[Naruto] Little Wonders (p2) -- Naruto/Gaara, PG-13 (T)
Title: Little Wonders (2/2)
Pairing: Naruto/Gaara
Rating: PG-13 or thereabouts
Other pairings: None intentional, though I guess one could read between the lines as they see fit.
Warnings: Some heavy petting and boy love.
Word Count: ~12,000
Summary: On the little wonders of life, and, through them, finding the humanity you possess.
On the fifth day, rain came.
Four days, Gaara had been here, and tomorrow, he would leave. Tomorrow, Naruto would go to train with one of the Sannin. Gaara would stand with Temari and Kankurou, and the desert would claim them all once more.
He stood, barefoot, sandals discarded. At this point, shoes would only make him slip in the mud.
Gaara held his hand up and bent two fingers inwards slightly, index and middle.
And at that, Naruto was on him again, all fists.
Always fists, Gaara thought, and crossed his arms before his chest as he was knocked backwards, toes curling while he tried to hold his footing.
A blow connected.
He fell backwards, grabbed Naruto's hands and flipped him as they tumbled together, and then Naruto was behind him, on his feet, and Gaara leapt to his feet again and spun to face him. Their sides had reversed.
Gaara wiped his bleeding mouth.
It still felt odd, being hurt. To feel his blood--
“Catch!”
Naruto threw him a kunai knife, and Gaara did.
How a body could sing when in motion. No wonder Naruto liked this so much.
Gaara had barely swallowed a deep gulp of that cool, high air before he found himself shoved back again, trying to hold his ground again.
This time, the moon caught on the knife. It shone before Gaara's eye. He parried; alert, reflexes heightened.
Pressed together, blade to blade, and Gaara felt it all through his body. Starting at his wrist, the pressure; causing his forearm to shake, and his knees trembled.
The muscles in his legs strained; everything strained in those beautiful, impossible moments. Weight bearing down on him. Gaara opened his mouth, closed it. Grimaced.
And swung his leg forward, tripping Naruto.
They separated again, caught themselves again. It was this way every time, this dance. Swipes and feints and limbs, and the sand would not come to him now; the gourd was not here and the earth was too wet to yield any aid. But somehow, Gaara found that he liked this, this feeling.
They were careful with one another, in their own ways. They only moved as fast and hard as they thought the other could manage, never more.
Gaara flipped the knife in his fingers, wrapped and pocketed it, and ran forward, and this time it was Naruto's turn to go on the defensive.
Bare foot swung at his leg, connected with his knee, and Naruto started to slide backwards, but his feet stayed planted, forearm blocking Gaara's punch. Naruto turned in a partial arc and took Gaara with him, calf to calf.
Gaara had rolled his pants' legs up. Orange fabric brushed against his skin.
Contact.
One movement-
--the wrong movement, apparently--
Naruto's knee slammed into his gut.
Blur.
Gaara heard himself make a noise like uuuuuhhhhhhhhhffffff, and then his arms were in the air, and he was stumbling, falling--
--down, with the moon and the sky above, right above.
He hit the ground, hard, and all air was gone.
Almost instantaneously, Naruto was crouching beside him.
“Gaara? Are you okay?” he heard. “I'm sorry. Was that too hard? Did I put too much force into it? Are you okay? Here, let me help you up.”
Gaara took a breath, slowly.
As if from a distance, he was aware of the various feelings in his body; numbness, somewhat, shock from the impact. That clanging shock he'd experienced in the Chuunin tournament, as if a bell were ringing through him without sound, through his muscles and bones.
Dull ache, beneath the numb places and around them. Ache that would solidify into something deeper by tomorrow, maybe.
Gaara coughed softly as Naruto grabbed his arm and jerked him upwards. He'd already gotten one foot beneath himself, but the motion caused him to slip again.
Touch.
It, whatever it was, seemed to dawn on them at the same time.
They looked at each other. Gaara looked at Naruto's messy hair, his wide, contrite eyes. His mouth, open a little, breath passing through.
