Ride

"Nurse Haruno!"

Sakura turned, one arm already in her jacket and the other trying to work its way in. "Doctor Winstone," she replied coolly as the older man huffed over to her. He crossed the foyer and circled half around her, planting himself between her and the exit. The sensors on the automatic doors picked up his presence and they slid open behind him, letting the frigid wind blow in. He seemed oblivious to the chill, but, she remembered, he'd never been the sharpest tool in the shed.

A tool, definitely, just not a sharp one.

Now that he'd cornered her he appeared to have nothing to say. "I, uh...the patient in room 8B, did you check the sutures before finishing your shift?"

That was it? He'd flagged her down to ask about sutures? She refrained from rolling her eyes and slid her arm fully into her jacket sleeve. "Yes, sir, I did. I'm almost positive that I marked that on the patient notes, but if I didn't, my mistake. I'm sorry to have concerned you." It was, of course, complete bullshit. She had marked it on the sheet, and Winstone was just clutching at an excuse to talk to her again.

It was entirely possible that he was a smart guy underneath the bluster and stupidity. Unfortunately, she just didn't want to find out. He was an ass and liked to make suggestive and often lewd comments about the female doctors and nurses. Despite the director of the hospital being a fearsome and capable woman, the medical profession was still essentially a male-dominated arena. Scum like Winstone used numbers to their advantage.

"Oh." His high-pitched voice seemed to falter a bit and he looked unsure how to continue from there. "I see."

She buttoned up the jacket and gave him a tight smile. "Was there anything else, Doctor? I'm actually meeting a friend, so..." The sentence hung between them in the frosty air but again he failed to pick up on the none-too-subtle hint.

"Er, the x-ray on Mrs Iwano -"

"Sakura!"

Ino's voice rang through the foyer like the peal of a welcome bell, and Sakura had never been so happy to see her friend. "Oh, how unfortunate," she said crisply, giving Winstone another tight smile. "It looks like my friend is here. If you have any questions about any of my patients, I'm certain Stephen can help you. His shift started twenty-five minutes ago, when mine finished." She allowed a beat of pointed silence before spinning on her heel. "No doubt I'll see you tomorrow, Doctor." She didn't bother waiting for a response before grabbing Ino's arm and dragging her out of the hospital and away from the nasty little men it held within.

----

"You're scary, you know that?" Ino gave her a measured look over the top of her danish and then bit into it, closing her eyes at the taste. "Mmm. Apricot."

Sakura stirred her coffee and added a sugar. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Bull. You and your ice princess act. It's scary and intimidating -"

"That's the point, idiot."

"- and it's almost like you're channeling him."

She dropped her spoon and it hit the mug, splashing both of them with scalding coffee. Ino squealed and jumped up, nearly dislodging her plate, but Sakura remained seated, barely registering the slight burn.

Was it true? Had she been so hurt and affected by his actions, she was turning into him?

Ino made a disgusted noise and stalked over to the bar, returning a moment later with a handful of serviettes. "Here," she said, thrusting some at her. "Wipe it off before it stains."

Sakura blinked and took them, rubbing the rough paper across her arms. There was a damp patch on her thigh but her skirt was made from dark fabric and she could ignore it for the time being. Ino was a tad obsessive when it came to image, but after years of being covered in blood and other - much worse - fluids at work, Sakura just couldn't bring herself to care any more.

She threw the bunched up napkins on the table and pushed her coffee away. "I'm not."

Ino was in the throes of danish appreciation again. "Not what?"

"Turning into him."

"Bull! Ever since then, you've been dark and moody and you hardly ever smile. Sound familiar?"

She scowled. "I told you, I don't like it when you speak so badly of him."

Ino snorted. "Sakura, he was a dick. A cock. A total bastard who treated you like shit and expected total obedience from you. We've been through this hundreds of times and you even admitted all these things yourself."

"Under duress." She'd been very drunk but had a few hazy memories of copious body shots and a teary confession. She hated tequila. It loosened tongues, among other things.

"Whatever." Ino waved her hand and bits of pastry flew off and scattered the table. "You realise that alcohol only releases your inhibitions. It's obviously something you feel, deep down inside, but you've become too uptight to admit to even your best friend."

She didn't really have anything to say to that. Some nights she let the hard persona fade and cried herself to sleep, thinking of the time and love she'd invested in him, only to have it cruelly thrust back in her face.

"You're stifling me." His face was cold and his eyes were emotionless, as usual. "Our goals have changed. We're moving in different directions, Sakura, and I can't fulfill my purpose with you dragging me down."

"There's nothing to admit," she replied, fiddling with a sugar packet. "We became different people and reached a mutual decision to go our separate ways."

Ino's look was almost pitying. "I'm not going to harp on this because you've become delusional, but I am going to do what every best friend does to their best friend after a harsh breakup."

Despite herself, Sakura was intrigued. "Which is?"

"Recommend you get laid."

She rolled her eyes and threw the sugar packet across the table. "You are an idiot."

"Hey!" Ino fielded the sachet and dropped it onto the bench beside her, so Sakura wouldn't be tempted to throw it again. "No, I'm being serious. He's got that stupid emotional hold over you because he was your first and only. You need to go out and experiment, try new things."

"Are you telling me to become a lesbian?"

