[Log] Blood With a Little Bite [1/2] [Backdated]

[love_akane]

Characters: Gaara and Sakura
Date: June 1st
Location: The apartment complex in Celo (specifically the elevator <3)
Warnings/Notes: PG-13; Blood, medical stuffs, mild language, violence, much slamming against walls~
Summary: Sakura comes to heal an injured patient, and finds herself trapped in an elevator with a rather grumpy red-head.

Sakura was annoyed.

Between her common sense railing at her for how stupid it was to be wandering out at night alone to meet with some stranger and the fact that said stranger was not at the allocated meeting place, she really was quite perturbed.  Ten minutes had past of her waiting in the small lobby of the building for this Gaara person, and still no sign of him.  Perhaps if it wasn't for the fact that this person could be passed out somewhere in the building, lying in a growing puddle of their own blood she wouldn't have been audacious enough to jab the call button for the elevator with a little more force than necessary.  Shuffling the heavy medical case over to her other hand, Sakura mentally tried to calculate how much walking she'd have to do with the thing in tow.  From the outside she could see there were five floors to the building but it was difficult to tell how far it went back and how many corridors would need to be explored.

But there was nothing she could do but sigh and take the few steps forward into the shaky carriage, wincing slightly at the sickly 'ding' that echoed off the linoleum as it slowly began to rise.

Best to start at the top and work her way down.

It was well past time for Gaara to get up and get going - he had an 'appointment' to make, after all -, yet the red-head continued to lay on the sofa in Anko's apartment, hand pressed tightly against the wound at his side. Blood was seeping out more profusely now, staining the black cotton t-shirt he had thrown on not too long ago in an effort to hide the fact that he was injured. No, Anko wasn't at the apartment - even Kankuro had left on some unnamed errand -, but it was habit for Gaara to ignore a wound that he didn't feel like acknowledging... and it was hard to ignore a bright red streak staining the front of your stomach, the side of your body. So he had put the shirt on to make himself ignore it.

Gaara shifted on the sofa, wincing slightly as the dry blood covering his open wound cracked against the fabric, releasing even more of that crimson liquid. He thought about blowing off the girl - Sakura, if he recalled -, and just laying where he was, but judging by the increasing discomfort of the injury (And the fact that if he dared spill blood on Anko's carpet, he would be massacred in his weakened state.), he realized it would be best to see what kind of medical expertise this stranger had to offer.

Ten past six - they were supposed to meet at five-thirty -, the red-head hoisted himself up off the couch and stalked towards the door, taking his time. He had nothing better to do than frustrate innocent strangers, and no doubt the girl would be furious by now. He smirked at the thought. Maybe she would get physical, like Anko did? It would be a fun fight, no matter how quick he could take her down.

Gaara paused at the elevator, debating on whether or not to go inside. It was notorious for it's inability to function correctly, and he didn't feel like chancing getting killed by an inanimate object. He didn't feel like taking the stairs three flights down, either, and decided the elevator was his best option. It creaked as he stepped inside - not a good sign -, and when he pressed the button for ground floor, it started moving up. He puzzled over this for a moment, leaning against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, but was torn from his thoughts when the death trap screeched to a sudden halt, and the doors slid open.

The building was almost creepy in the silence that echoed through it's empty hallways.  It was almost too quiet really.  There was no sounds coming from anywhere except for the creaking of the old building.  With each step forward Sakura's ire grew, to the point where she was almost cheerfully looking for an unconscious body laying sprawled out in one of the hallways.

Because that surely had to be the explanation.  Why else would you stand someone up, someone who's only intention was to try and make sure that you didn't die.  It boggled Sakura's mind really.  She cleared the fifth floor, coming down the rear staircase to the fourth and had been just about half way down the hallway when the loud grinding of the elevator coming to life made her stumble back a few paces and out of her mental slaughtering of her imagined patient.

Her hand resting over her pounding heart, Sakura made her way down the remainder of the hall, eyes carefully roaming over the worn carpeting for any signs of blood that may lead to her patient.  Another fifty or so paces wasted, she jabbed her finger against the cracked call button, wincing from the sharp pain when her finger nail split from the force.  Cursing silently under her breath about everything being out to get her, Sakura glared at the elevator doors, willing it to move faster.  Three more floors to go and if this Gaara person wasn't to be found, the hell with it.  She was going home.

