Clean Through

(I'll add in the italic tags later.)

When she spots him in the crowded hallway as she hurries from one room to the other, maroon scrubs stained in dark patches with blood and thicker things, Naruto is suddenly glad that he forced himself to come. He watches her tear up as she hesitates, torn momentarily between her duty and her desire and then she runs to him, dropping the metal clipboard as she impacts with his chest. He can barely hear the clatter of the clipboard hitting the floor over the chaos in the corridor—yelling and hurried footsteps, rickety wheels on linoleum and swishing doors. Sakura buries her face against the front of him and fists his jacket with both hands.

Naruto swallows thickly, stiff against her embrace. If the atmosphere wasn't indication enough, he is certain now: things have to be bad for Sakura to lose her composure like this. “Sakura-chan. . .”

But in the end, he's too afraid to ask. All of them understand that earning the right to wear Konoha's insignia, choosing that way of life comes with it's share of risk and loss, but he's not ready to give up the few important people he's managed to collect over the years.

“I thought,” she says, and her words are muffled against his chest, “You were going to avoid me again.”

He pulls back enough to slip the bundle of daisies from between them, letting his hand drop to his side. He doesn't have to look to know they've been crushed in the collision from her body. He failed to protect them in his moment of shock—in that instant she ran to him and he saw the unguarded sorrow in her face. She doesn't seem to notice, simply melding against him once more as he strokes her hair with his free hand.

“I wasn't—I came to pick you up.”

He can feel the slight tremor to her body where she presses against him, so he moves one arm across her shoulders but she uses that moment to pull back, swiping at her eyes with the palm of one hand. When she looks up to him and tries to force a smile; he knows she must have lost several patients already that night. He's just hoping selfishly, for both their sake's, that none of them were their friends.

What happened? Who did this to us? The panic has just begun to set in his eyes, widening them even as the words catch in the back of his throat. He scowls quickly, chasing the emotion away for one he's more comfortable with: anger. Already he's thinking of the pay back.

“Sakura!” Tsunade bursts through the OR's double doors at the end of the hallway, searching for her apprentice and she looks older suddenly, face tight and lined with stress as she frowns. The air around her is smoldering, her anger tangible and hot enough to singe.

“I'm coming!” Sakura chokes, already turning away and she yells it again, louder: “I'm coming!” while her face hardens into a professional, disconnected mask. It's an expression he knows well, but he doesn't like it. She hesitates, scoops the clipboard from the floor and offers a quiet, “I'm sorry, Naruto,” before she takes off, running down the hall.

Tsunade watches the exchange, frown visibly deepening as Sakura approaches. When Sakura is before her, she snatches the clipboard from her hands and snaps, “Go home.”

“Wh—?” Sakura stiffens in shock, her green eyes wide and watery and tinged with red. “But, Tsunade-shishou, I—”

“That's an order. You're no use to me now.”

It sounds cruel but somehow Naruto understands it's the old woman's form of compassion. The hokage disappears back through the double doors as quickly as she came, leaving her apprentice behind in stunned silence. Naruto glances down briefly and sighs as he looks back up, wondering just what he should do to make things better before shuffling forward to close the distance between him and his teammate. He slips his arm around Sakura's slender shoulders once more and she bristles, turning those shimmering eyes on him.

When had Naruto learned to move so fast? It's the first indication she's gotten to the extent of the shock on her system. Rather, when had she lost track of time. She nods dumbly and allows Naruto to lead her away. As he cradles her into his side, she says, “Lee-san.”

He hitches in his steps, nearly sprawling them both forward and tightens his grip on her shoulder, but he doesn't stop. “What about Bushy-brows?” he asks without looking at her, voice thick.

Suddenly, she regrets saying it. She doesn't want to burden him with the knowledge, but it's already too late for that.

“Sakura-chan?”

He is looking at her now, and again she realizes that she must have lost track of time. They cross through a set of doors into the hospital's main lobby, and she answers, “He's in critical condition. They said it looks like he'll pull through. She wouldn't let me work on him.”

