Two Shorts- GaaSaku
Posted: Wed Jun 15, 2005 8:22 pm
AN:I picked up GaaraxSakura as my pairing of choice for a livejournal challenge community- www.livejournal.com/~30_kisses. The focus of the community is to come up with a fanfic or fanart involving a kiss for thirty posted themes. These are two of the drabbles I managed to write for it ^_^ They cover Theme 1- Look Over Here and Theme 6- The Space Between Dream and Reality.
Eh, it's not SasuSaku, but hopefully you guys will enjoy the shorts! XD Thanks for reading!
~*~
During the days, Sakura and Gaara played the roles of ambassador and Kazekage well. Sharp intelligent words and the firm stance of her frail - by his standards ? form earned Gaara?s grudging respect and assured that she, at least, had garnered his notice. She?d need to be able to do that much if she was going to be able to work with him and his staff towards more sturdy relations between the two hidden villages
In broad daylight Sakura relentlessly pursued him, harping on this or that, while Gaara pretended not to notice her badgering. Occasionally he showed her a small taste of what it meant to annoy such a powerful ninja. He wondered why he bothered with the latter - it never stopped her for long, anyway. A few hours, maybe a day, and she was back on his trail, grumbling her complaints to his tense back.
Time passed.
He found that, sometimes, when they had an appointment, she?d put her hand on his while she was leaning over to explain a new policy or document. She never noticed it, absorbed in the task, her fingers clenching in her excitement occasionally. Gaara was always keenly aware of that simple touch - it was the closest anyone had ever come to holding his hand.
During the day, Sakura made sure she chased him hard, lest he try to overlook her.
Once the sun fell beneath the sand, it was he who came to her.
He would never understand how she could work so hard that she?d end up falling asleep on her desk on a regular basis, or why he would stand there and watch her. Maybe it had been the time she had noticed his staring and blushed, or perhaps it was the way she didn?t jerk away when he had once placed a careful palm on the small of her back? There was something about how she pushed so hard towards her goals that three times out of five she was out cold before she reached her chambers, face pressed against the tabletop.
Her determination made her intense. Attractive.
He justified his fascination with a new reason every night; he wanted to clarify a few details from earlier and found her that way, he was bored, her office smelled nice, she was a heavy sleeper and there had been ninjas who protested her presence, she had seemed distressed earlier.
Gaara never noticed his rationalizations getting more and more personal.
He was sure it violated a million different rules and unspoken agreements of etiquette, but in the end he felt pulled to her as if she were a magnet.
While she dreamed of all she made, and all she would make, Gaara would search her slack face. He would linger on her gaudy hair, her battle-roughened hands, the width of her forehead. Imperfections were noted and categorized as she slept.
She drooled.
She talked in her sleep.
Her breasts were too small.
Her hips were too wide.
She had worry lines between her brows.
But there was folly in that line of observation, because all too soon it would reverse direction unconsciously.
Her lips really were full, pouty, tempting when they parted to show an edge of teeth.
Her complexion was slightly red with the kiss of sunshine, but creamy, a warm peach color.
Her legs were long and toned.
She was beautiful when she was angry.
Though Gaara never slept, this train of thought would cause him to squeeze his eyes shut and lean his head against the sandstone wall, letting images that could not be dreams yet were not truly reality play across his mind. He would relive the brief moments they touched, expand on them, learning the brush of her hair and the texture of her skin only in his mind.
In his not-dreams, she would taste and feel like water. Clean, sweet, vital.
During the night, hidden by dark and clouded with desire, Gaara felt concealed enough to stop pretending. In the shadows of the corner he watched her from, he admitted he understood enough of love to know it began with obsession. He also knew loneliness didn?t quite describe the ache in his chest when she smiled at him.
Actuality would always trip him up, reminding him that even if she could overlook his horrific past, the demon he hosted, or his own unstable nature, he was still Kazekage. Soon enough her year-long diplomatic mission would end, and then she?d be replaced by another.
And then it was time to open his eyes, and leave, closing the door on all those forbidden taboos lurking in his deserted heart. The distance between him and her would once again be enforced, his footsteps carrying him out of the room. He?d always look back at least once.
?Sasuke.?
