Ah Sandsibs. You are the nectar of my soul. Written for my darling firefly, because I loves her so.

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Mustard

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No matter how often she touched it, the remarkable softness of her brothers’ hair never ceased to amaze her.

She discovered this trait early on with Kankuro, because she finger-combed his hair every night without fail before he went to bed when they were little. The ritual stopped once he turned twelve and decided it wasn’t cool to have your sister tuck you in, but he changed his mind at fifteen.

“I’m older,” he’d said, mouth set in a stubborn line, cheeks slightly redder than usual. “It’s different now…doesn’t weird me out anymore, yeah?”

Temari knew him well enough to understand that that was his way of urging her to pick up where they left off. She could’ve given him a hard time, but she missed seeing him drift off to sleep almost as much as she missed running her hands through his hair.

“How the hell do you keep it this soft?” She’d asked him one night, twirling a strand between the pads of her thumb and pointer finger. “Mine’s like straw compared to yours, jerk.”

Eyes closed, he yawned and shifted his head from his pillow to her lap. “Dunno,” he mumbled, half-comatose. “Conditioner, maybe…hag…”

Temari had her doubts, of course. She normally used conditioner, anyway, and she even went so far as to steal Kankuro’s and try it out, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. His hair was still silkier than hers.

For a while, she comforted herself with the notion that Kankuro’s luck was a fluke, and surely Gaara had inherited the same, somewhat wiry tresses as she—his hair always looked like it’d been infused with lightning—however she was in for a rude awakening.

“Damn it…Temari, c’mere.”

Her baby brother had been sitting at his desk, pouring over some report or other while she reclined in an armchair across from him, reading and waiting for Kankuro to come back with dinner.

She looked up at him, brows raised.

“What was that?”

He scowled at her. “Temari—”

She began whistling and returned her attention to her book. Kazekage or no, the boy had to learn manners sometime, right? And who better to teach him than his elder sister? He’d thank her eventually, the brat.

“Oh for God’s sake…” He growled under his breath, though she heard him, and her lips curled up at the corners.

She whistled a bit louder.

No need to make this easy on him.

He pitched his voice. “C’mere…please.”

The whistling came to an abrupt halt. Temari rose, her smirk clearly discernible. “Well…since you asked so nicely, I can’t say no, can I?”

Gaara’s expression was steely. “Ha ha. I laughed so hard I think I busted a rib.”

“Ouch. Sounds painful.”

His scowl deepened, and after a moment or two, he rolled his piercing sea-green eyes, no longer surrounded by the deep, black rings of an insomniac. “Look, I’ve got a…knot or something in my hair. Would you work it out? It’s driving me nuts.”

Temari walked around the desk and shrugged. “Okay. Where is it?”

He gestured vaguely at his head. “In there…”

“In there?”

“In there.”

She blinked. “So precise. You should be a fucking surgeon, Red.”

“Shut up. Been a long day, and I’m practically delirious, here.”

Temari chuckled, and plunged her hands into hair, sucking in a sharp breath as she did. Aside from the snarl (it was located near the nape of his neck, and pretty large, at that), her fingers glided through unhindered, as though they were coated in butter.

Her brother’s voice was dry when he said, “Turning yourself on back there, sweet cakes? Feeling all hot and bothered, eh?”

“Like hell,” she retorted, worrying at the knot a bit more savagely than necessary. “Arrogant ass…”

And his hair was far superior to hers.

Typical.

Oh, she was pissed.

“Cripes, woman, ease up! I’m gonna have a bald spot at this rate…”

Temari redoubled her efforts. She didn’t care if she did yank all of his hair out. He deserved it, the bastard.

I’m prettier than you are, though, she thought. Pooh pooh on you, Gaara.

“You’re a swell gal,” he said once she finished, turning to make a face at her. “Thanks for the service. Hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”

She snorted. “You know that saying? Size doesn’t matter? Well it does. You have a major case of shrink-wrapped dick.”

Without missing a beat, Gaara said, “Junior’s tastes are selective. Maybe if you grow a rack in the next few years, he’ll be interested.”

Temari flushed, and just to spite him, she thrust her chest forward. “Check it—”

“Holy gazoongas, Batman,” Kankuro drawled, leaning against the doorframe. He held two brown paper bags at his sides, and he had the windswept look going on. Very chic. He glanced at his brother. “You provoked her, didn’t you?”

Gaara appeared as if he was on the verge of hysterics. “She was taking advantage of me, Kankuro. I’m a minor, and she got off on my hair, dude. That’s…hair rape. I’m suing.”

Kankuro couldn’t speak. He was too busy cackling.

“Oh my lord. I hate both of you,” Temari declared, skin now the color of a beet. She stalked over to Kankuro and grabbed a bag. Burgers. She smelled burgers.

Temari didn’t want burgers. She wanted fucking chicken wings. Son of a whore.

“She’s jealous, Gaara,” Kankuro said once his mirth was controlled. “She’s jealous because our hair is soft and hers isn’t.”

“It’s the conditioner,” Gaara said, nodding sagely.

“That’s what I told her.”

Temari fumed silently. No chicken wings. Wife of Frankenstein’s monster’s hair. Set of evil, Satan-spawned brothers.

Kill. She would kill…

“Oy, Temari. Chuck us a burger,” Gaara said.

She giggled.

And chucked a burger at him.

It went splat.

“Mm…mustard…” she said, and then chucked one at Kankuro.

Ah, retribution.

Their hair may have been softer, but at least hers wasn’t full of mustard.