Gaara was not used to being touched. His eyes must have reflected some strangeness, because Naruto let him go, gently, and stood up.
“I'm not good at this,” he murmured.
Nearby, there were patches of tiny purple flowers. Even here, in this high place. The wind had that coolness to it again--a promise of rain.
“You're fine. You're just not used to fighting without your sand, is all! Hell, I'd probably be even worse at taijutsu if I were in your position!”
Gaara was only half-listening. He pressed his lips together after his breathing had calmed.
Naruto turned, like he was going to walk away.
But he did not.
He did not, because Gaara had reached up and taken hold of his wrist.
It was a light grip, certainly not enough to halt Naruto if he had wanted to pull away.
“Gaara?”
In his chest. Something. It was almost painful. And his heart was beating so fast.
The moment was ... this must be terror, Gaara thought. But not a horrible kind, as he'd once experienced. This was like a terror of not knowing, but wanting.
“You always walk away.”
A statement, not an accusation. At least, he hadn't meant it as such.
“Don't walk away.”
He did not know quite what he wanted, but he didn't want that.
“Gaara.”
This time, there was no implied question that Gaara heard. His stomach roiled a bit.
“Naruto.”
A little dumb, he thought, parroting names this way, but they did not seem to have any other words at this moment, and Gaara's mouth felt dry as the sand, and his body was still singing. He'd never felt like this before. It was confusing. Upsetting, kind of. It made him almost dizzy and sick.
“Naruto,” he said again, as if there was not another word in all the languages that existed. This time, he heard the tremor in his voice.
His name said in such a manner was all it took for Naruto to drop to a sitting position beside him.
Suddenly, awkwardly, they were twisting and shifting and facing each other and whatever Naruto saw on Gaara's face - fear, wonder, excitement; he must have really looked thirteen in that instant - appeared to give him concern, and there was breath, and Gaara smelled ramen on it, and he wanted something and he did not know what, but he wished Naruto would figure it out and tell him. He had said he would lead the way - he had said --
“You ...”
He gulped visibly. Gaara almost did as well.
“You can practice kissing with me,” Naruto said, voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “I-if you want, that is. But promise not to tell anyone, all right?”
This time, it was Gaara's turn to make an incoherent sound, something like an “uaaawghhhh”, very soft, but his mind only dimly registered this.
“Because we're friends,” Naruto went on, “and b-because you wanted to know about kissing, and I kind of want to know, too, and I kind of want to try it, and I kind of want to be good for the girl I get with someday, and --”
Gaara's hand had moved, as if of its own volition, down from Naruto's wrist. He now felt himself desperately linking and unlinking their fingers, clenching and relaxing.
Did he want--?
He swallowed hard. Like a cloud inside, pushing out, and sand on his skin, tingling all over. This had been building all night, he suddenly realized. All night, all day, for all the days he'd been here. Maybe even before that. Maybe it'd started even back when Gaara had lain here, in this village, beaten and bleeding and exhausted.
He did not know. He did not know if he wanted to know.
He did know that he itched everywhere.
In an instant, his hands were all over the place. On Naruto's arms, squeezing, in blond hair, on his cheeks, briefly, tracing his collarbone through the fabric of his jumpsuit.
Gaara could not resist the instinctive flinch that came from being touched, and he squinted one eye, and he felt his nose wrinkle, because everything tickled. Naruto's breath, his nearness, his hair when they moved and bumped into one another, the night air, Gaara's stomach. Even his soreness was tickling him raw. It was nearly too much to stand.
Their noses brushed, and Gaara pushed himself backwards - wary - and Naruto grabbed him by the sash around his chest and lifted him forward, then slammed him back down.
“I want to kiss you,” Gaara said.
“What the hell are you doing, then, Gaara?”
That was the part he didn't know. Squirming, apparently. He wiggled himself out of Naruto's grip and turned over, holding himself up with his hands and gasping harshly. It was just overwhelming, being touched. It was so nice and so awful at the same time. It filled him with disgust and discomfort, but left him wanting more. Gaara had never known anything like this.
