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The thing is, Sakura is tired.
She finished a double-shift not even two hours ago and she’s ready to collapse head-first into the ground. That and Kushina have decided that tonight, of all nights, is the night for her to tell her they have a double-date.
“No,” Sakura is hell-bent on staying home, she puts her foot down and glares at the red-head as menacingly as possible. She scowls fiercely and crosses her arms underneath her chest, “I am tired and in no way am leaving my house.”
“You say that now, but Chouza said that we would really like them,” Kushina tries to swindle her with the waggle of the brows and interlocked fingers, “He even picked out a place for us to meet.”
“Oh?” she snorts unamused and grabs her water bottle, “And where is that?”
“Down the coast,”
The prospect of free food is why Sakura says yes.
.
“I haven’t seen you in fifteen years, Minato,” Kushina looks at him with wide eyes and takes a seat close to the door; Sakura takes the seat closer to the balcony. Just in case she wants to jump out and break her neck.
Just in case.
Sakura gnaws on a breadstick and looks at her glass of water with mild disinterest.
“You did move away when we were in high school,” Minato points out absently, he keeps his eyes on the pink-haired anomaly in front of him.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t visit,” Kushina pouts and sips her wine, “Are you sure you don’t want any wine, Sakura? They have Prosecco.”
“I’ll fall asleep if I drink wine,” Sakura replies dryly and sips her water.
“Are you a lightweight?” Madara beats Minato to the punch and quirks a brow.
“I had a long day,” she says vaguely.
“Sakura is a cardiologist,” Kushina confesses proudly.
“Did you come here directly after a shift?” the Uchiha asks with mild surprise and then offers her another breadstick, “We could’ve rescheduled,” then he glances at the redhead, “But knowing Uzumaki here, she would’ve dragged you out of your bed even if you had the flu.”
Kushina flushes and silently curses Chouza for setting her up with her co-worker.
Sakura laughs at that, her eyes glinting like sea-glass underneath the moonlight, and takes another breadstick. She agrees, “You’re right about that.”
“Sea turtles think jellyfish are delicious,” Minato blurts out randomly and then blinks sapphire orbs when he realizes that he said that. Aloud. What he meant to say, was something witty, something that would turn the attention away from Madara and his stupid hair—turn Sakura’s attention towards him in interest.
But now he has Sakura’s attention and he’s not sure if she’s looking at him in interest.
“What?” Sakura asks in a huff, it might be a laugh or it might be a scoff. She’s not too sure, but the blonde – his hair is more gold than anything – as her notice and she tilts her head, “Jellyfish?”
“I,” for a moment, Minato is speechless at the green of her eyes, and then he coughs, “I read it on one of the posters, where they had the beach sign.”
Kushina raises her brow.
“What Minato means to say,” Madara starts off, clearly he needs to save the blonde from throwing himself into the ocean head-first, “Is that in this area there are a lot of jellyfish. Some are dried up on the sand.”
Sakura’s mouth drops open, “So if we walk on the sand, we could get stung?”
“Possibly,” the Uchiha shrugs.
.
“A burger? Again, Sakura?” Kushina huffs and stabs her crab with more force than necessary, “We had burgers yesterday.”
“There is nothing wrong with my burger,” Sakura snaps and chomps on her French fry, “It’s shrimp flavored.”
“That’s weird,”
Minato pokes his lobster suspiciously and asks lamely, “Do you like burgers?”
“She likes anything that she can really sink her teeth in,” the redhead says sweetly.
Madara chokes on his potato and Sakura almost grins.
The blonde sees that twinkle in her eyes and wonders at the anticipation building up in his fingertips.
.
“How did you two meet, by the way?” Sakura asks suddenly, she flickers her gaze in between Minato and Kushina. “I mean, this is the first time I’m hearing about you Minato, no offense.”
“Minato got bullied in Elementary School because he was so skinny and small. I punched a kid in the face because he grabbed the back of Minato’s head and then he started following me around like a lost puppy,” Kushina answers with pride and sips her wine.
“So you’ve been violent since you were a rugrat, huh Uzumaki?” Madara snorts and chomps on his steak.
“I did not follow you around,” Minato rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of his pasta. As time passes, the blonde grows calmer and more confident. He points out cheekily, “I wanted to use your sixty-four count crayon set.”
Sakura laughs.
.
“It was really weird because Madara never calls me,” Minato’s story-telling is one of his greatest skills, at least that’s what Kushina thinks, why else would he be a historian, “He said he got into a car accident and obviously I asked if he was okay.”
“Of course,” Sakura nods encouragingly.
“He said, I think I hit the most annoying creature on this planet,” he emphasizes those words and dodges the breadstick Kushina tosses at him.
The cardiologist snickers.
“She didn’t even get hurt, but she pretended that she did so she could claim the insurance money and didn’t bother to check in after she got her claim,” Minato finishes with a laugh.
“I didn’t want to hire any lawyers, I was broke,” Kushina argues and angrily pours herself another cup of wine, “And that money helped pay for my apartment when I was doing my PHD program.”
