Chapter Text
Gaara woke up.
One moment there was nothing, and the next, there was sunlight spilling over his eyelids in a warm cascade, coaxing him from unconsciousness. He turned his face away, pressing into a downy pillow that smelled of fresh rain on stone, sandalwood, and muddled citrus peels. The scents were calming, grounding even, and he inhaled deeply, a sigh catching in his chest and leaving slowly as his muscles softened into the mattress. He’d been tense, but now he was at ease, the cool darkness of the pillow and the weight of the blanket threatening to pull him back under into unconsciousness. He’d have drifted off again if not for the wide, heavy hand that smoothed down his bare back, the touch rough but steady and achingly familiar . A rumble of contentment vibrated through his chest.
“Dearest,” a rich, vibrant voice called softly behind him, stirring the air near the jinchuriki’s ear like wind through the dunes. Knuckles brushed along his spine, bumping along his vertebrae, and the touch sent a ripple of sensation through him. “Dearest, it’s time to wake up.”
Gaara of the Sand turned over slowly, la wave rolling along the shore, and blinked up at the man beside him. Rock Lee was already dressed for the day, his jonin uniform pressed and pristine, his hitai-ate, wrapped snugly around his waist. Lee’s handsome face, as familiar as it was captivating, split open into a radiant smile that chased away every shadow in the room. The Beast of Suna’s pale fingers rose almost unconsciously, brushing over Lee’s cheek, his touch light as if afraid to get burned. He cupped that smile, cradled it in his palm, and felt the far off, foreign urge to smile back.
“You were restless in your sleep,” the former Leaf nin noted, his tone probing as he leaned closer, propping himself up with hands resting on either side of Gaara’s pillow. His breath smelled faintly of green tea and his dark eyes were shining with their usual lively intensity. Gaara felt like a moth before a flame. “Did you dream?”
“I had a nightmare,” the jinchuriki announced before realizing the details of it had already fled his mind, lost in the deep ether of sleep. It was so far and distant the redhead could not have explained how he knew it had been a nightmare. Echoes of it reverberated then faded from his brain like sound traveling through a canyon. His slight brows pinched. “I don’t remember it now.”
“Then it must not have been so bad,” Lee said, sitting back, grabbing Gaara’s hands to tug him upright as well. The Kazekage let himself be guided, their palms smoothing together with a sound like the turning of a page. The sunlight painted Lee’s face in glowing gold and Gaara was warm down to his toes.
All around them, their room was in a state of cozy chaos, the lived in feel of it making it more homey and familiar. There were scrolls and training weights and robes and books and tiny trinkets from away missions scattered all about and Gaara’s gourd was on his side of the bed. The redhead eyed it all, feeling oddly nostalgic, as if he hadn’t woken up to the same scene several times over, the novelty of it all long gone, but the gratitude as real and apparent as ever. He watched Lee slide from the bed, already talking animatedly about their plans for the day. His wrapped hands sliced through the air emphatically, his black hair shiny in the sunlight as he moved to sit in the window.
Gaara loved him more than words.
“Once we are finished with the council I figured it would be the perfect day to visit with Temari and the new baby!” the jonin enthused, face flush with excitement as Gaara began to slowly unwrap himself from the sheets. He was naked and sand itched along the fine hair on his legs to begin forming his armour.
“We can’t visit Temari today, she’s-”
Gaara stilled, mind blanking momentarily as he tried to get a grasp on what he’d been about to say. His psyche chased the words as if through a maze, the phrase continuously touching the tip of his tongue before bounding away again. He thought he’d been about to say they couldn’t visit Temari today because she was in Konohagakure, but that wasn’t right. Temari was home in Suna nursing her new infant son; Shikamaru was in Konoha, taking the last steps required to become a permanent resident of Sand. His transfer paperwork had been sitting on Gaara’s desk in the Kazekage office for months, the young man could picture them so clearly.
Lee tilted his head, his expression softening into one of patient curiosity. “Temari is what, dearest?”
The Kazekage’s mouth closed abruptly, the words abandoning him entirely, and turned to look at his husband. Lee was near the door to their bedroom, large eyes trained on him astutely and mouth set in a curiously straight line. The boisterous smile from earlier was gone, replaced by an attentive sort of blankness that gave Gaara pause. He blinked and Lee was normal again, not smiling, but expression still open and adoring. He repeated his question and Gaara turned it over in his mind, observing each word closely as if for imperfections before he shook his head.