Naruto relaxes into her—nothing noticeable, just a slight sagging to his shoulders, a firmer press of him against her side; she hadn't even realized he was tense. Not for the first time she wonders at his ability to hide his unhappiness. But it's a fleeting thought, quickly lost in the tumult of her emotions. “Why'd I become a medic,” she continues, “If not to help those I love?”

If anything, she hates feeling useless. Hot tears well up at the thought. All this time, working so hard—was she able to change herself at all?

“Tsunade-baa-chan was just trying to protect you,” Naruto sighs. Sakura doesn't answer so he doesn't push the subject; he's just relieved that they haven't both lost a friend. He vows silently to visit Rock Lee later and find out what happened (or pester the truth from the medical Hokage) and glances down to the bundle of daises in his hand.

He should have known better—in Konoha beautiful things get bloodied a lot. The flowers are crumpled and ruined so he tosses them in the trash on their way out.

The walk home is mostly silent. He feels guilty for enjoying it even a little but it's not often that Sakura allows herself to rely on him, and when they near her house he begins to feel that it's the time to disentangle (after all, he doesn't want to make her parents dislike him even more), but she stops walking and when he pauses, wraps both of her arms around him, hugging herself against the length of him.

He feels himself hesitate before hugging her back, forceful and tight like he'll crush her with his own selfish need.

“Thank you, Naruto,” she breathes against the base of his neck. “You're such a good friend.”

He nods even though she can't see it because he's not sure he trusts himself to speak. His hold on her loosens, wilts at that last word, and he's thinking about telling Ino to visit her because she's probably better at this—comfort—than him (she'd at least know what to say) when Sakura rises up on her tip toes and kisses the edge of his jawline where it just reaches his ear. There's a moment where it seems that time has stopped just for him and he exhales almost as if in regret before he turns into her lips.

Afterwards, he's reluctant to pull back. He can feel the tremor of her fingers where they grip his jacket, and she says, “I'm not ready to go home yet.”

“Sure, Sakura-chan.” He slips a hand into hers and let's her lead the way.


Sakura closes her eyes and tips her head back, savoring the sensation of the night breeze as it ruffles through her hair. She grips the lengths of chain supporting her on either side and kicks out gently with her legs, feels the muscles tighten in her thighs even as Naruto propels her from behind. She rides the swing with a purpose—unable to truly relax—like if she wishes hard enough she'll actually get somewhere. Was there ever a night she wanted more to be able to fly?

“I'm sorry,” she says when Naruto's palms touch the back of her hips briefly.

He pushes her lightly, effortlessly. She surges forward, rising higher with each shove until the thick metal poles vibrate and clank under her momentum. Sometimes she forgets how much strength is hidden away behind his tan skin and lean muscles.

“For what, Sakura-chan?”

“I should have played with you as a kid.”

For a moment he doesn't answer, just continues shoving her through the air, and she wonders if she's spoken it too softly. But then he laughs, “Don't worry about it. You had cooties back then.”

“Naruto!” She's sailing through the air, having launched herself from the swing, but by the time she hits the ground and rolls, he's already off in a sprint across the playground. “I'll give you a cootie shot!” she huffs as she gives chase, trying not to laugh.

He lets her catch him because he wants her to and because he's half afraid she'll destroy the school playground otherwise. He might joke about it to others, but Sakura can be intimidating at the best of times. He “umph”-s as he falls, impacting hard with the ground. Normally, he'd be more graceful (or at least agile) but she'd aimed her tackle for his legs, taking him down in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

“Okay, okay,” he pants, “But only because you're a registered medic.”

It's funny how he has the stamina to run miles before exhaustion sets in and yet this simple horseplay has made him breathless with joy. He tries to look sullen as he rolls over and lets her crawl on top of him, but he can't keep the grin from his face when she fixes her heated gaze on him—one that says she could swallow him whole and come back for more. For a moment neither speak.

He reaches a hand up to brush fingertips across her cheek and finally says it. “How many dead?”

“When I got sent away? Eight. Now?” She shrugs and looks away but he can hear the tremor in her voice when she says, “Most of them were genin.”

