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29 November 2006 @ 04:54 am
Pan Piku Shun lulz.  
Title: Unspecified.
Approx. word count: 660.
Rating: G.
Pairing: Kiba x Sakura.
Warnings: One or two cuss words.
Other: I kinda wrote the first two of these.. probably about two months ago. And the third one, well, that came up a few minutes ago, huu huu~.

So anyhow! Yes. I hope you like. As far as the timeline goes, just consider it post-series.


One;
"You know, if you're upset, I really don't care if you feel like crying. Just go ahead and say what's on your mind." Not that she had a problem with that part in the first place. With an embarrassed grin, he leaned forward to hide his face. His knuckles clenched in tension. "I'll... I'll listen."

He had never said that clutching his shoulders like a lifeline was part of the bargain, but he took a rough hold of her wrists anyway to stabilize her body.

The longer she sobbed, the more time it provided for him to realize that he was no Naruto; he couldn't offer a promise or words of optimism. He was no Lee; he couldn't offer an everlasting pledge of love and the gift of revenge on the one who had hurt her. He was no Kakashi; he wasn't the consoling type, and he had no pearls of wisdom to offer. He was no Ino; what the hell were flowers, anyway?

He was no Uchiha Sasuke. He couldn't provide her with the love she so desperately yearned for, she so desperately sobbed for.

He was Kiba, however, and he knew that he could listen. He could hold her until she felt all better, and then lightheartedly tease her until she laughed. He could reassure her of her strength, and he could be there when she needed him.

When she chastely kissed his painted cheek with the sweetest of smiles and the quietest of thanks, he allowed himself a long sigh and casually waved her goodbye.

Two;
He wasn't at all experienced at handling strong emotions, not ones that dealt heavily with something as disgustingly sensitive as his heart. With every smile, he found himself excited and proud. On the flip side, with every deadpanned glance and frustrated shouts, he found himself hurt and ashamed.

Inuzuka Kiba wouldn't let this show, though. If she smiled, he grinned, and if she yelled at him, he responded with a snarky comment and left it at that. He would get flustered just from seeing her hot and bothered, and when she'd suddenly, just randomly and suddenly did something nice (that was part of her job as a medic?), he would only erupt and storm off.

He had the heart of a loyal dog and that of a teenaged boy. Separately, those two hearts were distinct and maybe sometimes appealing, but the two together were contradictory and often put everyone into a bout of frustration.

His fingers clutched her hands when he had finally cracked, his lips just a good inch from hers before he growled and bumped his head against the wall, instead.

Three;
No matter how many soldier pills he took, his strength was nothing compared to hers. No matter how many times he and his lifelong partner multiplied themselves, she could demolish them all, all with the flick of her finger. And that smirk of hers, how it grated on him.

But oh, how he craved it: the challenge, the eyes that marked a taunting superiority complex that drove him into madness, because once it was all over, he felt sore, exhausted, exercised. Sometimes he would win, and sometimes her, and each time afterwards he was panting pleasurably, excited for the next match to come, because the feel of the adrenaline she caused to coarse through his veins was exhilarating and wonderful.

And those thoughts inevitably evolved into something more tender, because he was curious as to how gentle those same capable fingertips would feel on his aching back, his shoulders, his neck, his cheekbones, temples, eyelids, and his lips. Soothing, he imagined, her fingertips would be soothing.

When the time came, he was astonished and pleased to learn that his relaxed fantasies were nothing like the real thing, because those soothing touches would surge the same adrenaline, and he felt sore (in his heart), exhausted (in his mind), and exercised (in his soul), and he loved it all the same.
 
 
Feel This: creative
Hear This: Don't Wake Me Up -- The Hush Sound.