“Nothing,” he assured, finally moving to dress. Lee remained sat on the edge of the bed, gushing adoringly about how cute Temari’s son was and how handsome he was sure to be as he grew older. Gaara let his husband's bubbly babble wash over the sharp shards of his insides, feeling soothed even as he could not quite name from what. He tried to recall the details of his nightmare again, but they alluded him and by the time he’d dawned his Kage robes, he was no more sure as to why he’d woken feeling uneasy. Why he could not seem to settle into himself.
“Ready?” Lee prompted when he glanced over and saw the redhead properly dressed. At Gaara’s nod, the taijutsu specialist sprang up and beat a quick path from the room, the door slam opening and nearly knocking Gaara’s gourd down as he raced out into the hall.
After strapping on his Ultimate Defense, the Sand ninja followed the taller man, subconsciously letting his chakra yawn out around them, searching for others nearby. Kankuro’s signature was steady and warm, radiating from his workshop in lower levels of the house where he often tinkered with his puppets. The ANBU stationed on the roof were faintly detectable, their presence a silent sentinel. And then there was Lee’s chakra, burning big and brilliant beside him, as unrelenting as the heat outside. The jinchuriki feasted on his husband’s fervor, the white hot sun that was Rock Lee able to sustain even a demon at its brightest.
Moving to descend the stairs, Gaara’s attention snagged on something different—a vase of flowers sitting on the hall table. It hadn’t been there the day before, he was certain of it. They were arranged with careful precision in a vase of deep green glass, its surface marbled with veins of gold like sunlight filtering through the leaves of a great tree. The flowers spilled out in a cascade of color and texture—soft bunches of blue hydrangeas nestled beside the slender stalks of white lilies. Bright red camellias stood proudly, their waxy petals catching the light, while delicate sprays of wisteria draped over the edges, their tiny blossoms swaying in the breeze left behind in Lee’s wake. None of the blooms were native to the desert and so Gaara had to surmise they had been plucked from the lush lands of Konoha; a gift from his husband. They were wondrous.
Somewhere between a bite of sunagimo for breakfast and the first step outside, their day was well and truly underway. The sun was high, waiting for them, and Lee was still speaking animatedly about their plans. Gaara followed easily, the heat settling around them like a familiar embrace. First, they visited Gaara’s office, the jinchuriki taking the time to carefully review a week old stack of mission reports as the taijutsu master penned a missive to his home country, pink tongue poked out the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. Next, they attended a council meeting, the grating voices of Ebizo and Ikanago arguing over ancient history nearly lulling Gaara back to sleep. Lee luckily was able to hold his attention by dancing crooked fingers up and along his leg teasingly, the Beast of Suna fighting to maintain his indifferent countenance.
Midday, Gaara accompanied Lee to the ninja academy and observed him leading a taijutsu lesson. A small class of genin followed their master out onto a training field, their childish giggles and petty squabbles carrying away on a breeze as Lee took them through their forms, unperturbed by their rowdiness. The young man demonstrated techniques with the same relentless tenacity his husband recalled from their chunin exam and the students tried eagerly to emulate him. When the jonin explained to be as good as him they would have to be ready to fight their Kazekage the giggles died out.
In the evening, they traversed the village, putting in what Baki had always referred to as ‘face-time’ with the citizens of Sunagakure before dinner. Gaara’s people were wind-worn and stone tough, but their serious expressions cracked into familiar smiles when they spotted their Kazekage and his friendly husband approaching. In the marketplace, the former Leaf shinobi spoke easily with vendors and tradesmen, his pragmatic but amicable thinking settling petty disputes between neighbors and friends. With Gaara, people approached respectfully to voice concerns or praise in turn and some even requested assistance with some small laborious task or another. The atmosphere in his homeland was calm and at ease and the jinchuriki felt a thrum deep within that spoke of fulfillment.
“It was a wonderful day,” Lee sighed, raising a small glass out towards Gaara some hours later.