Abruptly, he turned and shoved Naruto down so that he was atop him, hands on either side, looking down. A confused, questioning look passed between them. Suddenly, Gaara was on his side, then his back again. He rolled them once more.
Gaara pushed his head down on Naruto's chest and drove his knee into the ground as he maneuvered to shove as much of their legs and thighs together as possible.
The tickling was becoming ... something. It started in his stomach, like a tightness that was quickly knotting him from within. It flared in the small of his back, in his curling toes, in his small injuries, threading over and under and through the pain. It was like pain, but not.
From his own mouth, the most wretched sounds were emerging; strangled, choked, rasping, coughing but not coughing, half-sobbed.
Naruto wrapped his arms around Gaara's waist and lifted him.
He planted Gaara down again so that they were both in a sitting position, eyes level.
Now Gaara was afraid. Afraid of what, he didn't know, but afraid, generally, and his sand was not here, and it was too wet to make use of the soil. He shouldn't have left it behind. He'd always been more guarded than that; what was he thinking?
Gaara felt his friend's face move near his own. He was breathing in Naruto. Inhaling him, taking him right into the bloodstream. Gaara's hands, now on the ground, squeezed erratically.
The first kiss, such as it were, was a mess.
They kept their eyes open, actually staring at one another.
Gaara had never thought--
Crushing, killing; he could manage that. When the endless sand cracked bones and compressed people and the blood drained and mingled until he stank of it. Gaara of the Sand. And some days, he had thought (or Shukaku had told him, he wasn't always sure), he was the sand. Endless torrents of sand and malice, and there was nothing at the core but the body that housed Gaara, though his soul was in the sand; Gaara, he'd thought for years, was the desert, and the granules in the gourd.
But the gourd was not here, and the body of Gaara, “the demon who loved itself”, had another body against it.
Naruto kissed him, moving his lips insistently.
Gaara had never thought he'd wind up like this.
He had never, not even in his craziest Shukaku-induced imaginings, supposed he might end up in a foreign village, doing something besides satiating the thirst for blood that had overtaken him. No, here he was, far from home, under light of the same moon that had witnessed his tears, his torment, his first murders.
Now he was with his first friend, the boy like him, and they were kissing. Quick. Slow. Mismatched. There was no rhythm to the way they quirked their mouths.
Gaara's lips were dry, sore from Naruto's fist.
The bottom lip had plumped from that strike. The bruise, if one formed, would be hidden by the sand. Naruto captured Gaara's aching bottom lip with his teeth, and Gaara could feel that he was trying to be careful, but it hurt. Naruto's tongue ran across his top lip.
“I think this is wrong,” Naruto said suddenly. “Gah. We're doing it all wrong, Gaara!”
It definitely felt unusual to have someone licking him on the lip. Gaara wanted to file that sensation away in his memory, in case it never happened again.
“Repeat it,” he said.
“No, we're doing it wrong, dattebayo. Open your mouth.”
Gaara obeyed.
When he felt a tongue poking into him, he nearly jumped backwards. Naruto held him by the arm.
“You wiggle too much,” he broke the kiss to say.
Their teeth clicked together. And then Naruto was shoving so much of his tongue into Gaara's mouth that he thought he was going to gag on it.
Was this what kissing was supposed to be like? Hitting your teeth and choking on someone's tongue? Gaara wondered.
“Damn!” Naruto broke the kiss again. He swiped the back of his hand over Gaara's chin, wiping away the saliva. “I think I'm still doing it wrong! Was that amazing for you? It wasn't for me, either! Man, I'm never going to impress Sakura-or whoever-like this!”
His eyes got a faraway look and he scrunched up his nose.
“I guess I'm just gonna have to keep kissing you until we're awesome at this.”
It wasn't the kissing which had Gaara's attention, though. It was the press, though maybe that was not the right way of putting it.