"If that's what it takes." Ino's face took on a serious tilt and Sakura was surprised to see that her friend meant it. "I don't care what you need to do to get this out of your system, but it's been over a year. He's not coming back. Even if he did, you can't take him back. He's scarred you, Sakura. He's damaged you. But it's not beyond repair and all you need is the right man - or woman, whatever floats your boat now - to help you out of this funk."

Sakura swallowed. It was nice that Ino was so concerned, but there was nothing to be this worried about. So she'd been hurt. So she'd started hating all men. Why not? They were all bastards. He couldn't help that he was a man and was therefore a bastard by default. If she got into another relationship, the same thing would happen. She wasn't scared, she was just...careful. That's right. She didn't want to give away her heart again because it had been trampled on once.

She was a nurse. Most things healed, but some things just took time.

"Sure," she said, attempting a light tone. "Just pick a guy and set me up. A guy," she repeated meaningfully, in case Ino decided she wanted a challenge. It was easier to just go along with her friend's ideas because she had a short attention span and lost interest very easily. To refuse her was to induce her stubborn nature, and really...it was better off left alone.

Ino grinned. "Way ahead of you, sister. I've already picked the guy."

She rolled her eyes again. "Of course you have. I should have known it was all a trap. Who have you got picked out for me?"

Ino leaned over the bench and lowered her voice to a stage whisper, which was, Sakura thought, probably the quietest she'd ever be able to go. "Him." She pointed over to the bar.

Sakura followed the line of Ino's fingertip and glanced over at the bar. The coffee shop was small and not many people were around this late on a Thursday evening, so there were only two men sitting at the bar, nursing their drinks. One had to be pushing eighty, judging by his wrinkled face and liver-spotted arms, curled around his Guinness, and the other she couldn't really see very well. His face was thrown in shadow, but, looking at his grayish hair, he couldn't be much younger. "Ha ha," she said, turning back around to Ino. "Old guys, huh? I'm no prize but surely I can do better than a geriatric. Unless your "trying new things" involves testing out Viagra."

Ino leaned back and tut-tutted. "Dearie, you left your glasses back at work, didn't you? I'm not talking about Gramps over there," she pointed at Liver Spots, "but the Distinguished Older Gentleman to your left. Go and get some napkins or something. You'll see what I mean." She sighed happily. "I noticed him when I went to clean us up and believe me, he seems anything but geriatric." She winked as her bag beeped. "Hang on."

Sakura watched her rummage in the satchel for her phone and tried to remember the last time someone who wasn't Ino had rung or messaged her. I wonder if mum counts...

"Ah!" Ino's face flushed. "I, er...I'm required at home. It seems there's something nice waiting for me."

"Nice, huh?" Sakura couldn't help but smirk. "That boy of yours putting his big brain to use, for once."

"He uses it where it counts," Ino replied airily, still blushing slightly. She snapped her phone shut and threw it back in the bag, before getting to her feet and giving Sakura a serious look. "I wasn't joking. I know you have that belief about love and sex and how they go hand in hand, but sometimes you just need release and the purely physical can give that to you. Moving on can be very liberating, Sakura. I just...want you to be happy." She gave a little smile and put some notes on the table. "I'll see you next week, okay?"

"Okay." Sakura watched her wrestle the door open and slip out into the night, a short burst of frosty wind blowing in and skimming along the bar, ruffling the silver hair of the man on the end. She eyed him thoughtfully. Stupid Ino, putting ideas into my head. Her friend was wrong. There was no need for anything physical, release or otherwise. Sex with a stranger wasn't going to fix up a year of unhappiness, a year of feeling worthless. He'd made her feel inadequate and hooking up with some random wouldn't help things at all.

But maybe a drink would.

She picked up the money Ino had left and stood up, moving across to the bar and sitting down one stool away from the non-grandpa man. She rested her elbows on the counter and tried to look at him out of the corner of her eye but Ino had been right, and she had left her glasses back at the hospital. She didn't need them for most things, but in dim lighting like this it was hard to make out details. His face was still in shadow but this close she could see a line of muscle on his forearm and lean strength to his shoulders. Maybe he wasn't so old, after all.

The waitress came to take her order and Sakura hesitated. She hadn't had anything alcoholic in a very long time, so she was out of the practice of ordering. Vodka? No, that made her emotional. Whiskey? Hmmm. Would she want it with a mixer? Maybe a bourbon. That'd put the fire back into her belly. "Bourbon," she told the girl, uncaring of the brand. "Just with ice." Or on the rocks, whatever the cool kids called it. It came down to bourbon and ice, whatever the phrasing.

"Not 'on the rocks'?" It was the man beside her, the not-ancient one, and his voice was low and full of something that sent a shiver down her spine. She'd always been weak against voices, susceptible to velvet-toned boys and men and the things they could do with their mouths. He'd had a beautiful voice also, but he'd never given her a flutter in just one sentence.

Or maybe she was imagining things. She was projecting her wants onto this stranger just because Ino had picked him out of a crowd and said she should sleep with him.

"Does it matter?" she found herself asking, a trifle snappishly. "It's bourbon and ice regardless."

Shit! Well, luckily she hadn't been trying to impress him. Any slim chance of physical release with this guy was gone. The waitress returned with her drink and she took a sip from it, wincing at the harsh liquid as it slid a rough path down her throat. It really had been a long time since she'd had a drink.

The man's shoulder's shook and she glanced over at him, surprised beyond belief to find he was laughing. "What's the matter?" she asked, wondering if Ino had selected a crazy man. She wouldn't put it past the girl.