The redhead blinked, noting all at once that it was dark outside, they were back at home, and there was a serving of warm rice and sunagimo half eaten on the plate in front of him . Gaara had the strangest sensation of waking up from a hyper-realistic dream, though he knew he’d been up and active for hours. He thought idly it was as if he had sleep-walked through the entire day at the same moment he realized there was also a small glass in his hand. It was deep green with gold detailing like the vase upstairs and filled nearly to the brim with clear liquid. He clinked it against his husband’s, the sound crisp in the oddly quiet room. The motion earned the other man’s dazzling smile, before they both took a sip.
Warmth flowed down Gaara’s throat, simultaneously smooth and sharp as the sake coated his tongue and settled in his stomach. He didn’t blanch, he was used to the taste; he only set his glass down gently and stared dead eyed at the young man across the table from him. The former Leaf ninja had downed his drink in one gulp and tucked back into his dinner, cheeks half full with rice when he seemed to feel Gaara’s gaze upon him. Big eyes looked up at the jinchuriki and shiny black hair flopped over his brow when he tilted his head curiously.
His empty glass sat between them and around his mouthful Lee asked, “Is something the matter, dearest?”
Gaara kept an unblinking hold on the other man, a soft sigh escaping through his nose. Jumbled thoughts pooled and spilled from his brain in slow succession, sand slipping through his fingers or an hourglass. He pointed out, “You don’t drink sake.”
Gaara woke up.
One moment there was nothing, and the next there was sunlight piercing his eyes so intensely that it felt like an attack. He turned his face away, burying it in a cool, soft pillow that smelled of clean air after a summer storm, warm cedarwood, and crushed mint leaves. The scents were grounding, soothing, and he inhaled deeply, a sigh unfurling from his chest as his body settled further into limpness. His heart was beating a quick staccato that did not match with the serenity of his surroundings and the jinchuriki felt gooseflesh rising all along his back as calloused fingers began to trace the curve of his spine. He hummed appreciatively.
“Dearest,” a voice calm and sweeping like monsoon rains fell onto his ears and soft dry lips grazed his shoulder blade. The redhead shivered. “It’s time to wake up.”
Gaara turned over, a leaf shifting in the wind, and blinked up at the man beside him. Lee was already dressed, his jonin uniform crisp and his hitai-ate knotted around his bicep. The plate caught the light, the symbol of Sand blinding Gaara momentarily. The taller ninja smiled down at his beloved, impossibly large eyes shining a mirror of contentment down at him. Squinting, half blind, the Kazekage reached out with twitching fingers and traced, featherlight, the swollen curve of his husband's lips. He crooked a thumb into the corner of that smile, pulling it wide at the edges, and felt the far off, forgotten urge to smile back.
“You were restless last night,” Lee informed, cupping big, bandaged hands around Gaara’s cheeks, grip incredibly tender though he could have crushed the Sand shinobi’s jaw with little to no effort. His breath carried the faintest hint of roasted barley tea, and his dark eyes gleamed with familiar vibrancy. Gaara felt like a flower directly under the gaze of the sun. “Did you dream?”
“I had a nightmare,” the jinchuriki said at once, disjointed smears of color and sound flashing in his mind’s eye before disappearing. The feeling of being unsettled remained, but nothing more. His mouth pinched. “It’s hard to remember…”
“Do not think too hard on it,” Lee soothed, sitting back, hands dragging from Gaara’s cheeks to his neck and chest and sliding the sheets away from him slowly. The redhead pushed himself up, naked beneath the bedding and feeling a faint buzz all through his body as he observed his husband. Lee leaned in, turning his head to land a chaste kiss on Gaara’s pale shoulder before pulling away again. “It was only a dream.”
Their room was comfortably cluttered, strewn with the familiar debris of their life together. Scrolls were haphazardly stacked beside training gear, a forgotten book lay face down on the bedside table, and Lee’s abandoned weights sat beside a half-open trunk of mission supplies. Gaara’s gourd was leant against the window, the sand stirring as if also just coming awake. The jinchuriki wondered briefly where his Kage hat was, but then was distracted when Lee slid from the bed in a graceful stretch, already talking about their plans for the day. His hands moved expressively, cutting through the morning light as he perched on the edge of the desk.
Gaara loved him more than air.
“Once we finish the council meeting, we should visit Temari and the baby,” he suggested, bouncing his heels against the wood, sending papers fluttering. Gaara stood from the bed, unabashed by his nakedness though he saw his husband blush. “You know she has been waiting for us to come by.”