“I know,” Madara hisses and then stabs at his salad, “You were a TA when I got my doctorate, or did you forget?”
“That must’ve been awkward,” Sakura comments lightly and her eyes glitter at Minato.
“It was more embarrassing I think,” the blonde corrects her teasingly, “When I realized that it was Kushina that Madara had hit, I think she blue-screened in embarrassment.”
“I did not blue-screen you moron!”
“So tripping down the stairs to the common rooms wasn’t a part of your malfunction?”
The breadstick that Kushina throws at him hits him dead on the nose.
.
“Do you think they’re going to kill each other?” Sakura asks abruptly. She had moved from the booth where she sat next to Kushina, she slid down the cushion until she was a respectable distance from Minato, but close enough to reach out and put her hand on his.
Madara and Kushina are engaged in a full-on debate: the pressures of impressionism during wartime and the art that came from it.
Monet in particular.
“If you would read, then clearly you can see the hardships, the abstract of colors—”
“—in pain! Of course, they want to see what they can perceive.”
Minato pours Sakura another glass of wine – because Kushina and Madara bantering or arguing back and forth tends to drive people to drink – and tells her, “They’ve been like this for a few years.”
“And they haven’t ripped each other’s hair out? I mean both Kushina and Madara could stand to lose a few strands,” she snorts and sips her wine.
“Madara had wanted to ask Kushina out for a while,” Minato admits wryly.
Sakura coughs.
.
“Seriously?” she asks in disbelief and then looks at her best friend, “But don’t they hate each other?”
“They say that there’s a fine line between love and hate,” Minato muses and pours himself another cup of wine.
“Very philosophical,” Sakura snorts.
“Well, I am a historian,” he laughs sunnily and takes a sip of his white wine, “I like looking at the old things in a new perspective or vice versa.”
“That sounds,” she pauses and looks down at her empty plate, “Interesting.”
Minato scoffs, “Interesting? Is that the best you can do?”
Sakura rolls green orbs and grabs another breadstick, “What do you want me to do? I’m buzzed, scarfing bread down my throat and watching two Pantene models go at each other’s throats.”
.
They don’t notice when Madara and Kushina leave hand in hand ten minutes later.
.
Sakura decides to point after a bit, “This was your idea, then,”
Minato nods his head and steals a fry from her plate.
“So then why drag me?”
“Because I needed an excuse to talk to you and Chouza thought it was a good plan,” he confesses, the wine keeps his tongue looser, his head warm and his fingers itch to see if her hair is as soft as it looks.
The blonde had always liked Sakura because even though he hasn’t – physically – seen Kushina in years, he video-chats her at least once a week and Sakura would always be somewhere in the background. He’s seen glimpses of her, the echoes of her laugh rings in his head from time to time, heard her speak in the background, and now, with his new job in downtown Tokyo—he has the means and time to see her.
“Did you orchestrate a blind date for you and I or for Madara and Kushina?” Sakura asks curiously, amusedly, and licks the salt from her thumb, “Is this even a blind date?”
Minato’s eyes track her tongue on her digit, to her lips, and then back to her eyes. He asks softly, with heat and steel, “What do you think?”
.
Somewhere between midnight and a little before one does Minato find the zeal in himself to kiss Sakura. He kisses her with one hand behind her neck, the other wrapped around her waist. He kisses her and kisses her, but it’s Sakura who uses her teeth to tease him into a frenzy.
They stumble on the sand, like two teenagers, they can’t keep their hands to themselves because their hands are desperate for that skin on skin contact. Sakura rakes her nails down his scalp, laughing against his mouth when he stumbles against her and he punishes her by yanking her hair—exposing her throat to his teeth and tongue.
“Careful,” she gasps when his teeth graze down her cleavage, a leg wraps around his waist in an attempt to steady herself, “Remember the jellyfish!”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Minato groans into her clavicle and licks a line back up to her chin.
“Never,” her giggles escalates into a squeak when he grabs the back of her knees and wraps both of her legs around his waist.
.
Minato tosses her top somewhere in the backseat of his jeep, tugs down her bra until her nipples, pink-capped, are free for his mouth to assault. He pulls a pink pod into his mouth, rolling the tip between his lips until it pouts and beads into his mouth. He suckles furiously, teeth grazing, and tongue soothing the abused flesh.
Sakura’s fingers can’t decide whether they want to be tangled in Minato’s hair or gripping his shoulders when he smothers his face in her cleavage. Her index finger chooses to pop the buttons of his shirt, the smooth tiles scattering on the asphalt as he pushes her against the hood of the car and marks her breasts with violets and scarlet flowers.
She tries to push down his shirt, but he’s occupied with her chest and her hands are shaky when she feels the sting of his teeth down to her sex.
.
“Sakura,” Minato breathes against her ear when he pulls off her hood and back to the ground. His hands palm her breasts, the feathery drags make her shiver and he tells her, “Take off your underwear, slowly.”
“But my skirt—“ Sakura hisses when he pinches her throbbing nipples and shuffles her backward.