The man stopped shaking and he turned to her with a smile. "Nothing," he replied, giving her a quick grin. "Just that I've always thought the same thing."

Sakura stared. He wasn't old at all. Older than her, definitely, but not by much. And Ino...Ino was a genius. Not only was his voice thrilling - and she could admit now that it definitely was - but his face was more than just pleasing and stopped only a little shy of beautiful. There was nothing spectacular about it but everything just seemed to fit, a strong chin leading up to a firm mouth, which was under an aquiline nose, which supported two dark eyes. If she'd been any way artistically inclined, she'd want to draw it, or paint it, or do something to it because it was just that sort of face, interesting and right. The only thing that could have been out of place was a thin scar that traced over his left eye...and yet even it seemed to belong.

She realised she was staring and looked away. "Knife?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

His smile faded. "Switchblade," he responded, turning back to the bar. "Good spotting."

"I'm a nurse. The entry and path of the marking correlates with a bladed weapon."

He nodded. "I see."

They sipped their drinks in silence for a while. Sakura wondered what she should be doing or saying. She had no idea but it was definitely not what she was doing now.

"Come here often?" she offered weakly

He turned to her and blinked. "Not really."

"Oh." She racked her brain for something else to say, something that didn't make her sound like an idiot. "Um, watching the game this weekend?"

His gaze didn't falter. "Of what?"

She sighed. "I have no idea. I'm trying to make conversation."

"It's that important to you?" He seemed amused.

She scowled. "No. Don't worry about it." She dropped down from the stool and pushed it back, suddenly ready to leave. Her foot slipped on the tiles and she fell forward, her arm caught in her handbag, tipping towards the floor. Ow, she thought in advance, waiting for the hard ground to come up and meet her. Instead she felt soft fabric and tight muscles, and opening eyes she didn't even know she'd closed, she looked up into the face of the stranger. Something flashed in his eyes before he narrowed them, setting her right and stepping back.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, when it appeared he wasn't going to say anything.

He nodded curtly before bending over and she realised her bag had completed her abortive trip for her and its contents were now spread in a fan around her stool. She crouched also and starting stuffing things back into it. House keys, wallet, tampons, muesli bar...she grabbed them as quickly as she could and straightened, angry and embarrassed for having come across as such an idiot in front of someone she didn't even know. She spun on her heel and turned to leave but his hand came out, hard and warm on her arm.

"Sakura."

She shivered at her name on his lips and glanced over her shoulder. When had she told him her name? He held up her hospital ID card with her name and unflattering picture on it. "You forgot this."

She snatched it from his hand and shoved it into the bag too. "Thanks," she muttered ungratefully, suddenly wanting to be as far from the bar as possible. She stomped over to the door and tugged it open, stumbling out onto the slippery stoop before stepping down into the street. She looked both ways before starting to cross the road, and only just heard the door open and close again behind her.

"Did you want a lift somewhere?"

He'd barely raised his voice but she could feel it, even halfway across the street. It touched her skin and lips and belly and she shivered again, not from the cold. "No, thank you," she said, without turning around.

He might have shrugged. "Okay. Doesn't hurt to offer."

She nodded and kept going. She reached the opposite curb and turned, looking over her shoulder, unable to help herself for some reason. He was gone.

Oh well. She shrugged and ignored the pang that came from nowhere. He was just a handsome man in a random coffee shop. No great loss.

The thrum of a motorcycle engine came from behind her and with a great growling purr, he drove right past her and off down the street, the flare of his taillight bright in the night.

----

Sakura reached behind her and undid the top knot of her mask, leaving the bottom one intact for the time being. The square of fabric dropped down onto her chest and she leaned over the basin, trying to regulate her breath.

The operation had been a success but she was completely exhausted. Four hours they'd been in the operating theatre, four hours of tensed alertness, hushed communications and an anticipation edged in fear. Every surgery paced the line between life and death, and this one had been no exception.

Doctor Winstone had headed the procedure, and although she was reluctant to praise him even in her thoughts, she had to admit his handle of the operation had been excellent. When he donned his mask and scrubs it was like he became a different man, professional and efficient, compassionate and intense. What a shame he oozed back into Mr Hyde when the "operation in progress" light went off.

She rolled her neck and reached up again, removing the mask fully this time. She tossed it into the bin beside her and untied her scrub jacket, slipping it from her shoulders and folding it half-heartedly, before dropping it down the laundry chute. Her t-shirt beneath it was stuck fast to her skin and she pulled the damp material away from her body, making a face.

Definitely time for a shower.

She kept the pants on and moved through the supply room, taking the first left and ducking down the fire stairs. Most of the staff were familiar with these shortcuts and it would be faster than having to go out and catch the elevator. It was only two flights to the locker room, anyway.

She reached her locker and withdrew a change of clothes, slinging a towel over her shoulders before moving to the shower bank and slipping into a cubicle, locking it behind her. It was an unconscious action, but something she'd always done. She'd lived briefly with Ino before the other girl had gotten engaged and her friend had been quite happy to roam the house naked, surprised at Sakura's reluctance to do so also. Ino had never understood that it was partly a confidence issue, and Sakura had never chosen to explain fully, since her friend would just blame it on him, anyway.

She took off the rest of her clothes and stepped under the water. Maybe Ino would be right, should she say such a thing. They'd been dating since they were fifteen. She'd invested nearly ten years into that relationship only to have her love and dedication thrown back into her face.

