‘Mh –’ Hinata can’t help it, the little noises that she only ever makes into a pillow, meeting the air – ‘mm, mh, mm, uh –’ Sounds all caught for a moment in Sakura’s mouth as it meets hers, hungry, not demanding but – asking, wanting, seeking. Is this mine? Aren’t you mine? Sakura kissing her, drawing away and coming back again, like she can’t stop.
Yes, yes – then Sakura’s mouth is travelling to her jaw, down to her neck, hot and – sharp, not biting but with a hint of teeth. With that bright sharp spark that lives in Sakura’s eyes and the glint of her quick smile, that makes Hinata’s body wake up and go hungry all over. Mm, mmh – lips on her neck, on her collarbone and shoulders, and Hinata wants to roll around in the sheets, so happy to have skin, to be hungry, to be touched. To only exist in this moment, in the places where Sakura touches her, in the way that Sakura wants her.
She wants to, but where one of Sakura’s hands is under her shirt – the skin under it shivery-hot – another is at her hip, not holding her down, but Hinata doesn’t want to move. Just as if it were holding her down. As if Hinata wanted it to. Sakura’s mouth is on her skin, Sakura’s fingers stroking, pressing firmly. Medic’s hands, pushing down just enough. Hinata pushes up into the touch eagerly, not thinking, just wanting.
(Hinata thinks about Sakura checking her over for injuries after a hard mission when she’s shaking with adrenaline, and a flash of heat goes through her, a sudden shock. Like when Sakura pinned her up against a wall earlier, and for a sudden, white-hot moment she could hardly stay upright.)
Sakura’s hand travels south, south, south. Hinata’s clothes are hardly even off – jacket shrugged off at the door, shirt half-undone, skirt unfastened and pooling around her hips, under her thighs. Hair spread over her shoulders and breasts, sticky with sweat.
‘Hah, ah –’ Sakura’s fingers press harder, right where Hinata’s aching, needs something to relieve her. Some remedy – some touch to make her body real and good where it meets fingertips – Hinata can’t think any more, not with Sakura’s hand pressing so good, so sweet, hard and bright right where she needs it. Sakura’s mouth worrying at her, hungry and eager, are you mine? Are you mine? And the answer, yesyesyesyesyes.
She can’t bear it any more, she hooks an arm round Sakura’s neck and pulls the other girl’s head up to kiss her again, desperate. Though she can hardly think enough to kiss, but Sakura will do the work for her, Sakura would never let her go unsatisfied. Hinata pulls at Sakura’s clothes, pulls her down – get closer, closer to me, pressing her skin against Sakura’s in as many places as she can – kisses around Sakura’s mouth, her jaw, behind her ear, almost mindlessly as Sakura works her over. Oh, oh, oh. ‘Please,’ she breathes, and it doesn’t feel like a plea, like something she has to beg to be considered for, it feels good, it feels right. ‘Sakura-chan –’
‘That’s it,’ Sakura murmurs, like she can’t believe it, but her voice is hot and wild and alive like it is in a fight, and yet so quiet. ‘That’s it, that’s it, come on –’ Her voice takes on the rhythm of her hand, Hinata pushing up into both. Sakura presses words into her skin. ‘That’s it, that’s what I want – Hinata-chan – so, so beautiful like this, you have no idea –’ She sounds proud, not as if of an achievement. As if of some gift she never hoped to have. ‘For me.’ Fingers pressing, aching but it helps, it’s relief, it’s so good, Hinata pushing up into every place where their skin meets, lips worrying at Sakura’s neck where her face is pressed to it. ‘For me, my darling, you can do it, that’s it. Are you gonna give it to me?’ Hinata tries to gasp out Yes into the hollow of Sakura’s throat. Sakura lifts her head so Hinata can see her face, alive with something Hinata has never seen in it before.
‘Yeah,’ Sakura breathes, ‘you’re gonna give it to me? That’s it, that’s it –’ Her other hand is moving over Hinata’s breast, her mouth lowers for a moment to suck a mark beneath her collarbone. ‘For me? Are you mine?’
‘Yes,’ Hinata sobs, and then the hot sweet blinding feeling of it becomes a white-hot blaze and she stops thinking at all.
She comes back to herself shaking, gently, Sakura staring at her with a light in her eyes Hinata hadn’t dreamed could live there. Fingers – medic’s hands – combing through her hair, caressing. Stroking at the edge of her breast almost chastely, like she can’t believe that Hinata has skin there, that she can touch it.
She has undone me, Hinata thinks, breathing hard, happier than she’s ever been before.
Sakura’s fingers wander from her hair to the side of her face, and Hinata turns her head, a little, to kiss them.