There was a certain intensity to Naruto's body, a strong energy and aliveness; his scent -- heavy and musky and boyish - washed over Gaara, and his voice was all over his skin; his breath warmed his lips and face and when he moved forward, roughly, they wound up pushing into one another, and this was the part where the sickeningly exciting feelings became powerful.
Not entirely comfortable. It made him hot and itchy, and his skin got moist enough that his hair stuck to his head and he felt the dirt in his pores more acutely, and when Naruto shoved him, Gaara felt like his skin was becoming something foreign, something far too sensitive. His clothes scratched him and everything, every inch, just tingled and hummed and parts of him were tickly and sore and throbbing and achy and sick, but it was all addictive, and he wanted more, but he wasn't sure if he should ask.
“That was better. Now you kiss back.”
Gaara yanked his arm away and feverishly ran his fingers over Naruto's shoulder; he touched his pulse point, then threaded the tips of his fingers through his hair again. It was soft to the touch.
“I feel unusual,” Gaara told him. His breathing was changing, too.
“Oh, yeah?”
So was Naruto's, actually. In fact, he was panting.
During the next kiss, Naruto was less reckless and Gaara tried to find a harmony in the motion; they still weren't great at it. Battle was their specialty, and while teamwork was a part of that, teamwork of tongues and mouths had never been a part of training. At one point, something did slide the right way and for a moment, Gaara felt a jolt at the base of his spine.
Naruto must have felt it as well. He stopped, looking blurry-eyed and red-faced and breathless.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.”
Gaara had no idea if he wanted this to continue or not. There was certainly a part of it that felt wonderful; he was beginning to feel his body stirring and craving these touches, wondering how they might feel if the obstacles of their clothing were removed.
The thought made him dizzy with need.
On the other hand, this situation had begun to take on a dangerous feel; they didn't know what they were doing, what territory they were crossing into. Well, Naruto might've, but Gaara didn't think so. Gaara was hesitant. He'd never been this close to someone before. And dimly, somewhere along the way, he had begun to remember what he had heard about sex, and was this sex? Had he already had sex? He did not think he had, but Gaara remembered the borders of sex--as a definition--being confusing, and it was associated with many related behaviours, wasn't it?
He didn't really know if he should be doing something he didn't know well enough to know if he were doing it or not.
He guessed he probably shouldn't.
The only reason he even knew to place the word “sex” on the activity was because he knew that when his body got hot like this, it was because of sex, and puberty, and that he was thirteen and his trainers had informed him that nin, like any other boys of such ages, would have to face such discomforts, but as shinobi, they would have to suppress them with their will-power, because a shinobi child had priorities that took precedence, and Gaara had never had much trouble keeping his lust at bay.
He had been far too unhappy and too pained to have much of a libido; Shukaku had had too much control, turning Gaara's focus toward blood, and as a ninja, the “weapon” of Suna, he did indeed have priorities elsewhere. Stirrings did arise from time to time, but they had always been easy to ignore.
Now, there were no immediate priorities. Shukaku was quiet. And Gaara did feel pain, but of a different kind.
He had no idea how to handle this-what the “appropriate” response would be.
Then, he found himself without time to contemplate the matter further.
Naruto-who had somewhere along the way stripped himself of his jacket and top-tackled Gaara, biting at his ear and neck.
Gaara felt a hand on his chest, then lower, under the sash, and--
Under his shirt. On his abdomen.
In an instant, Gaara was on his knees and Naruto's arm was twisted behind his back.
Gaara released it before Naruto had time to protest.
“I apologize,” he said quietly. “I had not meant--”
He had not meant to. It had been pure instinct. No one touched Gaara. They absolutely did not touch the skin of any sensitive places.
And his belly had been right where some of his most intense heat and tightness was pooling, and Naruto had touched it. The result was akin to being shocked.
“S'okay,” Naruto replied, not looking too fazed. He was grinning and still looking twitchy, as if he might jump Gaara again, though he held back. “I should've asked. So you want to take care of it on your own?”