I will not dwell, she chanted in her head. She was still working towards that moving-on thing, and while it had come quite yet, she was getting there, slowly but surely. She'd even had a few interesting dreams lately...

Picking up the soap, she tried to ignore the hot flush that spread quickly across her body. The last one had been quite explicit, and hadn't included her usual co-star in such endeavours. Black hair had been replaced by silver - because it was more silver than gray, looking back - and a different set of dark eyes had stared intently into her own, a thin knife scar bisecting the left.

She shook her head and lathered angrily at her arm. She really was desperate, dreaming about some random guy she'd spoken to once and would most likely never see again. But then, it was just a dream. She wasn't quite a sicko yet. And dreams were only subconscious reflections of something, she recalled from a first year psych subject. It was just a manifestation of her appreciation of the mystery man's good looks.

She nodded curtly and washed the rest of her body, refusing to let her thoughts or hands linger anywhere they shouldn't.

----

She dressed quickly and towel-dried her hair before gathering her things and catching the lift downstairs. She had a half-finished library book at home and some leftover stirfry, and there was a repeat of that old detective show scheduled for later on in the night.

Her evening was made!

She allowed herself a bitter smile at the boring person she'd become. Or maybe she'd always been like this, and that was why he'd left. Regardless, the truth of the matter was that she'd become a cynical old spinster and all that she needed now was a battalion of cats and a crossword book. She could just go home and slip into some house slippers and sit herself on the rocking chair, picking up her knitting and...

It was a scary image.

She put it from her mind. In fact, she needed to put a lot of things from her mind. Like that mystery man. Initially she'd wondered if she'd meet him again, but work soon took over her time and such thoughts became few and far between. The onset of winter, or so it always seemed, brought with it a wave of stupidity and proved the lie to that old adage about fools escaping colds. Cool weather drove people to fireplaces and electric heaters, but they forgot to keep fluid levels up and neglected to dress warmly before venturing outside, so the hospital had more than its share of pneumonia and flu victims.

And as long as there were humans, there would be human error, so the usual trickle of vehicle accidents made their way through the doors as well.

Sakura liked people; she genuinely did. And she liked helping them, which is why she'd pursued a medical career in the first place. It was nice to feel needed, to make a change in someone's life. It was even better being instrumental in saving a life that would otherwise be lost. But because she liked people, she was the first to admit that some of them just didn't appreciate what they had, and lived too fast, too stupid or far too ignorant for her tastes.

"Nurse Haruno!"

Although, she thought tiredly, ignorance wasn't something only the patients had in abundance.

"Doctor Winstone," she replied politely, turning on her heel and giving the other man a tight smile. She'd finished her shift for goodness sake, what could he possibly want now? A foot soak was in order, and just thinking about that detective show had roused her interest somewhat. And maybe a long bath; she'd just had a shower but a soak was more about relaxing than cleaning up. A few drops of lavender oil and a warm washcloth on her face...she felt herself salivate and tried to tune back into what Doctor Winstone was saying.

"- my pleasure to drive you home. Or, perhaps, to my place? It's closer and I've wanted us to become better acquainted outside the hospital anyway." He pushed up his glasses and gave her the leering smile that never failed to send a shudder down her spine. Cancel every begrudging thought of praise I've ever had about him.

She waited a moment before realising he'd finished. "Oh! Well, thank you for your considerate offer, Doctor, but I'm more than capable of finding my own way home." To my house. A place you should not know the whereabouts of. She smiled again, frostily this time, and went to move past him to the lobby.

His arm shot out, his soft surgeon's hand gripping her forearm with surprising strength. "I'm certain, Nurse Haruno," he said, his eyes narrowing meaningfully, "that you would find it beneficial to allow me to accompany you out. As I'm sure you know, I'll soon be on the Hospital Board, and I'll be in a position to grant certain...favours to those in my regard. No doubt you'd appreciate a more convenient career path? Fast track to success, if you know what I mean."

Sakura had a fair inkling, and she rather suspected it was a fast track to the good Doctor's pants, but she was too taken aback by his blatant insinuations to even formulate a coherent reply. How dare he! Had this man really taken the Hippocratic oath? There was no honour in propositioning someone with vague promises of a future promotion and the simple truth was that she wasn't interested in any way.

"Doctor Winstone," she said, trying to maintain a thin veneer of courtesy, "kindly remove your hand from my arm."

He didn't seem to hear her; if anything, his grip increased in strength.

"I said," she said again, louder this time, "let go!"

"I think-" he started earnestly, before something came out of somewhere and then he was on the ground, holding his head and fumbling for his glasses, which had fallen off on to the floor.

"Perhaps you shouldn't." Surely the voice came from behind her. It was logical, but hard to tell as she felt it in her stomach first, the low tones making her insides quiver before spreading out across her body in ripples that left goosebumps in their wake. Her skin tightened until her entire body was tingling in response. That voice. "Of course, I only caught the end of it, but it seemed like Nurse Haruno here was telling you ever so politely to fuck off."

She shivered. Somehow, he made even profanity sound good.

In the midst of her in-body experience, Doctor Winstone had managed to secure his glasses and return them to his face, and he blinked up at them from the floor like a blubbery, near-sighted toad. She didn't dare move. She couldn't move. But then the owner of that voice moved past her, the air of his passing causing the hair on her arms to stand on end. He hunkered down next to the doctor, drawing his head close to murmur in the other man's ear. "As it happens, I don't know you from a bar of soap, and I don't really do polite anyway. So I'll give you the gist of what she was saying. Fuck off."

