Hmmm," she's humming.
The little vixen is humming like he hadn't just taken her virginity (again?). Fuck if he knows, time travel is confusing enough as it is, and more so after what just happened.
What the fuck just happened?
She hums again, snapping his attention back to her. Sasuke holds in a scoff as she gives him this coquettish look and draws her lower lip between her teeth, holding it hostage.
Her arms move up and reach her hair; it's damp and starting to stick to the perspiration on her skin. She intertwines her fingers between pink strands and brushes them slowly.
Even after everything, Sasuke can feel her clenching, gripping his half hard length inside her. He hisses through his teeth, then arches a cocky eyebrow in question.
Sakura ignores him, hiding her green eyes from view as they flutter closed. His future wife throws her head back in a too tantalizing way, arms tilting higher as she continues her grooming.
It seems she was born to tease, he confirms, eyes following her attentively.
Her breasts are thrusted forward, nipples stiff, back arching, and her core slightly grinding against his base. This woman has no idea how powerful she is – in all possible senses that is.
She's breathtakingly beautiful.
A natural temptress that can look innocent and be daring at the same time.
The deliberately slow actions create an erotic scene that he'll never be able to forget, Sharingan or not. Her inner muscles clutch his erection, ripple around him, making him so hard for this woman – his wife.
His jaw tightens as she continues to flutter around him, an aftershock wave extracts an angry, "Hhn!" from him.
Sasuke notices how she freezes for a second, the sound making her stop almost completely. He follows her gaze down her torso, then his, where he's mostly covered in bandages. Immediately, he understands her stilling.
There's blood in the linen that covers his wounds.
Their earlier, uh, activities are probably responsible for the mess. The core workout he just went through must have undone some of her work, opening a wound.
She's frowning; eyes fixated on the crimson splotch, pink eyebrows creased with worry.
"'Mm fine," he says before she has the chance to ask. He distracts her by tracing a soothing path up her leg, lazily drawing the kanji for the word 'mine' on her thigh.
But she's concerned and stubborn and doesn't notice it. She also won't let him suffer on her watch, he knows that all too well; it has never happened before.
He rests his palm on the smooth, milky skin and watches her. Sasuke can see the wheels turning in his wife's head and has barely enough time to get ready for what's to come.
She's still playing with her pretty pink hair, tossing some locks over her shoulder and rolling her neck when he sees it: the lavender flick of her powerful seal.
It glints to life, glowing the same color of his Susanoo and his Rinnegan, all powerful and impossibly beautiful.
The Strength of a Hundred Seal blinks purple one last time, solidifying its color, before the show begins: the elegant black lines of her Byakugou trace her body, her skin, drawing swirls and sharp lining like her body is a canvas.
The lines snake down, covering past her shoulders, collarbone, and arms. They criss cross around her full breasts, and then one more time under her delicate navel.
