(Wo)man of my life!

Welcome to the last part of (wo)man of my life! I’d like to thank all my reviewers, from FFnet and AFFnet! You guys rock! Special thanks to Meli-chan and Archaic Rose who bumped into my other stories to leave reviews like ‘Great story… btw don’t forget to update (wo)man of my life!’ That made me laughs! ^_^ \ruffles their hair/ . Well, there it is girls, and I’m sorry for the delay, but Inner Obstacle was the priority!


Thank you to eternity-chan, who beta’ed from under her mountain of college homework!

CCE: no problem, darling. Anything to get away from homework...

Note: The last scene was actually the first that popped in my mind, and triggered the whole fic. (so yeah, this story kind of write itself backward)… but I love describing Gaara through Naruto’s eyes… so cheesy!

Note 2: I’m being a super naughty girl and I don’t have the double beta stamp of approval on this. Because a) Poor Pamymousse is so much buried in her homework I can’t even hear her distant sobbing, b) It’s starting to be too much of a while since my last update. So, I’m posting tonight. Tell me if there’s remaining mistakes!


(Wo)man of my life!

Chapter 4


“My very, undoubtedly, one hundred percent certified male cross dresser boss.”


Naruto’s blue eyes went wide, and Sasuke’s smile broadened in equal proportions. He waited for the inevitable screech of “WHAAAAT???” and jaw-slacked expression of disbelief –the one he received when he told the dobe he was gay. What came instead was…


“Tell me you’re joking.”


Sasuke looked up, startled. Naruto’s voice was vibrant and slightly rough, like it always was when the idiot was really serious. Sasuke felt the smile slip off his lips, uneasiness growing as the blond leaned forward, his eyes devoid of anything saved for the fixed intensity he was now bestowing on Sasuke.


And suddenly, the Uchiha heir really wished to be, indeed, joking. Because the amusing outcome he had first envisioned, which involved Naruto growing embarrassed and yelling and flailing his arms right and left to cover it, just like he did when Sai teased him about penis sizes and the like, was starting to look very unlikely.


But no matter what he wished, there was only one answer available. He fidgeted a bit with his napkin, no longer comfortable watching his friend’s face.


“Erm… no, I’m not. Sabakuno Gaara –that’s his name- is our designer here, for Sabaku.” He raised his eyes in time to see the intense glint die in Naruto’s eyes, leaving them blank and empty, and he plunged in, now a bit upset and angry at the blonde for being so damn *oblivious*.


“Shit, dobe, the guy’s famous, nearly as much for the clothes he wears than the ones he creates. Before him, Sabaku was just an aging brand specialized in travel accessories! Now it’s like…the top of the trend! You can’t tell me you’ve never heard of him!”


He pivoted on his chair and rummaged through a stack of glossy papers piled on a nearby shelf, until he found the one he was looking for. It was a fashion magazine, not quite the Bible and the One whose commandments every fashion industries followed with something akin to religious fervour, but quite close. He flipped over the pages until he found the one he was looking for: an article about the Sabaku Corps stylist.


Sasuke vividly remembered that piece of writing because he had been the one dealing directly with the journalist. Translation: he had been the one to serve as a bridge (and a shield, though the whiny woman in charge of the paper had been oblivious of that) between Gaara and her. He had to ask her to send the questions, then fax them back once Gaara was done answering them –and after Temari made some necessary editing.


Those were the oldest Sabakuno’s orders: never let Gaara alone with a member of the press. Not only does her little brother have the social attitude of a boar with rabies, he also has the communication skills of an autistic oyster.


That was not always the case; of course, when the ‘Bible’ had expressed the desire to have an interview and a shooting with the young but rising stylist, Gaara had complied. Or rather, Temari had. She and Kankuro had dragged a very tamed –or, as most Sabaku Corp. employers thought, very high- and thoroughly coached Gaara into the expensive suite rented especially for the occasion, for a twenty minute interview followed by a shooting done by none other than Bettina Rheims.


