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It was warm with a gentle breeze.
At the moment, with his eyes shut and an arm thrown over his face, Hoshigaki Kisame, feared S-Rank ninja and Monster of the Hidden Mist, really didn’t give two shits who came upon him laid out upon the bank.
Strategically, the position was bad.
He was out in the open, in clear view of the thinning tree line, but with the rush of the river, a pleasant filter to his world just along the edge of his hearing, the ninja didn't really give a shit. He let himself relax for the first time in weeks.It was just the beginning of summer, and so, the warmth hadn’t transformed into something blistering, something that would make his skin dry out and his need to stay by rivers more obvious.
Huffing quietly, Kisame let himself adjust his position, and with a deft movement, his free hand unclipped the clasps on his simple black coat. The sun took to the bared skin like fire to wood, and it warmed his cool skin quickly. Breathing in the smell of water and grass, of flowers and sunlight, he could honestly say that his day was perfect.
A cool, wet hand, fresh from a dip in the river, startled him, and he grunted when he felt a set of legs fold on either side of his hips. A pert backside settled upon his hips, and he tried to ignore the way the wet shorts soaked through his pants.
“You know, getting me soaked isn’t going to do much, Kounoichi.” He grumbled, and the laugh, sweet and amused, answered him. “Well, we wouldn’t want you getting all dried out now, would we? Might just curl up like a squid and shrivel up.”
Her voice wasn’t anything special. Not really. It wasn’t musical nor was it wasn’t grating; it just seemed to fit just between the line of plain and alluring. Simple, but pleasant the way it settled against his ears. Then again, the humor behind her words, the way she spoke them, especially as she drew hands down his chest, from shoulders to navel, had something inside of him curling up in a good way.
“I’m a shark, bitch.” He growled at her, baring sharp teeth. “Not a damn squid. Get it right.”
Her laugh was bright as it spilled out, unaffected by his harsh words, and she leaned forward, draping herself across his front, breasts pressed down against planes of hard muscle. His free hand came up without a thought to set along the curve of her waist. He felt muscle there, lean and strong, and his fingers drifted to trail along her spine, featherlight and careful.
“Oh yes, excuse me, wouldn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities, now would we?”
“Fuck no, we wouldn’t, I’m a delicate flower..”
Kisame finally moved the arm draped over his face, just enough to incline his head down, to look upon a head of soft pink hair, and grinned. Said pink hair was damp, hanging to frame her face in a way that would have been seductive if not for the way she childishly stuck her tongue out at him. He snorted, his fingers twitching against her spine, and he relished the feeling of her trim body pressed against his, moving at his fingers, skin warming skin.
For a brief moment, they said nothing as he looked her over, staring at her, taking in her features, and she returned the look with the same amount of quiet supervision.
Somewhere, in the back of his head, something whispered at him, a voice born ages ago of bad memories, of not looking too long at the mirror, and of people who bared teeth too dull to best his own. It whispered insecurities and spread foul-mouthed lies, spouting things he didn't like to hear. Brushing it aside with the same thought one brushes away a familiar habit, he huffed quietly, and ignored the small feeling, ignored its vitriolic stream.
She didn’t get twitchy with his silences any more, which he greatly approved. Sometimes, there was no need for words; just a moment of silence where the world around them could expand to let in everything. And then, there were silences where the world drew itself in onto them both, and they were the only ones that were important.
Kisame liked those silences best, he supposed.
He took her by surprise when he suddenly shifted, and with a growl, flipped her over, switching their positions, and her back, clad in only breast bindings, connected with the grass. He corralled her in with his arms and his legs, curling his massive height over her, and catching those lips with ease. The squeak she had let out morphed into another bright laugh, but was silenced.
The sound she made when they connected could only be described as an appreciative sigh, and she brought her arms up and around his chest, and let them run along his broad back. Her fingers were gentle, ghosting touches of desire that weren’t fully formed or a passion that just needed the right kindling; like a patch of embers that needed a knowing hand and the right fuel to get it going again.
He growled against her mouth again, against the tongue that invaded his mouth with an ease and knowledge that spoke of well known paths and worn in care, and she returned the sound with a pleased hum. His hand ran down one shoulder, reddened skin from the sun, and he felt more then heard the delighted moan she released when his fingers caught and curled with hers.
The sound of birds, and the sound of the running water, was the only background noise to their actions, to their affections, and when they finally parted, Kisame pulled back to look her over, and damn her, felt breathless at the sight.
With her shock of pink hair, flared out around her head like a crown, she peered up at him, eyes the colour of leaves, of the grass framing her, - of life itself, - and he just couldn’t breath. Her lips were bruised a becoming shade of red, and the lightest flush upon her cheeks was stroked by the long lines of her eyelashes as she blinked. A drooping flower by her head seemed to move in the gentle breeze, like it was tempted to kiss her forehead, and she laughed when it, finally, bobbed low enough to trail its petals along her face.
In a moment of blinding clarity, he realized that it didn’t matter anymore.
It didn’t matter that she was going to complain how tangled her hair had gotten from rolling in the grass, it didn’t matter when he would complain of his soaked through pants, and it certainly didn’t matter when she would have to go down to the river again to wash off their sweat when they were done.
It didn’t matter that people stared, it didn’t matter what people thought of him, and it didn’t matter what people thought of her.
Her eyes were a vibrant shade of green that made the world around her pale in his eyes and he dipped his head back down to kiss her again, to taste her lips, and he felt her arms tighten around his back.
Kisame never told Sakura he loved her, but, as he kissed her, he was certain she could feel the way he poured his affection for her into her lips, the way his obsession glided across her skin, and the way his adoration felt as he pressed her close against him. His fingers cradled her cheek, his other hand cupped her waist, and he breathed easy against her smiling, loving mouth.
It was warm that day, with a gentle breeze.