Teeth tore at the broken fingernail, frustration giving her more incentive to renew an old habit that she hadn't indulged in since she realized how pretty her hands looked when her nails weren't gnawed down to nubs - another strike against this faceless bleeder for pushing her to such a level of irritation.  Another one when she realized how far she had tore down, so much so that now she was bleeding.  The elevator chimed loudly just as she popped her finger between her lips with a scowl, a scowl that deepened into a full fledged frown when the doors opened to reveal a person already in the cab.  A person slightly slouched over with the slight sheen of someone in pain and trying their damnedest to hide it.

Heavy first aid kit swung in and hit the floor with a loud bang as she worked up her best 'You're in Deep Shit Mister' expression to focus on who she would bet her next month's rent was this Gaara person.

"You're late."

His gaze was diverted to the floor, brow furrowed in concentration as he expended all his efforts on not showing the extent of his pain. Outwardly, he just looked grumpy - arms crossed, a scowl etched into his features -, but inwardly he was fighting off wave after wave of nausea just to remain standing. The doors opened with a sickening metallic sound, but what caught Gaara's attention was the large medical bag thrown in his line of view. He blinked once, twice, waiting for the hallucination to go away, but was pulled back down to reality when a rather agitated voice broke through his confusion.

His movements were slow, head still tilted downwards as bright jade eyes traveled from bag, to floor, to someone's shoes, and on up. To anyone else, it might look like the red-head was unabashedly raking his eyes across the girl's body, but in reality he was merely sizing her up, debating on whether or not she was a threat. Long, thin legs; a petite body; strong arms, but not quite strong enough. Finally, his gaze settled on her face; head still cocked in the direction of the floor, so it gave the appearance that he was looking up at her under thick lashes.

"Do I know you?" His voice was a throaty growl, a hint of mockery twisting his lips upwards in a sneer.

"Unless you've the habit of making multiple dates for strange girls to come out in the middle of the night to patch you back together, you do in a manner of speaking.  You were supposed to meet me," she paused to flick her wrist to twist her watch back around, "Almost twenty minutes ago.  Unless there is another elevator with another guy cursed with a piss poor attitude who happens to be bleeding profusely...my money says that you would be Gaara and you shouldn't have been stubborn and just let me meet you in your apartment."

Her bag hit the elevator floor with a bang as she zeroed in on the painfully obvious blood seeping through the blackness of his shirt.  Forehead wrinkling in a frown, Sakura tentatively reached out to carefully pull the fabric away from his skin, jumping right in without any further 'small talk'.  Even though she could see that his skin was naturally pale, there was an unhealthy pallor to it that she didn't like and when the dark fabric was finally tugged away enough to see the nasty gash across his stomach, her forehead furrowed even more.

"You really shouldn't be up moving around like this you twit, this is hardly a paper-cut to be ignored," she grumbled, reaching out for her bag to dig out some gauze so she could blot away some of the blood.  Her fingers gently brushed against his stomach as she worked, mind making note of past scars even as she mentally winced with the realization that this cut had intersected another one that wasn't long healed, reopening it and making an already bad injury that much more worse.

Oh, great. A talker. Gaara slit his eyes, throwing this stranger with the strikingly pink hair a deadly glare. By the jaded look and medical supplies, this was most certainly Sakura - the girl he was supposed to meet, as she said, about twenty minutes ago. A slight smirk tittered at the edge of his lips - so his absence did get a rise out of her, hm? -, but the murderous glare did not cease.

"Try the other side of the building, second floor," he offered, smirking, wondering if he could get another rise out of the girl.

Gaara - as paranoid and mistrusting as he was - remained standing at the back of the elevator, leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed lazily over his chest. His entire air exuded an 'I-couldn't-care-less-about-your-troubles' vibe, but his muscles were tensed and ready for an attack. Medics carried around sharp objects, after all, and even the most harmless fumbling idiot could slip up and drop a scalpel on someone, sharp end up.