“Leave it on,” he nips her earlobe and breathes a wicked chuckle, “I don’t have any windows and I don’t want anyone to see you,” he gives her another squeeze and relishes in her shudder, “And I don’t think you want anyone but me to see you, do you?”
Sakura swallows a groan at the possessiveness that stems from his protection when he questions against her bare skin. She likes it when he speaks, she thinks she can listen to him talk for hours and when he sucks at her pulse against her throat, it’s a struggle to slide her panties from underneath her skirt because her motor skills are moving as slow as time.
Her nails barely pull at the band of her underwear, because once they fall against her thighs, he maneuvers her so her thighs are pressed together firmly and the damp silk falls in between their feet.
.
Minato bends her over the front seat, her bare-back a line of silver against the moonlight, one foot drags over the asphalt to settle in between her heels, a silent command to spread her legs, and Sakura follows the instruction while grasping against at the glove compartment in between the passenger and front seat.
His mouth is hot against her back and she shivers when he presses wet kisses against the knobs of her spine. With quick fingers, he lifts the white gauze of her skirt and slides two fingers down her folds.
Sakura drops her head against the seat and arches her back against the gentle drags over her sex.
“That’s it,” Minato praises her gently when she curves her back, teeth nipping at her shoulder bone, and then he sinks two fingers into the velvet of her heat, “Just like that.”
She whimpers, bites down on her forearm when he starts a slow, rough pace, his thumb brushing over her clit gently. His fingers curling and curling, mouth leaving bruises on the small of her lower back as he works her into a frenzy.
.
Minato pushes her harder, faster, snapping his wrist against her abused sex, never once letting her settle from each jolt of lightning and presses gentle kisses against her neck.
Then he stops.
Sakura whines at that, thighs trembling in anticipation, his thumb circles her lightly, and fine beads of sweat roll down the back of her neck when she attempts to look back.
“No,” he exhales shakily and prompts her back up, “Not like this. I need you on top.”
.
Minato is hasty when he shoves his slacks down, sitting in the driver’s seat he pulls out his wallet and tosses it onto the passenger’s seat. Sakura straddles his hips and shoves her breasts outward in an attempt to balance herself on his lap. He helps her by pressing the button on the side of his chair, pushing the seat back, and giving her a little bit more room.
“How flexible are you?” Minato asks tongue dipping into her navel.
“Pretty good?” Sakura’s answer sounds like a question, fingers grasping onto his length and gives him a slow pump.
He groans wantonly when she pumps him, he’s been holding back for a bit now and his hands against her spine. Blue eyes blink dazedly and pants, “Stand up.”
She frowns but does when he says and grasps onto the rails above them. It’s the back end of the windshield that she grasps onto, but when he slings a leg over his shoulder and whispers against her thighs with wicked ocean eyes, “I just want a taste.”
Sakura can’t help the sob that escapes her mouth when he seals his mouth to her clit and his tongue that slides over silken pleats.
.
When Sakura finally sinks down onto him – he fills her, soothes the ache inside her, and stretches her out – she has to remind herself to breathe, overwhelmed with the scent of him, the taste of him, and moves slow.
Minato has brought her to the cusp more than once and now she’s determined to reach her end with or without him. He knows this, which is why he saws a thumb at her sensitive button and gently scratches his nails down her back.
She gasps when he hits a sensitive patch, thighs quivering as she rocks against him and her fingers never leave the windshield. Sakura uses it as a prop to assist her in raising her hips, something to anchor her when she rolls against him and takes him inside harsher—greedily.
.
Sakura sees him before she can come, it causes her stomach to quicken, ice to flood her veins, and her cheeks to flush. He has a bowl cut, with thick brows, and stares at her unabashedly from the window of his van. She pants brokenly – she doesn’t stop, doesn’t think she can – brokenly, softly, a whisper of a whine, “Minato, there’s someone w-watching.”
Minato’s eyes flash like hurricanes, he presses a palm against the center of her spine and pushes her down until her breasts are flat against his chest and bites at her chin, “Don’t look at him—look at me. Look at me.”
“I’m always looking at you,” Sakura bites at his fingertip and squeals when he takes control of the pace now.
He’s rougher, faster, determined to send her off with every twist of the hips, hands heavy on her hips as he manipulates her movements. He kisses her sloppily, tongue curling against her cheek, and breathes, “Do you think you can touch yourself for me?”
“I—” Sakura yelps when he spreads her legs, even more, extending one thigh over the glove compartment, and then he hits that spot that causes stars to cloud her vision.
She doesn’t need to touch herself to reach the edge, Minato’s taste in her mouth and his manhandling do it for her.
.
“You know,” Minato breathes heavily, content with Sakura’s breasts resting against his face, “I never sleep with someone on the first date.”
Sakura snorts and winces when he arranges her limbs into a more comfortable position. Her chin resting against his head, and bottom against the back of his thighs, “And I never do public sex.”
“Hm,” he hums against her throat, fingers easing the muscles in her thighs and nips the corner of her mouth. Minato tells her abruptly, a little worried and a little alarmed at his own lack of communication, “You know this isn’t a one-time thing, right?”
Sakura doesn't answer, instead, she leans down and kisses him nice and slow.