Work Text:
Chop. Chop. Slide.
Splash.
Chop. Chop. Slide.
Splash.
The repetitive sounds echo in the silence of their small kitchen.
Leaning against the paper-rice sliding door, arms crossed, Sakura watches. She’s wearing an old haori loosely tied around her hakama-clad waist. Barefoot on the tatami, surrounded by soft stimulations, she feels entirely, completely at peace. The bumpy texture of the tatami under the sole of her feet, a strand of hair brushing against her cheekbone, the soft, worn fabric of the haori against her forearms, the calming repetition of the sounds coming from the kitchen, the background noise of the water starting to simmer.
Shikamaru has his back on her, focused on his task. His light yukata is more likely from her side of the closet than his, but the pastel, pond-green of the garment and the bright white, blooming branches of almond trees compliment his dark skintone in the gold light of Konoha’s dusk.
His strong hands dance between the cutting board and the large pot of water as he slices, peels, chops, slides.
Splash.
Sakura shivers.
Outside their house, a woodpecker is fighting the war of its lifetime against the towering pine tree offering shade to their inner garden. Sakura basks in the sheer domesticity of it all. Another peeled potato, another quick move and the pot fills up little by little.
With the delightful feeling that this moment could go on forever and she would only thank the gods for it, Sakura straightens up from her leaning position. Her calloused hand wraps around the handle of the basket at her feet, a weaving project from the beginning of the winter they’re going through.
Two steps forward and she watches Shikamaru’s back tense up, then relax, all in rhythm with the slide of his knife through the onion he’s chopping. She lays a kiss on his nape like a prayer, her soft breath making the baby hair dance. With a smooth gesture, the basket is put next to his cutting board, filled to the brim with the vegetables she just picked up from their garden.
Without looking up from his work, he nudges her slightly with his hip. Grinning like a fool, she leans back against the counter, one leg bent at the knee, her arms crossed with a cockiness only barely faked. She tilts her head backward, looking at the ceiling and feeling the ache in the corners of her mouth, her smile stretching, stretching.
May the gods help her, but she's happy.
There's a shuffle behind her, the noise of textures meeting that aren't used to it. Nails against a turnip? Skin brushing on a sweet potato?
The rhythmic noise starts again as Shikamaru tackles the fresh winter vegetables. Sakura looses herself in the repetition, eyes half-closed where they're staring at the emptiness between the air and the ceiling beam. Minutes tick by, and she remains there, unaware of the time passing by because this moment is a forever she wants to live in.
The clacking noise of the lid sliding in place is what brings her back from her little corner of eternity. Her head slowly tilts back down, just slow enough that Shikamaru is already facing her when she settles.
He's looking at her with eyes as vast as the eternity she just lost herself in and just like that, she knows that he was sharing her corner of forever, one carrot at a time.
He leans forward, wrapping his arms around her narrow hips and strong shoulders. She stays still, letting him come at his pace. With a deep breath in, Sakura closes her eyes. The peace is immaculate. A soft gasp against her skin for only warning, there are suddenly lips against the thinness of her throat.
She shivers, panting a little from the sheer, overwhelming love of it all. Tremors course through her back, where his hands are drawing small circles against her skin. Lips trail down her throat, stop in the heart of her collarbone for a second before going back up the other side. They stop under her jaw and just stay there, soft and plump and everything and too much.
Shikamaru is still, his barely parted lips on her pulse, breathing through his mouth. How can she not shake, wrapped in his arms, under his lips?
And so she shakes.
She shakes and he holds her tight, tighter, and she holds him in turn, all her focus on containing a strength that would break him in half, when he
when he
His teeth sink lightly into her skin, a nip just hard enough that it shoots a lighting bolt through her.
She keens.
At the exact same moment, the steam lets out a high-pitched whistling noise, blending in perfectly with Sakura's breathless voice.
They freeze.
Shikamaru slowly detaches himself from her throat. She watches him, wide-eyed, her mouth half-opened.
He stands before her, his hands still loosely laid on her hips.
The steam keeps on whistling.
There's barely a hitch in their breathing, a tiny shake of their shoulders, before they start howling.
The laughter cuts them in half, having to hold each other just to keep standing.
And they laugh, and laugh, and their soup keeps on cooking as it whistles its song of life.
May the gods bless them, because they're just so happy.