The results had been a quadruple page interview filled with typical bland journalistic questions and equally uninteresting answers, though the shots made up for that. The central one showed Gaara lounging in an armchair in the suite, looking straight at the photograph with a smile –hence the ‘OMG he was HIGH theory’-. The blue tones of the suite, coupled with the stylist’s own grey and white dress, had given to the picture an overall metallic quality that only served to highlight Gaara’s flaming red hair and bold red tattoo.


It had been a real good photo, whereas the one illustrating the article he had shoved at Naruto had much less artistic purpose: the magazine had to resort to a picture taken on a public exhibition, since the picky designer refused to have his face captured in privacy if it was not done by an -at least- internationally renowned photograph. In that one, Gaara was not smiling –as usual- and slightly scowling at whoever had taken the photo –as us… ah, no, if it was ‘slightly’ then it was definitely not usual-, his brother Kankuro next to him with an arm around his shoulders.


Gaara had been wearing woman clothes: high boots in brown leather and a light green dress short enough for every interested onlooker –Sasuke included- to wish for an impudent wind to blow the hem a bit higher. However the text captioned under the picture (“Infamous cross dresser stylist Sabakuno Gaara during Celine’s fashion show”) left no doubts as for the sexual gender of the red head.


Sasuke watched anxiously as Naruto peered at the article. He saw his friend’s face briefly set in harsh lines, and then he finally closed his eyes and resolutely pushed the paper away.


He stayed still for a moment, a moment during which Sasuke had plenty of time to fret inwardly; last time he had seen Naruto with such a vacant expression had been at Jiraya’s funeral, and didn’t have a fond memory of the months that had followed for the dobe. He knew he was a less than stellar friend sometimes (he had himself brought on a couple of occasions a similar expression on the blonde’s face), but he still was good enough to see when Naruto was truly upset –as it was the case, right now- and to care.


He gathered his courage and leaned toward the young man. “Naruto…”


The blonde made a jerky kind of motion at his friend’s voice, and immediately rose from his chair, one hand scratching the back of his head and a big smile plastered on his face.


“Well, that was quite the mistake, huh?” he blabbered on, not waiting for an answer. “Sorry I bothered you…I’ll let myself out.”


Yes, in his own twisted, egoistical way, Sasuke was a good friend, or at least, the kind that could see the difference between Naruto’s normal, cheery grin, the one infectious enough to send tendrils of warm caress the Uchiha’s icy soul, and that pale copy of it, all teeth and no mirth.


He rose from his chair as well. “Listen, dobe…”


But Naruto was already at the door, and didn’t stop to listen. The metallic shutters made a clanking sound against the glass, and his tall silhouette was not visible anymore.


Yet Sasuke kept staring at his office’s entry a long time after his friend had departed.


He finally gathered the remains of his lunch and chunked it angrily into his bin, appetite lost.


Stupid dobe.


OOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOO


‘Stupid, stupid, stupid…’


That was what Naruto’s mind kept telling him, a never-ending scream of self-loathing and scorn rising from the very dark bottom of his soul, the one which never lost an occasion to whisper things like ‘worthless’, ‘unloved’, ‘laughable’ and poison his psyche, trying to make his blood boil and drag him down, down to where they ceased to be words and became truths.


Naruto took a huge mental breath and tried- a reflex honed in now- to will away that self-destructing path of thoughts, because self-pity achieves nothing and it was SO not like him. Still it was a wasted effort: it was still too soon to quiet the maelstrom of emotions swirling in him.


It had been a good ten minutes since Sasuke had basically confirmed that he had been an idiotic fool as always and yet his stupid, stupid, stupid heart still refused to believe it.


It hadn’t believed Sasuke when he had first said that the woman of his life was actually a man, and his heart had wrenched apart when it understood that the bastard was not playing one of his lunar-eclipse-rare unfunny jokes, and *still* it had roared in jealousy when he had seen, on the photo, some ugly moron wrapping a familiar arm around what it considered to be *his*.