He gets flashes of memories from their mission to Water Country and how they narrowly missed being slaughtered by an S-class criminal, the Demon of the Mist. They were young and naïve then with their whole lives ahead of them—unsuspecting. Naruto's learned the hard way that the concept their whole lives doesn't really mean much when you're a ninja. “What happened?”

Sakura rocks back on his hips, staring up at the purple-black sky. He wants to say something to draw her back to him, but he can't think of anything other than how pale her skin looked in the moonlight their first time.

“It was a routine training exercise near the border. Near Grass Country. I don't know what happened yet, just that Team Eight has been sent to retrieve the. . . others.” She can't say it: the bodies. Because that would mean to give up all hope.

He doesn't ask how many teams are still missing because it doesn't matter. Any Leaf is one too many. “We'll make them pay for what they've done. Believe me.”

She does look at him then, startled by his outburst, and her eyes look haunted in the darkness. “Let's go home, Naruto.”

She's not asking him to take her home to her parents. He knows this because she says home like she says ours. Sometimes she says Sasuke like this too.

He swallows against the dry patch in the back of his throat, and even though he nods his acceptance she explains, “I don't want to sleep by myself tonight,” because she wants him to understand the full implication of her desire.

It puts him in a tough position because on one hand he wants nothing more than to give her what she's asking but on the other he doesn't want her parents to have a reason to dislike him even more. “But your dad—”

“It doesn't matter. My parents don't question me about my work because they know I'm not allowed to discuss it.”

“But this isn't—”

She smiles wide and genuine for the first time that night. “It's team bonding.”


Really, he couldn't have argued with that. Though in his opinion it's more like team healing, because he understands that's what Sakura really needs right now. He would too if he had to deal with the shock and stress she does on a daily basis all in the name of “saving” lives. (He thinks it's more like sewing them back together, forcing tissue and bone to mend, ordering bodies to keep on working even when they've been exhausted or shattered, beaten and poisoned.) She might not aspire to be Hokage but it's her own way of protecting the village—blood and gore, loss and all. And in the midst of all that, he wants her to know he's there to be her refuge.

Even if it's in the only way he knows how.

It doesn't take much coercing to strip her of the bloody scrubs before he's lowering her to the bed, carefully, cradling her body against him with one arm across her back. She clings to him as he does so, arms snaking across his bare back instinctively, crushing her breasts against the front of him, hugging tighter and tighter, and for a moment he's afraid she'll cry (or maybe squeeze him to death). But with a little effort he's able to draw back enough to kiss her once, softly on the mouth. She relaxes, sighs beneath him. He lingers against her skin, reluctant to pull away before he presses his lips to her forehead and over each closed eyelid. All the while he rubs his thumb feather-light across her chin, cupping her jaw and wishing she could understand how he just knows she's meant to be his.

He continues, peppering light kisses down her neck and chest. She lifts one hand to run her fingers through his hair and grips a fistful, tugging once involuntarily when his hot tongue dips along the crevice between her breasts.

Beg for me. He wants to say it, but he doesn't; he'll entice it out of her another way. His comfort giving has taken on a selfish edge, but he can't help it. He wants to make her body tremble with pleasure. He'll prove to her that he's the best when it comes to loving her.

He grips one breast and pushes it around with his hand, squeezing and kneading more roughly while his mouth finds a nipple to suckle on her other. His lips encircle the pink nub and he laps at it with his tongue, sucking and grinding it lightly between his teeth until she squirms beneath him. He takes the breast with his free hand, running his fingers over the tight, wet skin before slipping his hand down the soft line of her stomach and between her legs, brushing her with his thumb before he moves to spread her thighs. She arches her back as he rests her calves on his shoulders and reaches down to tease his fingers across her opening. He clamps one hand over her right knee and then pushes two fingers in, twisting and squirming them as he pulls out slowly. After a few minutes, her legs are starting to tremble so he positions his tip against her opening. He wets it between her lips before easing in.