Doctor Winstone's mouth shut with an audible click as the man got to his feet, glancing over his shoulder to shoot her a quick grin. He raised his eyebrows at her in query before setting off down the corridor.

She moved to follow as if caught in a dream, pausing only when she realised the doctor had grabbed the hem of her jeans. "Nurse Haruno," he wheezed, sounding affronted and amazed, "do you know this brute?"

The "brute" paused a few steps away and turned, the amusement leaving his face, but Sakura reached down and snatched the denim from Doctor Winstone's pudgy hands. "Naturally," she replied sweetly, setting off without a backwards glance. "He's my ride." She caught up to then passed her mysterious saviour, and as she rounded the corner she couldn't help the smile that grew and took over her face.

----

He followed her to the liftwell and shared the ride downstairs in silence. They reached the lobby and nodded to the night clerk - who paid her no attention, staring wide-eyed at her silver-haired shadow - before they stepped outside and Sakura rounded on the man, her patience worn thin. "Is it thanks that you're after?" she asked him, honestly confused as to why he hadn't just left. "I appreciate your intervention, but I probably could have handled it on my own."

He said nothing, only looked at her with those dark, dark eyes. Almost black, she thought. I can hardly see where the iris ends and the pupil begins. The silence stretched out between them until she realised she was staring, so she glanced away and fumbled for something less useless to say. "Well?" she demanded, wincing at her harsh tone. "Thank you, for what it's worth." She wished he was the one speaking - his voice was velvet to her frayed hessian cloth.

Still he said nothing, only walking past her to the kerb. She stood where she was, oddly disappointed by his departure. Despite her harridan reply, she really had enjoyed seeing the lecherous doctor hit the ground. She'd have to keep that one in her bank of memories and draw it out whenever she was feeling down. She wondered - briefly - if there'd be repercussions from tonight, and decided immediately that she didn't care. He'd deserved it, after all.

"Here."

Startled, she found something cold and hard being pressed into her hand. She glanced down and discovered she was holding a helmet, a black visored one like motorcyclists used. "What's this?" she asked stupidly, looking up to meet his amused gaze. The scar she'd noticed in the coffee shop caught the slanting streetlight, and cast his face in a strange shadow.

"It's a helmet," he replied carefully.

"Yes, but what for?" She flushed under his regard.

"I thought I was your ride?"

Sakura had a mental picture of Ino languidly sipping her coffee. "You get thrown from the horse, what do you do?" In her head, the girl tossed her hair. "You find a new one."

"Ride?" she choked out, flushing further.

He nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. She looked past him at the sleek black motorbike parked on the other side of the road. The glossy surface caught the play of streetlights and a passing taillight threw it into crimson relief.

She licked her lips. Did she really want to do this? She was out of practice but she was fairly sure he wasn't only offering her transport from here to home. In her head Ino gave her two thumbs up; Sakura dismissed her friend's image and gave the strange man a sidelong look. He'd saved her tonight. And she couldn't deny she'd been thinking about him intermittently since that night. Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe she wanted it to be. His voice alone touched something inside of her her that hadn't been affected since he'd left her, over a year ago.

He was a strange man, but she sensed no threat from him. And while her man-detector might not be totally reliable, she was willing to place some reckless trust in it right now. She pulled the helmet on and snapped the visor down, giving him a curt nod.

At least he hadn't offered her candy.

----

The ride alone had been worth it. He'd hopped on first, swinging a lean leg over the black machine, causing it to dip with his weight. She'd clambered on after him, slipping forward on the seat until she felt moulded to his leather-clad back. He'd reached behind to unclaw her gripping fingers from his shoulders and direct them round his waist., but even that had been a bit of a challenge for her. First she'd held on too high and he'd needed to steer her down. Then she'd gone too low, realising a second after she'd let her hands drop into his lap. She snatched them back immediately and repositioned them in what she hoped was the correct location, but she felt certain he was regretting his chivalrous offer of a lift.

When she finally had her hands in the appropriate place, he turned the key and brought the engine to life, and only then did she remember she'd never told him where she lived.

He drove like she thought he would, hard, fast and smooth. The wind cut through the flimsy fleece of her anorak and the top of her visor was level with his shoulder, so she could see the ends of his unusual hair being whipped about. The engine thrummed between her legs and her chest tingled where it touched his back and nothing had ever felt so good or right in all the years she'd lived. Streets seemed to flash by, corners barely made an impact on their speed and long before she wanted the ride to end it was already over and they were coming to a stop outside a set of apartments that she was fairly sure weren't her own.

He killed the engine and got off, reaching under her arms and helping her step away from the bike. Her legs buckled and he steadied her, keeping her upright while her body adjusted to the absence of speed. Suddenly the helmet was far too constricting and she wrenched it from her head, gasping for air.

"Where are we?" she asked, having a fairly good idea of the answer. If it wasn't her house, it had to be -

"My place." He reached out and plucked the helmet from her unresisting fingers, tucking it under his arm before sketching her a bow. "Shall we?"

It's not too late, a small part of Sakura's mind whispered, trying to convey something she already knew - that this could really be dangerous. You don't even know his name!

A thrill ran through her body and she quashed the thought ruthlessly. She never took risks like this. Suddenly she wanted to.

Because so far...it felt good.