It made him sick the way she said that name, as if someone were still around to answer to it. But tonight it made him stop at the door, grit his teeth, and furiously pivot on his heel. He wanted to be rough and uncaring when he gathered her into his arms, but she had been so surprisingly little that instead he clasped her to him like a doll and cursed.
?Mmm?? He felt her eyelashes flutter against his neck and had to resist the urge to look down. He had never seen her wake up before.
?If you?re going to sleep, at least have the dignity to drag yourself to a bed first. It?s disgusting when you drool all over your desk.? He never felt so exposed, having her watch him as he carried her.
?Sorry.? She mumbled, dropping her forehead to his collarbone again. ?Thanks for looking out for me, Gaara.?
He froze in his tracks, but she was asleep once more, waiting for a dead man to love her.
If there was a space between Sakura?s dreams and Gaara?s reality, it would be honesty.
Gaara wasn?t a liar, but neither was he a saint, so when the sun rose once more, and Sakura was barging up to him, he would turn his back to her.
Still, if all his days promised were lies, and all his nights yielded were fantasies, Gaara decided he would take that in-between place that lay amid her dreams and his reality, a twilight where she twined her arms around his neck when he grudgingly carried her to bed and he didn?t care if she felt his heart pound.
It would have to be enough.
~*~
He was twelve, and she was twelve, and that?s where their similarities ended.
He only came up to her brow line, and Sakura hated short men as much as Gaara hated tall women. Never mind that he would grow to be lanky and strong and they both knew it.
She was silly and sentimental, and smiled when all he could do was sneer and cut people with his words. He might hate her for that. She might hate him for that, too.
And his eyes were scary, and hers were dreamy, and in the end she loved Sasuke really, and he loved nothing at all, so basically, they would?ve pissed each other off.
Even so, Gaara had never seen the shade of pink her hair was, and her lips were sugar-shiny glossed the same color, and it was so fucking cutesy perfect he could?ve kissed that mouth and made it bleed.
And as for her, she was guilty of a gaze that lingered on his iris, a more vibrant shade than hers, and she wished she could own that intensity, make it part of her. She was thinking even though those eyes were scary, she wouldn?t mind seeing them closer and closer still, rich bottle green before her eyelashes swooped down.
When he antagonized Sasuke she bristled and he noticed, glaring full force at her trite display of protection and loyalty.
They would?ve pissed each other off, definitely.
But still, they couldn?t help looking.
Eh, it's not SasuSaku, but hopefully you guys will enjoy the shorts! XD Thanks for reading!
~*~
During the days, Sakura and Gaara played the roles of ambassador and Kazekage well. Sharp intelligent words and the firm stance of her frail - by his standards ? form earned Gaara?s grudging respect and assured that she, at least, had garnered his notice. She?d need to be able to do that much if she was going to be able to work with him and his staff towards more sturdy relations between the two hidden villages
In broad daylight Sakura relentlessly pursued him, harping on this or that, while Gaara pretended not to notice her badgering. Occasionally he showed her a small taste of what it meant to annoy such a powerful ninja. He wondered why he bothered with the latter - it never stopped her for long, anyway. A few hours, maybe a day, and she was back on his trail, grumbling her complaints to his tense back.
Time passed.
He found that, sometimes, when they had an appointment, she?d put her hand on his while she was leaning over to explain a new policy or document. She never noticed it, absorbed in the task, her fingers clenching in her excitement occasionally. Gaara was always keenly aware of that simple touch - it was the closest anyone had ever come to holding his hand.
During the day, Sakura made sure she chased him hard, lest he try to overlook her.
Once the sun fell beneath the sand, it was he who came to her.
He would never understand how she could work so hard that she?d end up falling asleep on her desk on a regular basis, or why he would stand there and watch her. Maybe it had been the time she had noticed his staring and blushed, or perhaps it was the way she didn?t jerk away when he had once placed a careful palm on the small of her back? There was something about how she pushed so hard towards her goals that three times out of five she was out cold before she reached her chambers, face pressed against the tabletop.
Her determination made her intense. Attractive.
He justified his fascination with a new reason every night; he wanted to clarify a few details from earlier and found her that way, he was bored, her office smelled nice, she was a heavy sleeper and there had been ninjas who protested her presence, she had seemed distressed earlier.
Gaara never noticed his rationalizations getting more and more personal.