Stupid, stupid, stupid heart.


He made his way to the elevators, entering the first one that opened and heading straight for a corner, not even caring to push the button for ground level. He slumped against the wall of the cabin and closed his eyes. The workers around him kept glancing at him, probably watching his general rumpled state and the huge bruise on his forehead with suspicion, but he didn’t even feel, least of all notice, the stares. His mind was entirely focused on tumbling down a darkening trail of thoughts.


How could he have been so wrong? It had not been a mere physical attraction…when she, no he, had looked at him that night, he had felt something within him, some recognition, some pull…something he had never quite felt before, even when he had been at the top of his infatuation for Sakura.


Had that, too, been a sham, just like the disguise of a woman Sasuke’s boss felt compelled to don? Had it been just the effect of the alcohol he had consumed in too large quantities? Was it some side-effect of his lonely heart realizing that he had spend nearly a decade running after the wrong woman, or maybe a consequence of loosing his last blood relative not too long ago, that made him chase desperately after some love?


His thoughts, and lingering inward cries of self-doubts, were drowned away by a fresh wave of sorrow as the truth of Sasuke’s word sank in his stupid heart which had finally stopped its denial. He had been wrong, then. The person he had seen had not been the woman of his life. He had been chasing after an illusion, someone who did not even exist.


He opened his eyes, trying to dispel the image of a face he had thought as the prettiest he had laid his eyes on and a gaze he would have happily been lost in. His unseeing look suddenly caught on the dusty pot plants and depressingly bland furniture usually associated with business building entrances: he was back on ground level. He squeezed his way out of the elevator, his slumped figure still imposing enough to make a short work of the crowd of people returning from lunch break.


He edged toward the double doors, still deep in thoughts, which was probably why he didn’t see the person barreling toward him until the last second. He only had time to get the feeling that someone was too busy juggling with a cell phone, a handbag, a jacket and the heavy glass door to watch were they were going, before his hands moved on their own accord to rest on soft bare shoulders, stopping their owner before he knocked them both over.


At this, the person finally deigned looking up at him, and all of a sudden Naruto felt light-headed.


It was Her!


Up this close, her eyes were not ice blue, as he had thought. A smattering of luminous emerald flecks peppered the pale cerulean iris, giving them a brilliant aquamarine tone that was only emphasized by the dark circles drawn around her eyes.


Up this close, he could see how perfect that smooth pale skin was, unmarred save for that stylish tattoo, which along with the blood red hair, only served to bring out its creamy undertone. Naruto’s right hand, which had flown up to stop the imposing door before it slammed in their faces, was itching to go back to the warm and silky shoulder while the left one was *fighting* not to roam and explore a bit more.


Up this close… up this close…


Up this close, he could make out all the little tell-tale signs, the ones that he hadn’t seen before, the ones that were difficult to pull apart but together pointed out that *she* was a *he*.


The familiar grief abruptly swarming him was even worse the second time around, because there, for a moment, he had truly forgotten all about it, all about his broken heart, and had been swept away by…by this person.


He wrenched his gaze away, and locked it on the floor. Gripping the door, he released his hold on the shoulder and stepped away from h…him.


“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes still averted, not wanting to see what the pale green orbs reflected now.


But the person –‘Sabakuno Gaara’, his mind whispered- did not move.


Naruto’s stare was trained on the dark, elegant, *male* shoes of the designer while silence and time stretched grotesquely around him, weighing him down and suffocating him until he was ready to…


“I see.”


Naruto felt his whole body flinch at the dismissing scorn in that voice, the condemnation behind it, falling, precise and cutting, in two mere words.


Before he had time to react, the designer had moved forward again toward the inside of the building, and, not bothering to go around the blonde, merely knocked him aside. The movement was slight because Naruto had earlier mostly stepped out of the way, but it nevertheless nearly send him tumbling on the floor, so strong was the blast of contempt the redhead sent his way.