He was caught off guard, though, by the look on her face. Not one of murderous intent, or even agitation, as earlier. As her eyes fell to the dark stain adorning the front of his black shirt, her mood seemed to shift instantly, and quite suddenly Gaara found himself staring down at a face of concern. It was this look that gave him cause to hesitate - this hesitation that gave her the edge and ability to catch him off guard and tug his shirt upwards.

The red-head shuddered as humid air hit his open wound, arms unlacing from his chest to fall to his sides. He paused, shocked at her audacity - her fearlessness -, and stood there, mouth slightly open, as she ran her fingers over his stomach, cleaning the blood surrounding his cut. Bright jade eyes widened, staring down at pink locks, and he pressed himself more firmly against the wall, as if trying to escape her cool touch.

And then something clicked. His insanity took control of his reflexes, and in half a second Gaara was moving without his brain ever having to tell him to do so. His hands shot out, gripping Sakura's shoulders tightly, and he pushed her backwards in an attempt to get her off of him. He used more force than was necessary, and ended up throwing her against the now-closed elevator door (Somewhere along the line, it had shut of its own free will, and was now slowly traversing downwards at a snail's pace.).

"Don't touch me," he growled, adjusting his shirt and pulling it back into place.

Her back impacted the elevator doors with enough force to rattle the slowly moving car, leaving Sakura to stare at him disbelievingly.  It wasn't enough to fully knock the wind out of her but the action stunned her more than the impact itself.

"It would have been nice if you had warned me that you had personal space issues before I came out to track you down...it makes this whole patching you up bit just a little difficult," she grumbled, pulling herself back to her feet and glaring him down.  "You're just going to have to get over it.  I've already gotten here so now you're stuck with me until either you pass out or-" Her arms shot out to brace herself as the car suddenly slammed to a halt, but it wasn't enough to keep her from falling back down onto her rear with an annoyed 'Umpf.'  Even as she mentally groaned with pain lighting up her spine, the fact that the elevator was no longer creeping along made her stomach bottom out.  Wide green eyes met similar ones a few scarce feet away.

"This...is not good."

He had just finished composing himself - and was doing a mighty fine job of ignoring the pink-haired wench, too -, when the elevator came to a sudden, lurching halt. He steadied himself against the wall, wincing as his quick motions pulled too much on his open wound, making another bout of fresh blood gush out. That wasn't his main concern, though.

No, what really concerned him was the odd situation he now found himself in.

Trapped.

In an elevator.

With a touchy-feely idiot.

Gaara had to stifle the groan threatening to tear from his throat. It was just his luck, wasn't it? Try and keep her from knowing where he lived - from trapping him in his own (Well, Anko's own) apartment -, and wind up getting trapped in a desperately hot, uncomfortably cramped elevator.

He glared down at the girl on the floor, not offering a hand up, or asking if she was alright. She was a medic - she could take care of herself, as far as he was concerned. His eyes trailed along her form distastefully - pitiful -, and he was about to turn away when the sight of something bright and crimson caught his eye. He was beside her in an instant, crouched down, his body hovering a scant few inches from her own. Gaara hated close contact, but all thoughts of personal space fell away when blood was in the picture. It was no longer an issue of touch, but an issue of existence.

Gaara liked blood.

He liked it enough to overcome any inhibitions about getting too close.

Which was why he hovered directly over Sakura's left arm, eyes trained on a small nick she had received on her fall down.

"You're bleeding." It wasn't said in concern, but could easily be mistaken for such - ... if one didn't look into his eyes, that is.

Sakura let her head fall back against the hollow metal wall with a resounding thud echoing through the metal contraption.  Her horoscope told her it was a good night to curl up at home with a good book, why hadn't she just listened then?

She felt the warmth from the other body before she actually saw it, having closed her eyes to inwardly groan over this entire scenario.  The low announcement was what had her head lolling over to the side to see what in the hell it was Gaara was talking about, her forehead wrinkling in a little annoyance with the one who had personal space issues now practically licking her arm.

"Yeah, so are you in case you had forgotten or else we wouldn't even be in this situation."