Filled with a brazen confidence she didn't recall ever having before, she dropped into a curtsy, the effect ruined somewhat by her jeans and anorak. "Lead the way," she said.

He turned and she followed him inside.

----

The apartment exceeded her expectations, primarily because she didn't have any. She didn't know enough about the man to determine what his living quarters would look like, and there was so much going through her mind that she honestly didn't care.

The place was neat. That was her first impression. Her own apartment bristled with clutter and the disorganisation of the busy, or absent-minded. She felt that in this flat, everything had its place, from the technical-looking books on the shelf to the small photo frame that seemed to have pride of place on the low coffee table. She moved past the brown couch that seemed vaguely leathery, and leaned over a red-chequered armchair to get a closer look.

The snap was of four people, three men and a woman. Her rescuer was on the left, his hair fully black and no trace of the scar on his younger, handsome face. Another black-haired man and the smiling female made up the rest of the front row, and a slightly older man stood behind them, grinning. They were all dressed in military uniform and the nose of a fighter jet could be seen in the top right corner.

He let her look without saying anything, and after a while she stood up, feeling intrusive. "Your team?" she asked casually, wondering if she'd appeared too interested.

He nodded. "My old squadron." She thought he was finished but then his twisted into a semblance of a grin. "I'm all that's left now."

"I'm sorry," she replied automatically, her nurse's compassion touched.

He shrugged, still smiling. "Me too." He pointed at his head. "Sent me prematurely gray, after all."

Sakura laced her fingers together, uncertain now what to say. "I think it looks very distinguished."

He threw his head back and laughed, startling her. "Distinguished? Doesn't that mean 'old' in polite terms?" His grin was more natural now, teeth flashing in the dimly-lit room.

"No!" she protested. "That wasn't what I meant at all. You -" she stopped. What had she meant to say? "I think you're very handsome," she finished lamely, as his grin deepened into something else.

"Oh, really?"

She shivered. His voice had dropped a bit, the timbre close enough now to a purr. She felt the blood rush to her face again and glanced quickly around the room, avoiding looking everywhere except at the man. He crossed the space between them in slow, langourous strides and then he was beside her and the air seemed to crackle and she swallowed, aware now that she was out of her depth.

"Tell me, Nurse Haruno," he whispered and she couldn't help but shiver at the tone of his voice and its proximity to her ear, "do you go home with every 'handsome' or 'distinguished' man you meet at work?"

She blinked, vaguely identifying this as a slur of some sort. "I-I most certainly do not!" She took a breath, insulted. "I don't know why I accepted your lift this time myself!"

He took a step back, forcing her to meet his eyes. "This time? So you do remember our previous encounter." He sounded satisfied and she couldn't work out why.

"Of course I do. I've thought about you-" she shut up. No need to put her foot in it. Any further, that was.

He smiled again, but this time it was predatory rather than amused. "Good," he said, leaning closer until his brown-black eyes seemed to bore into hers. "That makes everything so much easier."

Then he covered the distance between them and pressed his lips to her own.

It had been a long time for Sakura. A long time since a man had kissed her so passionately, so hungrily. Dreamily she opened her mouth to the insistent pressure of his own and when his tongue swept past her lips she had to wonder if she'd ever been kissed this intensely before. His tongue caressed over hers and she shivered again, wondering at this strange, electric effect he had over her. It was unreal. It was amazing.

It was hot.

His touch had spread a fire of attraction down from her lips through her chest to pool in molten heat at the juncture of her thighs. Butterflies whirled madly in her stomach and she was dimly aware that one of his hands had slipped under her anorak and was resting at the small of her back, while the other one was splayed possessively beneath the covered swell of her breast. At some point she'd closed her eyes but when he broke the kiss she managed to drag her eyelids open. She felt sluggish and slow, drowsy with desire. Her body was one great nerve ending and she was feeling, tingling on every level.

He rested his forehead against hers, his breath hot on her cheek. He was panting slightly and she felt a surge of feminine pride at rendering him so. I did that?

"Is this..." he asked, swallowing and seeming to collect his thoughts, "is this what you want?"

Sakura blinked. Wasn't it obvious? She reached out and pushed the leather jacket from his shoulders, keeping his gaze and ignoring the coat as it fell to the floor. "Yes," she breathed, and it seemed enough for him, because seconds later she was in his arms and he was carrying her across the room and through another door.

It was the bedroom, of course; she expected no less. And he was either a very fast walker (and he hadn't given her that impression, he seemed self-assured rather than impatient) or the bed was very close to the door, because before she knew it she was on her back on the mattress and he was kneeling above her. He hadn't turned the lamp on and the only illumination was a sliver from the lounge room that threw light across the scarred side of his face and cast the rest of him into shadow. She didn't mind the semi-darkness; she welcomed it, in fact. He had always wanted the lights on so he could see what he was doing, but she'd told Ino in a drunken rage once that she rather thought he kept them on so he could see himself. "Not that there was much to see," she'd hiccupped spitefully, regretting it the next day.

But she was a nurse, and she saw men naked more often that she'd like. (Most of them were old and wrinkly, it wasn't a coup by any stretch of the imagination). And she'd loved him, so it had been enough.

Then again, he'd never made her feel like this from a word, a breath, a look.