This was too much. He raised his head, a plea on his lips – irrationally, he didn’t want Sasuke’s boss, no, Gaara, to think ill of him- when his eyes were caught by a patch of white.


There, amidst the crowd, was…was… the same vision that, last night, had shot straight past his brain to lodge deeply into his heart, and started nesting from there.


His eyes tried to follow the graceful line of his spine up to his long neck. His mouth went dry, because the poised movements of the redhead were causing all sort of interesting effects on his back: a tightening of slim muscles here, the bump of a vertebrae there, and overall, that smooth skin, shining the muted light of satin and catching his breath away.


But Naruto’s mind wasn’t only focused on the sight of the redhead’s skin. He also noticed how the shoulders and upper back moved, shifting from contracted to relaxed, and how the spine slowly straightened, and the chin raised; with some deep-level intuition, his mind realized what the designer was –mentally- doing.


He was shaking him off. Yes, Naruto had probably humiliated him and maybe even hurt him a bit, but he was damn if he was going to let some idiot ruin his day. He had seen worse from life and cretins like him were barely worth the two seconds it took to put them down.


Or so his posture said.


Naruto watched the proud stance of the designer as he walked away from him, and how the crowd –consciously or not- seemed to part before him, just like at the party, where the men he was talking to had all been keeping a respectful distance from him.


Oh yes, he, Naruto, had been a fool. An idiot, a cretin who really deserved to be scorned, because he had missed some serious evidence, that this short encounter had driven right back home.


It was still Her.


Just, he was a He.


And to think, he had nearly denied his attraction, denied his love and fuck, nearly denied *Gaara*’s existence because of that stupid detail? …just a stupid, irrelevant point now that he was confronted with the reality that was Gaara. It was just the same gracious figure and beautiful features he remembered, and the same fascinating personality he could feel beneath it all. But, most importantly, it was the same pull, the same link, that he felt drawing him toward the redhead, tugging more and more as the distance between them grew further and further.


Naruto’s whole bearing started to change, as his thoughts progressed through that path. His body, previously slumped and the very image of indifference toward the world, began to straighten, and his shoulders began to broaden while his vice-grip hold on the door loosened as he turned to better follow the designer with his eyes.


Eyes that beforehand had been just like polished and lifeless sapphires, whose depths were animated only by a swirling cloud of painful confusion, were now shining like lanterns, alight with an internal fire awakened from ashes that had never had time to grow cold.


And, probably in response to that intense, burning cerulean blue gaze, the purposeful strides that the stylist was taking away from Naruto progressively began to falter. He took one or two more hesitant steps then stopped, probably peeved by the look that was drilling a hole in his back.


With the hesitant air of someone who thought he had heard his name called from afar, Sabakuno Gaara turned his head toward Naruto.


The blond met his eyes dead-on, and answered the slightly uncertain and angry glare with a heated look of his own. The designer immediately whipped his face away from him and resumed walking, but not before Naruto had time to witness two red roses suddenly blooming across pale cheeks…and wasn’t he going a lot faster than before?


A big, happy –and slightly predatory- smile stretched Naruto’s lips, making his eyes crinkle into those typical foxy slits. He finally let go of the door, turning his whole attention, his whole being, toward Gaara as he set to pursue the flustered redhead.


Time to conquer the man of his life!

-The End-


Yes, the end. There’s no ‘Naruto courting Gaara’ because that was not what this story was about. ^^

Maybe there will be a ‘Naruto courting Gaara’ phase latter on, but we’ll see. I’d like to write about the stuck elevator scene, the –traumatic- crash-course in gay sex given to Naruto by Sasuke and Sai bit, and the ‘freak Kankuro’ part amongst others, but for now I’ll just bask into the happiness that is a ‘completed’ fic.


Anyway, let me know what you think and don’t forget to REVIEW!


And who I am kidding? Naruto is not cheesy. I am. And everyone who know why I mentioned Bettina Rheims will earn a golden star.