Thoroughly unamused with how things were playing out, Sakura made to push him back off of her a little bit when the elevator lurched again and she suddenly found herself with a lapful of redhead.

This...was not her idea of a good time.

Before he could make a move to somehow shove her away again, Sakura did her best to work an arm between them when she felt a distinctive warm, sticky wetness weigh down her shirt, seeping quickly through to her skin.

"Hey, are you ok?"  Medical instinct overrode annoyance and she quickly but gently pushed Gaara onto the floor of their prison, moving with him and sitting herself on his thighs to keep him from moving.  There was far more blood here than what there was moments before, she could only assume with all the excess moving and jolting, whatever had congealed itself shut had reopened.  "Dammit," she hissed, reaching over into her bag trying to find some scissors or something sharp to cut away the cloth that was covering where she needed to see, but decided after a moment that that didn't necessarily seem to be the best idea with this weirdo already showing a less than gentle demeanor.

Taking a moment to pause in her digging, Sakura glared down at the redhead, summoning all the authority that came with her position (both as a medic AND as the person who currently held the dominant position at the moment), even as her fingers gripped tightly on the edge of his saturated shirt.

"I'm going to need for you to suck it up and lie still for a little bit so I can get the bleeding to stop.  Shove me away again and I'll make you regret it even while I'm letting you bleed out, got me?"  And without waiting for a response, she ripped his shirt open to get to the crimson stained skin underneath.

The smell was what threw him off guard. Never before had he encountered someone with blood that smelt so... sweet. He found himself wondering if it would taste the same - if her death would wring out more satisfaction for him, than others. Her words fell on deaf ears - the slow, rhythmic pound of bloodlust was rising to the forefront of his conscious mind -, and it took a sudden jolting stop to snap him out of it.

It wasn't the sharp movement that broke his concentration, though. It was the unexpected heat pressed up against his body as he fell forward.

Standing so close in such an unreliable elevator had not been a good idea, and the end result left Gaara a bit dazed and disoriented. The quick, unexpected stop had thrown the red-head forward, straight into Sakura's lap. His forehead banged up against her stomach, and his arms shot out to either side of her to try and steady himself.

He froze, wincing as his skin was stretched tight, the wound opening up again to spill his blood all along the other's shirt. Bright crimson stained her white top, and Gaara was surprised that so much life-giving liquid could spill from his body, and he still be alive and - relatively - well.

He was still in shock - still dazed by the heat, the contact, the touch of another -, and so gave no protest when she lightly pushed him downward, guiding him into a comfortable position even as she straddled his hips and nearly sat atop him.

Gaara shuddered, clenching his teeth and turning his head to the side to press his cheek against the cool, dirty floor. He was wholly prepared to ignore her for the rest of this ordeal - to let her get this whole 'patching up' business over with -, when the sound of ripping fabric broke him from his concentration. Before he had time to stop her, Sakura had succeeded in removing his shirt from his body. The messy, sticky article of clothing was tossed to the side, out of the way, and his eyes followed it in a disbelieving fashion.

"Is this how you treat all your patients?" He hid his shock behind a snarky attitude.

Now bare and half-naked in front of this stranger, the red-head bristled, his temper flaring. For the moment, he remained motionless, letting Sakura do her job. But the minute an opportunity arose to get even, he would take it without hesitation.

"If they're proving to be a pain, then yes.  You're in my care, we play by my rules.  Plain and simple."  Her hands moved quickly with well practiced ease, carefully blotting away the blood from the pale skin.  This was hardly an ideal setting for the task but with the elevator not budging since it's last little jolt, there wasn't much of a choice in the matter.

"You know, I should probably be asking how in the hell you managed to get like this, but I have a feeling I'm better off not knowing," she muttered when the silence in the little metal box became too overbearing.  "Probably wouldn't have been too bad on your own but you tore into what looks to be an old injury that was still trying to mend itself."  Blood soaked gauze piled up quickly and Sakura couldn't help but to start worrying about the inordinate amount of blood this guy was losing, his naturally pale skin sallowing even further as the blood continued to ooze away.  She cursed herself for not thinking to grab something to properly stitch him up with, the wound being just wide enough to warrant such treatment, far too big for a mere band-aid.  At the very least she could get the mess cleaned and save it from infection in this far from sterile environment, a quickly mumbled warning about the stinging to come before a well doused gauze pad was carefully daubed across Gaara's abdomen.  It was her own first hand experience with the stuff that had her leaning forward a little further to blow slightly on the now disinfected skin, hoping to take away a little of the burn (she didn't even want to imagine that stuff over such an expanse of skin, just the little gash on her arm from a protruding nail had elicited quite the number of curses from the pink haired female).