She reached up while his hands were occupied in keeping his body aloft, and slid her palms along his t-shirt until she reached the hem, which was hanging free of his pants. She slipped underneath the material and stroked up the flat plane of his chest, skimming over his nipples and back to his ribcage, then moving around to the small of his back. He betrayed no reaction to her exploration, just looked at her as she felt her way, and then she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and eased it up over his torso, using both hands to help it over his head. Slipping it down his arms was easy, and she took the opportunity to scratch lightly down his skin, her fingernails trimmed for work reasons but still long enough to leave a trail.

"Oh," she said after a moment, having miscalculated her seduction a bit. Now the shirt was stretched tight over her body, his arms still in the sleeves. He lowered his head until the light didn't touch him, and then lifted his hands up off the bed, taking the cloth from her fingers and tossing it away into darkness, into nothingness, into whatever lay beyond the bed that she couldn't see and didn't care enough to know. And then he was returning the favour, moving his hands up her chest to the zip of her anorak and pulling it down and off.

Underneath she had a singlet and underneath that was a ratty old bra, but of course she hadn't been thinking anyone would see it when she'd dressed that morning. Who would? she thought foggily and then his hands were on her breasts and she couldn't think at all. Well, they weren't on her breasts because there was still the singlet - oh, no, that was gone, but there was still the bra -

She hadn't pegged him as impatient but he was rather quick at removing clothes.

They were equal now, both naked upstairs, and she couldn't see what he was thinking but she could feel his appreciation, in the fingers that squeezed and rubbed her nipples and the sudden pressure against her thigh. She started, because in all the excitement and sensation it was the first moment she had to think about below the waist, but she was hot all over and damp now and it wasn't just sweat, although there was some of that as well.

Her heart sped up as he moved his fingers and dipped his head to her chest. Her skin felt hot but his mouth was hotter and he slowed down for a moment, lazy again, his tongue moving in wide circles that made her nipples tighten and ache. His thumb kept time on her other breast and she gulped in a breath and pushed up from the bed, pushing her hips against his hips and threading her fingers through his hair. She scrabbled her hands across his head, down his neck, to his shoulders, slipped them down his back again and came to a stop at the top of his jeans.

He rose for air and changed sides, moving his mouth to her other breast and this time when his hand matched his tongue's movement it slipped over the wetness he'd left behind. The friction was unbelievable and had her gulping aloud, wriggling under his ministrations, wanting him to stop but wanting it to never end.

And when he did stop she felted cheated and relieved and then he was moving back up to kiss her, lips pressing bruisingly against her own. She relished the force of it, the intensity, and when he broke away to move to her ear she took the chance to catch her breath. It was moving quickly, almost too quickly, and yet they weren't going fast enough.

"How do you want it?" he asked her, his breath skimming over and into her ear. Goosebumps tickled up and down her exposed skin and her chest felt pebbled all over, extra-sensitive and on fire.

How do I want it? she mused, impressed that she was still at least somewhat coherent. She wanted it - she wanted him - any way she could, she'd never thought about the ways of things as she'd never been given the opportunity to before. Once, she would have asked for slow and tender, but she didn't have the patience for that, and she didn't think he did either. Suddenly she knew what she wanted from this man, and it was something only a stranger could give.

"Hard," she told him, barely believing her own daring. She angled her head until her mouth was next to her ear, and then she leaned forward, capturing his earlobe between her teeth. She bit down gently on the soft flesh, then added pressure until she head - felt - his breath catch in his throat. "Hard," she said again, after releasing his ear, licking over the indent her teeth had left. She made her way down his throat, kissing, licking and nipping a path to his collarbone, across his chest and below. She slipped down on the mattress below him and stayed relatively still, but when she reached the waistband of his jeans again he stopped her, one lean, strong arm shooting out to halt her path.

"Not just yet," he warned and that beautiful voice had an edge of something; Sakura indulged herself and thought that it might be strain. She felt half-tempted to try his pants just for another warning, another anything, because the man could recite the multiplication tables and she'd still get weak (and wet) against the sound. She shifted again, and again, the denim of her pants suddenly abrasive against her heated, tender flesh. She moved to unbutton her fly but like the good military man he was (or had been) he was two steps ahead of her and halfway through the task in a flash.

He paused for a moment when her jeans were gone and lay before him in panties and a hotcold sweat, writhing slightly already, though he'd yet to do anything that really should leave her that way. "The light," he murmured and she'd barely noticed it, the sliver passing over his head and falling on the wall. "On or off?"

There was no contest. "Off," she breathed and he moved back slightly, kicking the door shut in one swift sweep. The light disappeared and they were truly in darkness, so she closed her eyes to strengthen her other senses and to appreciate this all the more.

Sound was the first one she noticed, the sound of their breathing and the mattress as it creaked under their weight. He moved back on to the bed and the bed moved with him, accommodating his taller form with a slight noise of complaint. His jeans (still on, she noticed, she'd have to take care of that, and soon) scratched against the comforter and made an abrasive sound as they came in contact with her skin.

Smell was the next one, she could smell their sweat and breath and desire as well. She moved and picked up her own perfume; he leaned in and she caught the scent of aftershave and musk. It was heady and unfamiliar and the smell of her excitement intensified at the thought.

Taste, she could taste him, taste his lips and tongue where they moved against her own. He tasted bitter, intoxicating and forbidden and the realisation made her want to taste him all over, she wanted to know if he tasted like this everywhere. She wanted to lick the salt from his skin, to take him into her mouth so that she could say she'd tasted every inch of him, knew his taste to her bones.

