroked him with just the right pressure. The way he taught her when they were younger, and only ever experienced with her.
It was almost as if she was memorising that part of him, the sounds he made, the curses that he could not hold back. He would’ve let her continue with her touches as much as she wanted, but he never quite liked her having the upper hand for long.
He stopped her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist before swiftly taking her green oversized sweater off, her hair falling out of her bun with the force of his motion. She shrieked in surprise when he pulled her bra off by the cups, freeing her perky breasts. He wasted no time devouring them, his tongue flicking at one of the peaks while his hand reached to caress the other.
Tomorrow, his hand would be sore thanks to the uncomfortable angle, but he still took his hand from her breast and dived in between her thighs. Sakura’s propensity for dresses and skirts in his presence had never gone unnoticed, though tonight it was particularly appreciated.
The long whine she let out when his fingers met her core, her hands sneaking around his neck to bring him closer to her chest, was testing the limits of his self-control.
He pulled the fabric of her underwear aside and pressed his thumb against her most sensitive area, her legs clamping his at the touch. He sat her down on his lap, spread out with her skin partly uncovered, flushed from the root of her hair to her chest. His hand returned to its task, his upper body relaxing back against the seat as he watched her struggle to keep herself together.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she complained half-heartedly, but she continued to grind against his hand, chasing her own pleasure.
It was a vision, having her like this.
“I think you like it when I do. In fact,” he teased as his finger travelled lower, dipping into her with ease. “I know you do.”
Whatever comeback she prepared died in the back of her throat as he started lazily pumping his finger inside of her. He continued to do so, especially as her neck fell back and she leaned against the steering wheel. He added a finger, and then another for good measure. He could tell that Sakura was fighting a losing battle, trying to hold back her screams by biting on her abused lip.
He removed his fingers when he knew she was close, and her eyes widened at the loss. He could’ve teased her, dedicated time to reducing her to whimpers with his hand alone, but it had been months, and neither of them could wait much longer.
“Take me in already,” he commanded with a whisper against her shoulder.
She did as she was told, lifting herself on her knees, and aligning him with her entrance. The slow, sweet torture as she descended, taking inch by inch into her, was an unparalleled sensation. He gave her time to adjust to him, and kept his attention on the place they were joined, concentrating with all his might to last longer than her absence had prepared him for.
When she started moving, he was sure he would have to start reciting the Konoha Law Book backwards.
His instincts begged him to drive into her, to punish her how he knew she liked, but tonight, he let her set a pace that was comfortable for her.
The expression on her face was enough to tell him she would not last, and he was not faring any better. She undulated her hips, holding onto his shoulders. Love confessions and words of encouragement fell in gasps, her balance failing her as she attempted to keep herself up straight. He took this as an open invitation to drag her hips up and down at a splitting pace, sweat trickling down his forehead and disappearing into his black sweater.
He alternated between biting and licking on her collarbone, her neck, her breasts, as he pushed her closer to the edge. The air was thick, the windows foggy, and her nails on his back as harsh as his thrusts.
Nothing in his life would ever feel this good, he thought.
Until she came.
His name in that sweet, choked up tone was his undoing. Sobs of ecstasy ripping out of her, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes never left him as she gripped him for all he was worth. He summoned the last of his strength to bury himself in her until he joined with a guttural groan that was swallowed by her lips.
She would be the death of him.
Sliding the glass door open, he walked out towards the balcony of her apartment. The autumn air chilled his bare torso, but he welcomed the change in temperature. It was a peaceful view. Very few things calmed him like a clear night sky and a cigarette in his hand.
The smoke expanded his lungs, and he released it after a couple of seconds, a lingering buzz in his body. Whatever tension that was left slowly dissipated with each drag.
He heard movement behind him, and light footsteps treaded in his direction. Delicate arms wrapped around his middle, her face on his back.
“I thought you had stopped,” she referred to the habit that she opposed for many years, the one that he stopped for her sake.
“I had.”
“Why did you give up?”
He sighed. “No reason not to.”
Sakura dropped the subject, reading between the lines. “Do you want to talk?”
The only sound was the burning of the cigarette end, the ashes falling to the floor without care.
“Your unwillingness to talk is one of the reasons we are here, Sasuke,” she explained softly.
“The reason we are here–” he corrected with resentment, flicking the last of his cigarette towards a nearby ashtray he brought over years ago. “–is you. Again.”
“I know that,” she admitted, ashamed, and burrowed deeper into him. “I know that I have not made it… easy for you.”
He scoffed. That was one fact that could not be refuted. She detangled her arms from him.
“Please,” she pleaded quietly, pulling at his elbow to get his attention. “Just talk to me.”
He shook his head. “There is nothing to talk about.”
“Fine,” she exhaled loudly, challenging him, “Then ignore my calls from now on, Sasuke, like you should have been doing all along.”
“I won’t.”
“Why not?” her continuous effort to get him to open up bothered him to no end.
“Why don’t you stop calling?” he questioned back, turning around to look at her, his nostrils flaring.
“Because I love you,” Sakura confessed with a small voice, but her voice was firm, as if it were the easiest thing to say. It shouldn’t have felt as soothing as it did. She never expected him to say it back, but she knew he did, too.
“That doesn’t make it any better,” he lied.
“Maybe not,” she accepted with a sad smile. “But I’m okay with that.”
“Well, I am not,” he met her eyes, his jaw tensing at her admission. “You don’t get it.”
“No, I don’t,” pressing her fingers against his temples, an attempt to help his headache, she tried again, “Explain it to me, please. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“You have to be the one to stop this,” he avoided her question. “Next time you want to see me, simply use that brain of yours and actually think.”
His harsh words did not deter her. “All you have to do is say you do not want me. That you do not love me.”
“No.”
“It’s as easy as that,” she assured him, but her lips were in a tight line.
He laughed sarcastically. “Is that what you want me to say?”
“You can’t have it both ways,” her pink brows furrowed, and she reached the ends of his already minimal patience.
“Listen to me, Sakura, because I will not say this again,” he snarled, removing her hands from his face. “There is no scenario, no fucking universe, in which you call me, and I do not drop everything to come to you.”
He leaned over, his face an inch away from hers, searching for her green eyes.
“There is never a last time with us.”