"Accident," he said in reply to her unasked question. His tone was bored, gaze flitting to the ceiling of their little prison. In a way, it had been an accident. In a bout of spontaneity, Gaara had taken a jaunt through Cena, his bloodlust as forceful as ever. How long had it been since he'd hunted? Two weeks? Three? A month? Too long, in his eyes, and so he had left Celo for a little while, intent on indulging in a killing spree. When he got there, his first target had been a lone Arma standing just to the side of a back alley. The man had been practically begging for death, with how inattentive he had appeared. It was just a matter of skirting around him, then coming up from behind to slit the man's throat.

What Gaara had not anticipated was that the man would catch him before the deed had been accomplished, and spin around, knife drawn, to cut a large gash across the red-head's stomach. It was pure luck, and just the memory of such an amateur mistake made a growl rise in Gaara's throat.

He didn't even hear her mumbled warning, before an intense burning sensation spread over his open wound. Gaara closed his eyes at the sting, but made no move otherwise, fully intent on waiting it out. He had felt this before, and though it hurt, no amount of writhing would make the discomfort go away. It was pointless, and besides, he wasn't about to show weakness in front of this girl.

This girl who was, at the moment, bent over his prone body, blowing softly at his stomach to try and alleviate the pain.

The insomniac blinked, black-rimmed eyes focused on the top of her head, then let his head fall back down against the metal floor with a loud thud. His mouth felt oddly dry, and every time he tried to swallow, he thought he might choke. What - What was this idiot doing? He clenched his teeth and decided to wait it out.

Green eyes looked up as a resonating thud echoed through the elevator, scowling as she realized where the noise came from.

"I came here to stop you from bleeding to death.  If you give yourself a concussion from doing something stupid like that, I'm going to leave you to suffer through it."  Warning having been given, she bent back over the nasty looking cut, painting it with some more antibiotic to ensure that it wouldn't get infected.  With the majority of the blood cleared away and the wound cleaned up as best she could do under the circumstances, her forehead resettled into it's previously puckered state.  The majority of the cut would be fine with just some simple patching of gauze and tape but down where it had torn open that older injury it was still rather jagged and gaping.

"Are you ok, not too lightheaded or anything?," she asked, leaning back over to her bag to pick through it and pull out the necessary items.  "I'm going to need to stitch up this area down here," a gentle finger underlined the skin in question, "Everything else should be fine, its just right here is really torn and that's where the worst of the bleeding is.  It'll only take me a quick minute to do but I don't have anything to numb you first.  Will that be ok with you?"  Of course she could have always just started without explaining anything first but Sakura would rather take the few seconds of preparation versus the alternative of being thrown against the door again for doing anything unannounced.

Gaara bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to squirm. No, the pain was easily pushed to the back of his mind, but her damnable closeness was just so disconcerting. His eyes shifted from the worn, cracked ceiling downwards, to meet Sakura's concerned gaze. He nodded once, something shifting below the piercing green glare he shot her way; wavering, faltering, until he could hold it no more, and he turned his eyes in another direction.

The antiseptic bubbled and burned, but was forgotten.

What was wrong with him? No one could throw him off quite so easily. Why this girl, with her simple touches and firm resolve? With her idiotic compassion, her surprising strength? She wasn't even fighting, and it already felt like she had gained the upper hand.

Gaara didn't like this. He didn't like it at all.

Releasing a shuddering breath, the red-head turned his head away from her touch, as if this would help him ignore it.

"Hurry," was his simple answer.