“Are you asking me to have sex with you?”
“Of course not! Only men and women can have sex. Don't be so naïve, Gaara!”
“I believed sex was complicated and difficult to define.”
Gaara thought for a moment, then added,
“I thought only boys and girls could kiss, too.”
“Well, only boys and girls kiss for real. It's different for buddies, like you and me.”
Gaara was about to ask how, but Naruto interrupted him.
“C'mon. At least take off your shirt! It's gotta be miserable in those clothes. Aw, damn. I wish we had something cold to drink. I'm so...” He looked at Gaara and faltered. Suddenly, he did not seem at ease. “I mean ... is it okay if I talk about this? I just assumed, y'know, we're both boys and all ... we have the same parts ... I didn't figure you'd care if I talked about this in front of you, or whatever, but then I remembered you're all, uhhh, not used to some things and kind of innocent in your own way and wow, Gaara, I'm really sorry if I stepped on your toes! You want to just go back to my place and play games or something?”
Gaara looked away.
Below, Konoha was sleeping. He had never heard it so quiet before.
The only sounds in the vicinity were those of the wind blowing through the branches, and the dripping of water from the leaves.
“This,” he began, “is why I believed sex to be complicated.”
Gaara reached up, and, with great care, began removing his sash.
--
--
--
It rained again that night.
In retrospect, Gaara wondered if Konohagakure, like Sunagakure, had a season for the rains.
In retrospect, Gaara wondered many things.
He sat in the windowsill, closing his eyes intermittently. The gourd continued to rest in the corner. Every so often, he heard the whispering of the sand; it mixed well with the voice of the wind.
Looking out at the puddles covering the streets and the sidewalks, Gaara wondered if it had appeared this way in Suna thirteen years before. He wondered if it had been considered a good omen, or the opposite.
Something had been put to rest tonight.
It was not only Naruto, snoring softly in his bed, or Shukaku, resting on the fringes of Gaara's consciousness, eternal, dreaming the dreams of demons that eluded Gaara with the night. It was not Konohagakure, which never seemed to still entirely; there were still lamps sprinkling the Hidden Village with their light, and frogs and insects and trees and things whistling and rustling. It was not the sand, which had been peculiarly quiescent, seeming to sense that its master was placated.
Everything smelled of resin, pine needles, and thick musk-including, Gaara supposed, himself.
The moon and the stars etched his face into the glass; a soft, frosty glow of white and blue shadowed his features.
They had kissed until they could not breathe, until thoughts made of words melted and became only the kinesis of the body, which did not think, only knew. Somewhere in time, the roughness had ebbed, and movements became synchronized; a mysterious harmony, skin on skin, the best feeling in the world (Naruto had been right; such stuffy heat did feel much better to one unclothed), the best pain Gaara had ever known.
The rain came, hard and icy, and drenched them in a torrent.
Refreshment that rarely found its way into the desert: it washed the burn and left them soaking and shivering, the ache now muted and throbbing.
They grabbed up their discarded shirts and sandals and made their way back down the cliffs, barely speaking, their footsteps leaving small imprints in the soft dirt.
They did not discuss what had happened, or what almost had--almost because Gaara was sure there was something else, something more, some way two people, even boys, could be together, and in their need and desperation, he was sure they would have found it if time had allowed.
But they were not ready yet.
For once, Gaara did not want to ask any questions.
For once, Naruto did not want to ramble.
Gaara found himself in Naruto's shower, staring down at his feet.
Mud sloughed off. He picked the twigs from his hair.
Earlier, Naruto had touched it and commented that it seemed to be growing out.
He needed to meet up with his brother and sister again. Tomorrow.
He scrubbed himself until the smell of soap covered the other scents somewhat.