“We can go,” the Kazekage agreed, remembering he needed to sign the papers to finalize Shikamaru’s transfer. His transfer paperwork had been sitting on Gaara’s desk in his office for months, the young man could picture them so clearly. “We should bring a gift for her and Shikadai.”
Lee beamed from his spot in the windowsill, his excitement bright enough to rival the morning sun. “Speaking of gifts, dearest, did you see the flowers?”
Gaara blinked, gaze tracking Lee’s pointing finger. Their bedroom door was open for some reason and the Sand shinobi could see out into the hall where a vase sat atop the low table near the stairs. The glass was gorgeous, a rich cobalt blue color with a delicate silver rim. The flowers iinside jumped outward in an artful array. There were careful clusters of yellow chrysanthemums nestled between sprays of crimson spider lilies. There were deep violet irises and beautiful bellflowers. There were several filler fronds that definitely did not grow in the green houses of Suna and so Gaara knew the blooms had to have been brought all the way from Konohagakure.
“They’re lovely,” he admitted, gracing his husband with what he hoped was an appropriately adoring look. The other Sand ninja seemed pleased with it at least.
“They reminded me of you,” Lee declared, rising from Gaara’s desk chair to guide the other man out into the hall. They passed the vace and the redhead foundself oddly transfixed on it. “Plus they add some color!”
Their morning unfolded effortlessly. Breakfast was steaming bowls of fragrant, spicy curry, the warmth settling in Gaara’s chest as he and Lee exchanged idle conversation between bites. The day outside stretched before them feeling excitingly full of promise and yet blissfully free of expectation. When their dishes were gone their first stop was to the training grounds where Gaara observed Lee sparring with a group of chuunin, his movements a blur of raw power and practiced precision. The redhead’s gaze traced the lines of his husband’s body as he moved, each motion purposeful, efficient. The younger shinobi didn’t stand a chance and the Beast of Suna felt stirrings of pride each time his husband landed another in the dirt
They visited the Kazekage office next, where Gaara sifted through intelligence reports while Lee penned another letter to his sensei, his handwriting careful but swift. He read the lines out loud to the other man, asking for notes or reminders of what he could update Maito Gai about. The council meeting came after, and Gaara suffered through a queer sense of deja vu, the voices of Ebizo and Ikanago droning on in familiar discord. Lee sat beside him, having changed into his own pseudo-Kage robes at some point, and risked furtive touches to the other ninja’s knee when no one was looking.
When the sun began to recede, taking its oppressive heat with it, they walked through the village, Suna’s pulse steady and strong beneath their feet. People greeted them warmly, familiar faces flashing by in waves. Gaara phased through conversation as if carried on a current of his husband's niceties. Lee remembered everyone, greeted everyone, helped everyone, and the fearsome people of Sunagakure look friendly and approachable when they addressed their Kage’s right hand. When the sun was gone they walked home, arms full of gifts forced onto them by merchants and tradesmen.
“It was a wonderful day,” Lee sighed, his dinner plate empty and stars shining bright in the sky outside. Gaara slipped back into the moment as if he’d excused himself some time ago and was now listening to those around him to catch what he had missed. Both their drinking glasses were empty, the salty sweet film of kombucha coating his tongue, and the jinchuriki noticed he hadn’t touched his curry. It was cold.
“It was a nice day,” he agreed absently, turning his head to look around the room. They were eating in the kitchen rather than the dining area for some reason and they were all alone; no other chakra signatures flickered in the house or even out in the village. An errant thought niggled at his hindbrain and Gaara’s brow creased. He mumbled, “Except…we never went and saw Temari.”
“What, dearest?”
Gaara’s fingers tightened around his cup. He was holding his empty cup. “We said we would visit her and Shikadai today, but we never went.”
Silence draped over them, heavy and obscure like the night outside. Listening for the first time, Gaara noticed he couldn’t even hear the sound of the wind or birds or bugs or life. Lee blinked, too large eyes watching him, seeming acutely aware of his jumbled thoughts pooling and spilling from his brain in slow succession like sand slipping through his fingers or an hourglass. Gaara watched him right back, remaining perfectly sedentary even as the other young man sucked in a deep breath and heaved a sigh that seemed to go on and on and on and on until he’d blown out all the light in the world.
Gaara woke up.