Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Pretty Little Hate Machine ❯ Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, and honestly I would probably never have the creative capacity to think of something even close. Kudos to Masashi Kishimoto!

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Pretty Little Hate Machine

Chapter 3
[Draft 2-13-06]

By: Forgetmenow
Spoilers: TV and manga are fair game

Gaara had followed her.

He was drawn by the crack of light and steam and the sound of falling water from the end of the hall. It called him forth from the dark. Each slow step he took seemed to gain momentum as he approached.

He knew what was on the other side, but curiosity egged him on. He had to confirm what his sense of hearing was telling him and what his imagination envisioned. He slowly pushed the door open. Steam wafted out, escaping the crowded confines of that mist filled cell. Initially, he couldn't see a thing, just bright light and steamy vapor. When it had dissipated somewhat, he saw her. Rivulets of bubbly water and suds trailed down her naked skin as the shower head continued to rain down upon her.

Temari…

Gaara stood there too long. It was only a few short moments, just seconds compounded upon one another, but it was still too long. She was the same person he'd known his whole life. She was boring. She was ordinary. Nothing should've intrigued him enough to stay as long as he had, but…

She was different.

It was something intangible he could not grasp. Something beneath the surface that was not apparent before. He didn't understand why, but he saw her differently.

He tried to convince himself: the predator, the animal, the demon inside him was making him watch. It was holding his limbs frozen in place; mesmerized by the graceful slope of her neck, the delicate shape of her bones, and the soft curves of her hips. He could not move his legs because of it. But that ominous voice inside his skull was silent. His head was clear and the only voice that he heard in his head had been his own.

Before Temari could catch him, he was gone.

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Temari returned to the room with pillow and blanket in tow. Her hair was damp yet almost dry. It hung in limp waves around her face. Dressed in oversized pajamas, the partially buttoned top hung loosely around her shoulders while the pants, which were a bit too long, pooled somewhat at her toes and dragged against the floor. The first two buttons of the top were undone, a white camisole peeked out from beneath. The outfit was out of character from what others would think she would wear or at least she thought so. No demure nightie or silken negligee. Actually, she wasn't quite sure what others would think she wore to bed. PJs were just a bit too childish…but they were comfy. Certain parts didn't ride up where they shouldn't. They kept her warm on nights when she would restlessly toss and turn leaving her blankets askew around her if she hadn't already let them slip off.

She had originally dreaded coming back to this room. Her room. Her sanctum. Her sanctuary. She couldn't believe it. This was her private domain and she was scared to enter. But it was because of her guest that she was a bit reluctant. This wasn't a situation like the three bears finding a slumbering Goldilocks in their home. She had insisted Gaara remain in her room. When she had discovered the bathroom door open while she was showering, a myriad of emotions and thoughts had passed through her. First, fear at being spied upon during a point when she was most vulnerable, anger at the audacity someone would even dare, and relief that Gaara was possibly better.

So it hadn't been him after all.

Gaara still laid on the bed. She had some anxiety that she would have to confront Gaara. Her nerves were more at ease now. His eyes closed and his breathing was soft and steady like a pendulum. From what Temari could surmise, he had not moved since she slipped out of the room. If he had shifted in bed, it must've not been very much. She was grateful that there would be no awkward conversation about personal privacy or the reasons why a person should not to sneak up on others.

The stuffed weasel near his head added a humanizing and vulnerable aspect to his unconscious state. Her own eyes softened at the sight. She wondered if he dreamed. What was he dreaming about? Did he have nightmares? Does he dream of me or Kankurou? Does he dream of mother or father? Did he dream about the future? It was still hard to stomach. Where would they go from here? She couldn't think beyond the present, she just wanted to sleep. To finally let her body rest and recoup even for just a few hours would be a godsend.

She had mixed feelings about sleeping in the same bed with Gaara. The floor didn't look very comfortable. It looked cold and damn hard. However, she was a well-trained ninja; she's had rougher sleeping accommodations. Temari has had rocks as her pillow and the night sky as her blanket. Yet, those occasions didn't have very restful results. She looked at the bed and at the floor. Staring long and hard she could have bore holes into the ground.

Temari didn't want to sleep on the floor.

Her gaze returned to the bed. Being curled up against Gaara's body hadn't been terrible. It was quite pleasant. It made her feel warm and fuzzy inside when she thought about it. If she wasn't so uneasy about his reaction to finding her sleeping next to him, she probably wouldn't even have left. But, he was just so unpredictable and it was her bed. She could toss him out if she wanted, but that wouldn't be very sisterly…or perhaps it was. She knew she'd definitely toss Kankurou out on his fanny if he was in her bed.

Screw it.

She was willing to take a chance.

What's the worse that could happen?

Spreading her blanket over the expanse of the bed, she gently eased onto the mattress beside Gaara. She curled herself into a loose fetal position with her back towards him, trying to take up as little of the bed as possible, but it was quite uncomfortable. She mentally scolded herself that sleeping in such a rigid position was worse than the discomfort of the floor. Why bother torturing herself?

She turned over onto her back, and her hand brushed the side of Gaara's bare arm. Her eyes darted to Gaara's face, to see if the contact had registered, but it hadn't. It certainly did to her. It wasn't like a jolt of electricity but a cool, sliding friction of skin on skin which developed into a slow heat. Lightning quick, that warmth faded as surface against surface contact broke.

Still laying back she slid her arm over his till her open palm rested on his. His hand was so much smoother than hers. Her hands were still feminine and refined, but somewhat callused from training and mastering her fan. She didn't know why, but she laced her fingers between his. She just had to quell the urge feel the sensation, the cool friction building into warmth as their bodiess grazed. Her slim digits fitted into the spaces between his until their palms pressed more heatedly against each other. She's didn't squeeze or contract her grip.

Laying side-by-side, Temari stared at the ceiling holding Gaara's hand until hers eyes drooped and closed. Her last conscious thought was that Gaara's hand felt warmer than hers.

To Be Continued…

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Sorry for the delay. *cough* Yes, I'm still sick. I'm on antibiotics and narcotics now. @_@. Sigh.

I got into Harvest Moon FOMT For Girl GBA too! ^_^ So, I've been farming and boy chasing lately. LOL! >:D

 

Hope I didn't go too overboard on the descriptiveness. I tried not to make that mistake on this chapter. ^^; Next chapter will have a bit more um…Can you say sandcest… *cough*