Well, for those of you who
know me, you know that I have a certain little obsession for a certain little
crack pairing...and this happens to be the one. XD I adore KankuroIno,
and I have decided that the pairing must have a following, thus, my
contribution to the cause hath emerged. Hehehe.
Hope y'all enjoy!
A Certain Kind of Warmth
Kankuro is always warm.
Of course, she's had to perform numerous tests to prove her theory
correct--all conducted without him being any the wiser--but she is almost
one-hundred percent sure that his body exudes a certain kind of warmth that has
nothing to do with either the weather or the time of day.
It doesn't have to do with anything, really. It's just him, and Ino
knows this because she's touched him everywhere, at every time, in every
season.
And he is always warm.
Sometimes it infuriates her, since she is the type that becomes cold easily
("Dad's fault, the jerk"), and Ino hates being cold.
But she hates Kankuro even more because he's never cold.
"It's not fair," she sniffed one winter afternoon when they were
both sprawled on the couch in front of the fireplace at Ino's apartment.
"Feel my hands. They're icicles."
Kankuro had snickered and grabbed them, his eyebrows shooting up in
surprise. "Shit. You weren't lying, Ace."
"No kidding, jackass." She glared at him while he rubbed her
fingers, even if it did feel nice. "It's just not fair," she
repeated. "Why am I the only one who's freezing here?"
"You're a wuss, that's why," he said, grinning. "You need
me, baby."
Ino opened and closed her mouth, seriously considering ripping her hand away
and smacking him, but then she'd be cold again, and Ino would rather swallow
her pride than be cold.
"Moron," she said instead. "Don't give me that
"baby" crap."
Focused on his task, he merely laughed.
Ino smiles, her cheek against his bare chest. It rises and falls with each
breath he takes, and she hears the steady beat of his heart as he sleeps.
I wore him out, she thinks, her smile growing wider. Right after
he got home from his mission, too, poor guy.
He can handle a little extra exertion, though, especially on his birthday.
She did most of the work, besides, so she harbors no guilt. In fact, she
considers it payback for all that surplus warmth of his--she's the one who
would benefit the most from it, not him.
However, he does share, she cannot deny that. As frequently as possible,
too.
"C'mere," he'd say to her while she made breakfast in the morning,
cocooned in her purple fleece bathrobe. "The heat's cranked to high, the
stove's on, and your teeth are chattering." Then he'd shake his head, yank
her into his arms, and murmur, "For chrissakes, Ino," before kissing
her, long and deep, so that by the time he let her go, her cheeks would be
flushed, the robe sweltering.
His mouth is as warm as the rest of him. Warmer, perhaps.
But still, it's always warm, and he enjoys using it.
Ino does not object, of course. She reaps the rewards of his enthusiasm, and
a bit of selfishness is in her nature, after all (like when she pouts if
he doesn't massage her feet, or when he takes the clothes out of the dryer as
soon as they're done instead of letting her do it, because she loves burying
her nose in hot fabric, or when he tries to convince her that "Karasu's
hair is fine the way it is, so put those damned scissors away, wouldja?").
Lying there on top of him, listening to his heart, she wonders why he's so
willing to give her the warmth that is as much a part of him as his chakra
("Funny...your favorite color's violet, and my chakra's violet. Ever think
about that, Ace? Fate, I'm tellin' you"). In the three years they've been
together, she hasn't figured it out.
She doesn't understand why, out of all the boys she might have chosen, she
couldn't settle for anyone but him ("I know he's stocky and wears makeup
and has no tact, but...oh...God, Sakura, I can't explain this..."), why,
out of all the girls he might have chosen, he couldn't settle for anyone but
her.
Though neither of them conceptualize their relationship in terms of
settling. Ino is a woman who knows what she wants, and she's not very good at
compromising. Her standards may be pretty damn high ("No skinny guys for
me. Gotta be able to hold on to 'em," or "It's the hands. Man
hands. Beefy ones," or "Brains are a must. Sense of humor.
Attitude."), but she likes them that way. Kankuro is the same, or close to
it. Before he got involved with her, he rarely dated because nobody interested
him. They were all "too bland, too dumb, or too whiny."
She recalls a conversation they had early on, when the sight of each other
made them silly and hormonal and horny--Ino still gets a little wobbly
in the knees whenever he wanders around the apartment in nothing but boxers,
unkempt hair mussed about his face, though she refuses to tell him that. He'll
lord it over her like a sheikh if she does.
"It should be instant," he said. "The connection, I mean. The
spark, or whatever the hell you wanna call it."
Ino, staring across the dinner table at him, had flipped her hair behind her
shoulder. "Mm. Chemistry," she said in a childish tone, and he wrinkled
his nose.
"I was trying to avoid cliché."
Grinning, she reached out and patted his hand, which rested by his plate.
"And I appreciate the effort."
"Stop," he said, voice pained. "You make me feel like a
lily-livered cub scout."
Ino blinked. The fact that he used a term such as "lily-livered"
filled her with an affection so intense she jumped out of her chair, raced
around the table, and flung her arms about his neck, noting gleefully that he
flushed a ripe shade of red. "You are so adorable," she gushed.
"Shut up," he grumbled. "And quit acting girly."
"I'm not acting girly!"
"You are too. You're a complete girly girl."
Ino pulled back and gave him an arch look. "You want a girly girl? This
is a girly girl." And she began raining kisses on him--on his cheeks,
on the patches of skin just beneath his ears, on his mouth. Drinking his warmth
in.
Kankuro made a show of resisting, but his act was halfhearted at best, and
eventually he gave up on it altogether, allowing her to sit in his lap.
"See? Instant sparks,"
he said once the excitement tapered down. "That does it. A packaged deal,
right here."
"Oh?"
He nodded. "Yep.
Done."
Ino tilted her head to the
side. "What is?"
"Us. This. You and
me." He leaned forward, rested his forehead against hers. "That
chemistry? Never experienced it with anyone else."
And that was it. That was
all the explanation he needed. The spark--(flame, fire, heat, warmth)--answered
the question, "Why?" and answered it in such a way that any other
questions were obsolete--at least, to him.
But is Ino really worth it?
Really, truly worth it?
Because…he is. His warmth
alone makes him worth it. The warmth that's in everything he does, everything
he says, everything he believes.
A certain kind of warmth. A
Kankuro kind of warmth, always there.
Like sparks. Like flint and
tinder, clashing, striking, striving.
Needing…needing…needing…
And Ino realizes, cheek
against his chest, rising...falling...that she isn't cold, even though she's
naked, even though she's exposed, sweaty sheets strewn across the floor.
There is nothing between
her and Kankuro except skin, but that is enough.
She can save her questions
for another hour, another day, another lifetime.
"Happy birthday,
Kano," she whispers, and his loose grip on her tightens, though he remains
silent. "I love you."
She closes her eyes,
knowing that his warmth will be there when she wakes.