An inquiring quirk of the eyebrow was Sakura's only reply to Gaara's sudden need to hurry her along.  Completely disregarding the order, her movements were smooth and steady, making sure each stitch was done properly and as quickly as possible to prevent any more pain then necessary.  There weren't any more than a dozen neat black stitches threaded through the pale skin, but they did their job and the nasty looking tear was sealed where it would heal properly - should the patient not find any reason to un-do her work.

Even though they had only shared less than a half an hour together by this point, Sakura had the gut feeling that Gaara was hardly the type to lie back and let things heal in their own time - so it was no hardship in saving her breath with the usual warnings and precautions that normally followed one of her visits.

As one more safety net, an additional coating of antibiotic was swabbed over the stitched skin before a bandage was carefully affixed over the afflicted area.  Before her patient had the opportunity to move again, Sakura did the best she could wiping away any remaining traces of blood off his torso, tsking softly over the saturated state of his pants.  The remnants of his shirt was used to try and swab away at the stained floor, but the effect was more of a large smear then any real cleaning.

Oh well, no one couldn't fault her for trying.

She was done.

She was done... and she was still touching him.

Gaara winced as her warm fingers worked lightly over his torso, swabbing at the dried crimson stain splattered along his stomach. Every light brush of skin against skin made goose flesh rise along his arms, and it took all of his will power not to shudder under her gaze.

It wasn't her touch, specifically, that made him feel this way. It was simply a lack of contact throughout his life, a lack of close human interaction, that made the sudden presence of another's warmth so... alarming.

People never got this close to him. Not unless they were dying, or fighting, and this girl was doing neither.

He was frozen to the ground, bright jade eyes wide and desperate, his fingers digging into the metal floor. Anything to distract him from this. Anything to keep from slamming the girl's head into the floor, in an attempt to get away. He couldn't harm her yet. Not yet, not yet... not yet...

She pulled away, mopping at the floor with the tattered pieces of his shirt, and Gaara's body reacted to this sudden freedom violently. He was above her before he knew he had even moved. In his hazy state of recognition, the red-head realized he must have twisted his torso quickly, knocking Sakura onto her back by the weight of his own body. He was straddling her waist now, hands planted firmly on either side of her head, the look in his eyes fierce.

The voice in the back of his head was screaming at him to kill her. She had gotten too close, made him uncomfortable. Like a petulant child, the darkness inside his skull whined for him to take away what unnerved him the most.

He didn't move, though, and instead remained frozen to the spot, debating on what to do with her.

And yet again her body was moving without her permission, but this time she found her back hitting the floor rather then the wall - not that much more favorable of a choice in her humble opinion.

This game was getting tiring.

And Sakura was even more vindicated in her ideal that there was something seriously messed up with this guy.

She completely ignored the weighty glare being focused at her, choosing instead to match it with one of her own as she lay there, torn between being pissed about being tossed about once again or the fact that her patient was moving unnecessarily and in such a way that could possibly undo her work.

"You know, if I knew we were going to play wrestling, I wouldn't have wasted my time just patching your idiot self back together."

Now if she could only force her subconscious to forget that this guy was hurt and therefore was not someone who could be hurt a little more for all of this manhandling.

He blinked slowly at her words, tensing above her, berating himself for the situation he had put himself in. He knew better than to blindly jump into a scenario where the variables were too vague to determine the outcome. Gaara had mindlessly pinned the girl to the ground, and now that his violent rage was slowly bubbling down, he realized that he was touching her of his own free will.

Which wouldn't have been a problem... if she had fought back instantly. It was the pause in movement, the lack of struggle, that threw him off guard and made his body rack with shudders.

The red-head shook above her, and offhandedly he realized that the quick, sudden movement must have thrown him off balance. It was too much for his injured body to take; and now, hovering above the medic, his forehead inches away from her own - breaths coming in light, pained pants -, Gaara began to regret his rash actions.

When the weight of gravity became a force too strong to fight, the insomniac instantly folded. His bare, bloody chest collided with Sakura's prone form; the glare he had previously been directing her way softened to a glassy look.

He didn't cry out, but his breathing grew heavier, and the rasp in his voice detailed how dry his throat was.

"... Shut up."

Because he just knew he wouldn't hear the end of this.