He felt like a stranger in his skin, and there were still things he wanted to ask, but now the questions were elusive and uncomfortable. Now, Gaara just kept stealing glances at things and thinking about parts of his body he had never paid much attention to before, and wondering why he was doing that. He wanted to pay his body more attention in general, but he did not entirely feel comfortable doing so, because now that the edge of lust has been taken off, he could not stop thinking of how in Suna it would be considered obscene.
He turned the faucet and stepped out. Lightly, he toweled himself off and regarded himself in the mirror, feeling the coolness seep into his toes from the tile flooring.
He wiped the fog away with the back of his hand.
The Demon who Loved Itself.
So his mother had wished him to be.
Then this was what it looked like. What would it look like when it got older? What would she have thought if she had seen it-no, him-now? Had she, even for a moment, considered his birth with anticipatory joy?
Tentatively, Gaara placed a finger in his mouth and pulled at his cheek, wondering if he would ever grow accustomed to making use of those muscles. Shukaku had, but he wanted to smile for reasons that had nothing to do with Shukaku.
“Remember, don't tell anyone,” Naruto reminded Gaara in a whisper when he entered the bedroom. He held up the cover, inviting him.
Gaara hesitated.
“I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about this, Gaara.”
Gaara did not understand why Naruto insisted on this so strongly that he kept repeating it; some social etiquette that must have passed him by like so many other things, he figured.
“I don't sleep.”
“I know.”
“Is this about sex?”
“Just get in! Jeez! And no.”
Gaara considered this. He trusted Naruto.
“Y'know, you're as pervy as my sensei,” Naruto said, once Gaara had climbed in with him. “Always asking about sex, and kissing, and thinking everything I do is about that. Next thing you know, you'll be stalking girls at waterfalls.”
“Shouldn't you--” Gaara looked in the direction of the bathroom.
“Nah. I don't need to.”
“You smell like you do,” Gaara observed.
“Man, some friend you are.”
“I apologize.”
“I was just kidding. Jeez. Now, remember, don't mention this, all right?”
He threw an arm over Gaara and nuzzled him.
“I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea,” Naruto said. Gaara felt that sunny blond hair tickle his throat. Its smell was strong and earthy, but not unpleasant. “Don't want anyone thinking I swing that way, and don't want anyone thinking I'm some idiot who needs a hug or something. I'm not a sap like that. I'm a ninja.”
But this, Gaara thought, made them feel less like wild animals.
He wished he could tell Naruto that now he thought he understood what it felt like to be human. When Naruto talked to him, took him places, sparred with him, kissed him; yes, even that. The flood of warmth, of covoluted emotions Gaara could not put names to; like humanity entering him with each touch, being kissed into him, until he could do nothing but hold on and let it take him, whether he willed it or not.
To be human was to not have all the answers. To be human was to feel difficult. Layered. Animals acted on instinct. Animals got rabid.
Humans said things they didn't mean and conveyed things they didn't say.
Humans could hurt you to the point of insanity or make you feel so good you would think you were dying.
Being human was tricky, and frightening, and many other things, but that was the point: it was many things, not a single thought, not something that could be expressed in a few adjectives and syllables. Gaara was finally beginning to understand that he could live a full lifetime and he'd never fully comprehend it, because the longer he existed, the more questions he would accumulate.
Maybe that was the point, too.
“Maaaaan. I hope the milk didn't spoil again.”
“Drink wine.”
“Trying to get me drunk?” Naruto yawned. “Can't believe I'm leaving tomorrow. Mmf.”
“Will you miss it?”
Gaara shifted to look at Naruto. Large, sweet blue eyes blinked at him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I will. Not so sure it'll miss me, though.”
“It will,” Gaara said, and he didn't doubt this.
Strong hands made fists and kneaded his back. He relaxed and eyed the gourd.
Although Shukaku had rumbled throughout Gaara's stay in Konoha, the demon had never surfaced. The headaches were awful, some days, but tonight ... tonight, fighting it and keeping it at bay had seemed easier.
How do you hurt, Naruto?
“I want to be missed, someday,” Gaara said.
Naruto smiled against him.
“Well, you will be. Soon as you leave tomorrow.”