But touch, touch was the strongest sense, the thing that took her over when the light faded and her eyes closed. She could feel the long, hard length of his body, fitting against her own. His lips on her lips, his hands on her breasts, fingers sliding down until they were sliding past her panties and sliding into her core. She was slippery, of course, wet, waiting and ready. She'd been ready for him since that moment in the bar, that millisecond of intimacy that made her think this man had something that called out to her, to the woman inside.

She cried out.

He was masterful. She'd guessed as much. He knew what he was doing, where to touch, where to stroke, where to push in and how far to go (which was absolutely not far enough). His thumb rubbed over her clit and one finger then two moved in and out and she was going and coming and there was pressure, too much pressure and friction and not enough and she was slippery and she was slipping and he moved faster and she came, gasping and shuddering but not quite spent.

"Ah," she managed intelligently, clawing at his back. She was impatient now, she wanted to feel him, (well, she'd already felt him, she was tingling and shaking from feeling him, but she wanted to feel him inside) so she brought her hands to his chest and pushed him to the side. He rolled with her and they swapped positions, so that he was lying on his back and she was kneeling over him.

She felt her way down his chest to his pants and thrilled at how his stomach tensed as she drew closer to her goal. She didn't have time for too much indulgence, she was damn near ready again and she could tell he was close to bursting, but she did let her hand caress over the bulge at the zip of his pants. He jerked a bit at her touch, moving to a half-sit before he stopped, and she reached up and pushed his chest back down to the bed, feeling a devilish smile spread across her face. "Shh," she admonished him gently, like she would to a small child afraid of getting a needle. She had power here and it washed over her, because she'd never had power like this before.

The top button came free and then she worked the zipper down, trying to catch on anything she shouldn't. She moved her hands across his thighs and concluded he had cotton boxers on underneath. Soft, but not silk, which she'd always thought was a bit indulgent anyway. She pulled the jeans down and he kicked them free, and when she moved back up the boxers were halfway off his legs as well.

"Just thought I'd give you a hand," he murmured and she thrilled all over, the low strains of his voice skimming over her nipples and stomach and legs.

"Then I simply must return the favour," she replied quietly, before feeling her way up his legs and taking him into her hands. His length - it was a good word, accurate in this case, quite true, she mused - was hot, hotter than his mouth had been. She closed her palms around his flesh and he bit in a breath, the sound loud in the dark room. He was hard, more than hard enough, ready and willing and damp at the tip. She marvelled at the feel of him and felt his upper body move, a drawer open and close and then he was reaching for her and placing something cool and crinkly in her hand. He didn't say anything but he didn't have to, she was in the medical profession after all and knew all about risks. She was taking one just being here, and damn it felt good.

It was simple enough putting the condom on, and it obviously didn't kill the mood too much because as soon as she'd stretched it over and rolled it on he reached across and pushed her down, reversing their positions for the second time.

He rested his weight on one hand and took his cock in the other. She moved her legs apart and reached down to help him, guiding him inside of her and then letting him do the rest. He pushed in like his fingers had, but his fingers hadn't filled her, hadn't completed her, hadn't made her whole. He pulled back a bit then pushed back in, the sliding and friction sending her straight back to the edge. She'd kept her hands between them, meaning to work on herself but finding it almost unnecessary. He felt almost too big and yet not big enough, and she felt full from him, his heat and his sweat sticking his skin to her own, until they were one being, one motion, one thought, and she was nearing the edge but faster this time, it was an oiled dive, a leap of faith and it was hot and wet and sticky as hell but it was right and they going together and they were coming together and she wasn't alone.

When she came back to herself, shaking and clammy but sated and calm, they were still joined, still connected and she wished (ridiculously) that they would stay like this forever. They couldn't, of course, he sighed and pulled away, but before she could mourn the lack of contact he was back already and holding her back to his chest. She stiffened in shock then tentatively leaned in to him, letting his arm slide around and under her until the felt almost one again.

She relaxed slightly. He'd been inside of her. It wasn't that strange to let him hold her in bed.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," he said almost apologetically, and she started, having not expected him to say anything of the sort.

"You don't hear me complaining, do you?" Not that she could, even if she tried. There had been nothing to complain about, definitely not.

He smiled against her hair and with a shock she realised it felt good and comforting, something she hadn't experienced since...well, forever, it seemed. "I was just saying. You know, I may not be up to a repeat performance instantly, but after an hour or so..."

"An hour?!" Sakura exclaimed, almost sitting up in surprise. "Shit, let me recover first!" She wriggled experimentally. She'd just come at least twice, was she ready for another go?

He chuckled against her hair and it sent shivers down her spine. "I guess we'll find out when we get to that. In the meantime, perhaps we should get to know each other...more."

She nodded fervently. That sounded like a wonderful idea. If she had her way, she'd be spending a lot of time with this man. Ino had been right, he'd turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. She made a mental note to thank her friend later. "Yes, let's. And you could start by telling me your name."

He reached up and smoothed a strand of hair away from her ear, and when the whisper came it skimmed across her earlobe, but she could definitely feel it all the way to her toes. "Kakashi," he said, and she thrilled at the sound. "My name is Kakashi. Will you remember that, do you think?"

"There's nothing wrong with my memory," she replied tartly. "Nothing wrong at all."

And when the hour (well, forty minutes) was over, and she was riding him to the edge, she proved it to him. And the neighbours. And the people across the street. She'd never been much of a screamer, but there was a first time for everything, as he'd just helped her to learn.

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Hope you all enjoyed it!