Well, it has been drawn to
my attention that I haven’t written any Naru/Saku fluff lately, and, since the
piece I’m currently working on is going to be a lot darker than what I usually
do, I thought I’d whip something sweet and gooey together in the meantime.
Began in Sociology,
finished at the apartment…kind of short…hope y’all enjoy!
Button My Dress?
For a
reason she could not quite place, Sakura had always liked the color red. There
was something exciting about the bright, rich vibrancy that stood out in stark
contrast to other colors, something that screamed, “Look! Here I am!”
In her heart of hearts, she
enjoyed attention, even though she would be the last person to admit it. Naruto
garnered enough on his own without her help; it was a rare thing for the local
gossip to not include at least one of the Rokudaime’s daily misadventures—and
the blonde young man was immensely proud of that.
Sakura was raised a
kunoichi, however, a warrior yet still a lady, so she learned how to nudge the
spotlight in her direction through less conspicuous means, namely wearing red
as often as she could.
“Enhance what you’ve been
given,” her mother advised with all the wisdom of a woman who mastered the art
of cosmetics, a game as old as the sun, and Sakura took those words to
heart—when she wasn’t out in the field. It was pointless to worry about the
state of her petal-pink hair or the blood and grime streaked across her face
while dispatching an enemy.
But the biggest tradeoff of
all, the real reason her wardrobe was comprised almost entirely of red, was the
way Naruto reacted when he saw her in it. His pupils dilated, his cheeks
flushed, and his mouth—she was ever so fond of that mouth—opened slightly,
offering a tiny glimpse of perfect white teeth. It was a look of lust and
desire and need, and it made her feel dominant, as if she held the upper
hand for once instead of the other way around.
Well…that and seeing the
most powerful person she knew aroused really turned her on.
Who else purred in
the middle of a moment, anyway? She could look far and wide, but she’d never
find that again, not unless she was willing to settle for a cheap imitation.
Haruno Sakura was a snob. She
wanted the best of the best, and there was only one Uzumaki Naruto.
Her lips curled up in a
wicked smile. “Wonder what I should put on tonight,” she mused, scanning the
rack upon rack of mismatched pieces in her spacious closet.
When they were first
married, some two years ago now, Naruto was a bit weary of having a walk-in
closet installed in their bedroom, and for good reason, too. All females, he
was convinced, were born with an inherent trait that predisposed them to spend
money on clothing that would be worn a maximum of three times, and then chucked
into the closet to be forgotten about until, a decade or so later, it was
rediscovered amidst exclamations of “I wondered where that was!” or “I’ve been
looking all over for this thing!” and the cycle would begin anew.
Sakura had convinced him of
the merit of the closet when she modeled her collection of lingerie—it had
grown substantially since then—for him while his hands were bound to the
bedstead. The more space they had, she told him as she changed bras, the more
fun they could have.
He seemed to find no
objection after that, and she chalked it up as another victory on her mental
tally sheet. So far, though, he was winning, the sly, seductive bastard. Because
she’d let slip—during a very intimate liaison—that her weakness was his
mouth, and given his reputation as the world’s most unpredictable ninja, he
conceived of a variety of ways to use it, each unique to the mood.
It wasn’t her fault that
her skin was extra-sensitive. She could sooner change that than the size of her
forehead.
“This might be nice,” she
paused before a backless red silk dress complete with train, brows arched. In
the background, she could hear Naruto rummaging through drawers for an
undershirt—he swore rather loudly when his efforts yielded little success—and
her smile became a smirk. “I think you—” the dress was lifted from its
hanger—“and I have a date, gorgeous.”
“Oy! Saaa-kuuu-raaaa!”
Naruto’s frazzled voice
filtered through the open door.
She could picture the
flustered expression on his face clear as if he stood in front of her. “What,
fox?” She called back, biting her lip against giggles.
“I can’t find any of my
shirts!” The statement was accompanied by the whoosh of discarded
garments as they sailed through the air. “It’s like they all
just…disappeared!”
“Maybe the dryer ate them,”
Sakura replied gravely, shrugging out of her blouse. Thankfully, the material
was a good buffer for laughter. Whenever Naruto squawked like that it was damn
near impossible to retain her composure.
“Sakura!” His tone was
injured. “This is serious! We can’t go anywhere if I don’t have a clean one!” A
pair of wrinkled trousers—Naruto had tossed them randomly—landed by her feet. “I’m
wearing a suit, and everyone knows you can’t wear a suit without an undershirt.
It’s…a universal rule!”
The kunoichi slid her jeans
down her hips, amused. “Did you plan on stripping in front of our guests and
forget to warn me?”
“What?” All movement
outside the closet ceased.
“How else is anyone going
to realize you’re missing an undershirt?” Sakura retorted as she emerged,
clutching the dress about her frame. She regarded her husband expectantly,
noting with glee that his cobalt blue eyes were as round as tennis balls, and
his jaw gaped as if unhinged.
This was when the score would even.
“Naruto, where on earth did
your manners go?” She lowered her eyelashes in feigned embarrassment. “It’s
rude to stare.”
“Sa—Sa—Sa—” He seemed to be
having difficulty making his mouth work.
“Mm?”
The Hokage pointed lamely. “Dress,”
he croaked.
Sakura looked down at
herself, astonished. “Oh, this old thing?” She made a show of examining her
rear. “Goodness, it doesn’t flatter my figure at all…”
“You…” Naruto gained enough
control over his rampaging hormones to speak normally once again, “on purpose!”
But realization dawned a bit too late. She already had him in the palm of her
hand.
“Button my dress?” She said
impishly, glancing over her shoulder.
Naruto groaned, utterly
defeated.
Preparing for a dinner
party had never been this dangerous.