Gaara swallowed. “I meant ... more permanently.”
He felt the smile fade.
“Just say you want to be remembered. Less depressing ...” Naruto yawned. “'Course you will be. Me, too. They'll tell stories about us. Think about that, Gaara. Someday, some old guy will be sittin' around telling some kids about these great warriors from years and years ago ...”
“Demons?”
Naruto looked contemplative. “No. Heroes.”
“Will tonight be remembered?”
“Hah! If I didn't know you better, Gaara, I'd think you were making a joke. Dattebayo. 'Course not. This stays between us. Makes you wonder what things all the people in the stories were hiding, doesn't it? They say the Fourth Hokage was so great. What'd he do in his spare time? Huh? Wonder if he had a friend he... well.” Another yawn. “Mmf, nahhhh. Look, it's special like this, y'know? Our little secret. Just ours.”
His eyes fluttered closed.
Ours. Gaara liked that.
“Someday,” he said.
“Someday?” Naruto murmured.
“Someday, I'll--”
Gaara shifted, carefully, so that his arm was over the other. It was still awkward, doing such a thing. The urge to jerk away remained, but he did not act upon it.
“I'll--”
“Shhh. 'Tttebayo.”
“I want to--”
“Shhh. I know.”
After a fact, Gaara knew he did.
They did not have to say anything more.
Then Naruto was asleep, warm dead weight, and Gaara found himself up and in the windowsill, contemplating.
How did Naruto hurt?
Tomorrow, Gaara would leave. Tomorrow, Naruto would belong to his team-mates, and Konoha. The Hidden Village needed him. Uchiha Sasuke needed him.
More importantly, Naruto needed his rival. He needed to save people from themselves. He needed to be a hero.
And he would be.
This interlude - these small hours - were for him. To give him respite from his loneliness, as he had given Gaara. A final gift of parting before the long journey ahead.
For Naruto, that blissful sleep would end soon, and there would be hardships and starless nights.
But that was the way of the shinobi, the path of one who aspired to be a kage. Forming bonds meant protecting them, losing them, repairing them, and there were hardships, always.
For his part, Gaara knew what he needed to do. Naruto had shown him, without ever saying a word about it.
Their lives diverged now, but someday.
Gaara closed his eyes.
The ocean would wait for them.
Someday, he would see it, and he would believe it. Water enough to drown the desert.
He opened his eyes and looked up through the dark shroud of the evening--broken now by the first slivers of morning light.
The Fourth looked down at him with eyes of stone.
What secrets were they hiding?
Ours.
Ever so slowly, he smiled.
Fate did not permit it at this instant, but someday, he would figure out that way people fit together.
Then.
Gaara turned away from the window, arms by his sides, and went to retrieve his gourd. It was nearing time to leave, after all.
=
(I KNOW GAARA SAW THE OCEAN IN THE MOVIE BUT WTF IT WAS CRAP AND MADE NO SENSE.)
Notes: 'Fic was set after Sasuke left, but before the timeskip, though you could obviously tell that. All happened in my imaginary little world, in which Gaara got to stay and hang out with Naruto for a while.
Title is pretty obviously a nod to the song “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas [linked to YouTube because I'm too ghetto to even bother with Sendspace]. I was listening to that when daydreaming a NaruGaaNaru fic.
I intend to write a sequel, sometime, as the fic itself implies. Actually, I'd originally intended to write a NaruGaaNaru fic set during the current timeline or thereabouts, but I decided to hold off to see where canon is heading at the moment. So I backtracked to the safety of the pre-timeskip period, wherein canon's next events are already known. The sequel, should I ever write it, will be more in the current timeline and will have an actual plot, I think. This was mostly an excuse to write boy love.
For some reason, I kept imagining Gaara in his Chuunin Exam outfit in this fic, hence the part with the wrappings in the beginning. Well, I guess Gaara can change clothes as he sees fit, eh?
Cheers and thanks for reading.