He was sure it violated a million different rules and unspoken agreements of etiquette, but in the end he felt pulled to her as if she were a magnet.
While she dreamed of all she made, and all she would make, Gaara would search her slack face. He would linger on her gaudy hair, her battle-roughened hands, the width of her forehead. Imperfections were noted and categorized as she slept.
She drooled.
She talked in her sleep.
Her breasts were too small.
Her hips were too wide.
She had worry lines between her brows.
But there was folly in that line of observation, because all too soon it would reverse direction unconsciously.
Her lips really were full, pouty, tempting when they parted to show an edge of teeth.
Her complexion was slightly red with the kiss of sunshine, but creamy, a warm peach color.
Her legs were long and toned.
She was beautiful when she was angry.
Though Gaara never slept, this train of thought would cause him to squeeze his eyes shut and lean his head against the sandstone wall, letting images that could not be dreams yet were not truly reality play across his mind. He would relive the brief moments they touched, expand on them, learning the brush of her hair and the texture of her skin only in his mind.
In his not-dreams, she would taste and feel like water. Clean, sweet, vital.
During the night, hidden by dark and clouded with desire, Gaara felt concealed enough to stop pretending. In the shadows of the corner he watched her from, he admitted he understood enough of love to know it began with obsession. He also knew loneliness didn?t quite describe the ache in his chest when she smiled at him.
Actuality would always trip him up, reminding him that even if she could overlook his horrific past, the demon he hosted, or his own unstable nature, he was still Kazekage. Soon enough her year-long diplomatic mission would end, and then she?d be replaced by another.
And then it was time to open his eyes, and leave, closing the door on all those forbidden taboos lurking in his deserted heart. The distance between him and her would once again be enforced, his footsteps carrying him out of the room. He?d always look back at least once.
?Sasuke.?
It made him sick the way she said that name, as if someone were still around to answer to it. But tonight it made him stop at the door, grit his teeth, and furiously pivot on his heel. He wanted to be rough and uncaring when he gathered her into his arms, but she had been so surprisingly little that instead he clasped her to him like a doll and cursed.
?Mmm?? He felt her eyelashes flutter against his neck and had to resist the urge to look down. He had never seen her wake up before.
?If you?re going to sleep, at least have the dignity to drag yourself to a bed first. It?s disgusting when you drool all over your desk.? He never felt so exposed, having her watch him as he carried her.
?Sorry.? She mumbled, dropping her forehead to his collarbone again. ?Thanks for looking out for me, Gaara.?
He froze in his tracks, but she was asleep once more, waiting for a dead man to love her.
If there was a space between Sakura?s dreams and Gaara?s reality, it would be honesty.
Gaara wasn?t a liar, but neither was he a saint, so when the sun rose once more, and Sakura was barging up to him, he would turn his back to her.
Still, if all his days promised were lies, and all his nights yielded were fantasies, Gaara decided he would take that in-between place that lay amid her dreams and his reality, a twilight where she twined her arms around his neck when he grudgingly carried her to bed and he didn?t care if she felt his heart pound.
It would have to be enough.
~*~
He was twelve, and she was twelve, and that?s where their similarities ended.
He only came up to her brow line, and Sakura hated short men as much as Gaara hated tall women. Never mind that he would grow to be lanky and strong and they both knew it.
She was silly and sentimental, and smiled when all he could do was sneer and cut people with his words. He might hate her for that. She might hate him for that, too.
And his eyes were scary, and hers were dreamy, and in the end she loved Sasuke really, and he loved nothing at all, so basically, they would?ve pissed each other off.
Even so, Gaara had never seen the shade of pink her hair was, and her lips were sugar-shiny glossed the same color, and it was so fucking cutesy perfect he could?ve kissed that mouth and made it bleed.
And as for her, she was guilty of a gaze that lingered on his iris, a more vibrant shade than hers, and she wished she could own that intensity, make it part of her. She was thinking even though those eyes were scary, she wouldn?t mind seeing them closer and closer still, rich bottle green before her eyelashes swooped down.
When he antagonized Sasuke she bristled and he noticed, glaring full force at her trite display of protection and loyalty.
They would?ve pissed each other off, definitely.
But still, they couldn?t help looking.
But I understand how that goes. Believe me I do.
But I don't think you love me as much as I love you sobad!!! XDDD