Her breathing hitches as he pushes his way in an inch at a time, and he reaches down to rub her clit for distraction.

“This is real. We're real,” he gasps. “Alive.”

She nods, eyes closed and face scrunched from the building orgasm. She fists the sheets as he increases his pace, thrusting in and out of her until he's nearly shaking from need. Screaming, she peaks violently and without warning. She reaches for him, and he grabs her hand, pressing it into the mattress as her legs drop around him and he slows, pressing tighter against her until she wraps her legs around him and traps him in place. After a few minutes, his pumping speeds and she grinds her pelvis against him with a swivel of her hips, bucking and whining when he attempts to steady her in place with his hands.

“Not yet, Sakura-chan.”

She doesn't know if he's referring to her climax or his but it doesn't matter because she's close enough that his whimpering of her name sends her over the white-hot edge. It breaks him and he spasms inside her, spilling all of himself despite his hard-fought control. It steals his breath and momentum and makes his chest ache.

“Guh.” It's not the most attractive response he could have offered to one of the best orgasms of his life thus far, but as he buries his face in her neck and melts against her side, he doesn't care. He feels perfectly fluid as if all the muscles in his body have disconnected—like he'd trickle off the bed if she didn't have her arms wrapped around him. But she does and she's solid and she's his. Should be his. “Why don't you be with me? Forever.”

It slips out before he can bite his tongue and he expects her to pull away, the moment ruined by his idiotic pressuring, but she doesn't. Her breathing is heavy and rhythmic. Her eyes are closed. And as she falls asleep, she sighs, “Okay.”


The pounding at the front door is heavy and insistent but he knows it isn't the only person in Konoha worth getting out of bed before noon for because she's currently sleeping, spooned against the front of him. So he's all for ignoring it and hoping they'll kindly go away go away go AWAY until Sakura elbows him in the ribs and grumbles a half-coherent version of “get the door, dumbass.” Regrettably, he rolls out of bed and stumbles into a pair of boxers before padding down the hallway to whine at whoever's outside. It better be the bastard Sasuke come to beg his way back into their lives on hands and knees because, short of that, there's nothing worth being separated from naked, dammit, naked cuddling with Sakura.

Naruto jerks open the door and frowning, blinks into the wash of early morning light. Of course, it's Sai. Who else would seek to ruin his otherwise perfect moment of existence? “What? What do you want?” he huffs and leans tiredly against the door frame.

The dark-haired ninja meets Naruto's sleep befuddled gaze with an impassive one. “Long night? You look. . . tired.”

His expression gives nothing away, but Naruto can tell he's toying with him. “Hmph. Like I'd tell you.”

He starts to shut the door with enough force to prove his point, but Sai cuts in, “Hokage-sama has summoned our team to her office, immediately,” which gives him pause.

“So you came to get me.” Great, just great. Of all the times to get a call for duty. . . So much for next-morning sex. Or getting Sakura to cook for him again.

“I checked at Sakura's parents' house first,” Sai explains. “They said she hadn't come home last night so I told them I'd look for her at your place. I told them I'm sure I'd find her here, though I didn't know what she'd want with a tiny dick like yours. Is she here?”

“You bastard.” Naruto groans and runs a hand through his tousled hair. Forget the insult to his manhood—he'd be lucky if he even had one after this. “You'd risk her anger just to make things difficult for me? Unbelievable.”

Sai smiles, that creepy half-quirk of the lips that Naruto is beginning to discover is his genuine indication of happiness—or in this case amusement—as he stares over his shoulder into the living room.

“Whose anger?” Sakura's voice floats in, soft and curious from behind them.

“Ahaha, Sakura-chan, you're up!” Naruto turns to address her with wide eyes and an equally wide fake-grin, but still bodily blocks Sai from entering through the doorway. Is it too late to still hope for the 'go away go away go AWAY'? “Tsunade-baa-chan wants to see us,” he says, hoping to distract her from the question. If he's lucky she'll assume he's implying it's the older woman's anger without him having to openly lie.

He doesn't need anything that could possibly complicate the relationship right now.