Pairing: Naruto/Gaara
Rating: PG-13 or thereabouts
Other pairings: None intentional, though I guess one could read between the lines as they see fit.
Warnings: Some heavy petting and boy love.
Word Count: ~12,000
Summary: On the little wonders of life, and, through them, finding the humanity you possess.
On the fifth day, rain came.
Four days, Gaara had been here, and tomorrow, he would leave. Tomorrow, Naruto would go to train with one of the Sannin. Gaara would stand with Temari and Kankurou, and the desert would claim them all once more.
He stood, barefoot, sandals discarded. At this point, shoes would only make him slip in the mud.
Gaara held his hand up and bent two fingers inwards slightly, index and middle.
And at that, Naruto was on him again, all fists.
Always fists, Gaara thought, and crossed his arms before his chest as he was knocked backwards, toes curling while he tried to hold his footing.
A blow connected.
He fell backwards, grabbed Naruto's hands and flipped him as they tumbled together, and then Naruto was behind him, on his feet, and Gaara leapt to his feet again and spun to face him. Their sides had reversed.
Gaara wiped his bleeding mouth.
It still felt odd, being hurt. To feel his blood--
“Catch!”
Naruto threw him a kunai knife, and Gaara did.
How a body could sing when in motion. No wonder Naruto liked this so much.
Gaara had barely swallowed a deep gulp of that cool, high air before he found himself shoved back again, trying to hold his ground again.
This time, the moon caught on the knife. It shone before Gaara's eye. He parried; alert, reflexes heightened.
Pressed together, blade to blade, and Gaara felt it all through his body. Starting at his wrist, the pressure; causing his forearm to shake, and his knees trembled.
The muscles in his legs strained; everything strained in those beautiful, impossible moments. Weight bearing down on him. Gaara opened his mouth, closed it. Grimaced.
And swung his leg forward, tripping Naruto.
They separated again, caught themselves again. It was this way every time, this dance. Swipes and feints and limbs, and the sand would not come to him now; the gourd was not here and the earth was too wet to yield any aid. But somehow, Gaara found that he liked this, this feeling.
They were careful with one another, in their own ways. They only moved as fast and hard as they thought the other could manage, never more.
Gaara flipped the knife in his fingers, wrapped and pocketed it, and ran forward, and this time it was Naruto's turn to go on the defensive.
Bare foot swung at his leg, connected with his knee, and Naruto started to slide backwards, but his feet stayed planted, forearm blocking Gaara's punch. Naruto turned in a partial arc and took Gaara with him, calf to calf.
Gaara had rolled his pants' legs up. Orange fabric brushed against his skin.
Contact.
One movement-
--the wrong movement, apparently--
Naruto's knee slammed into his gut.
Blur.
Gaara heard himself make a noise like uuuuuhhhhhhhhhffffff, and then his arms were in the air, and he was stumbling, falling--
--down, with the moon and the sky above, right above.
He hit the ground, hard, and all air was gone.
Almost instantaneously, Naruto was crouching beside him.
“Gaara? Are you okay?” he heard. “I'm sorry. Was that too hard? Did I put too much force into it? Are you okay? Here, let me help you up.”
Gaara took a breath, slowly.
As if from a distance, he was aware of the various feelings in his body; numbness, somewhat, shock from the impact. That clanging shock he'd experienced in the Chuunin tournament, as if a bell were ringing through him without sound, through his muscles and bones.
Dull ache, beneath the numb places and around them. Ache that would solidify into something deeper by tomorrow, maybe.
Gaara coughed softly as Naruto grabbed his arm and jerked him upwards. He'd already gotten one foot beneath himself, but the motion caused him to slip again.
Touch.
It, whatever it was, seemed to dawn on them at the same time.
They looked at each other. Gaara looked at Naruto's messy hair, his wide, contrite eyes. His mouth, open a little, breath passing through.
Gaara was not used to being touched. His eyes must have reflected some strangeness, because Naruto let him go, gently, and stood up.
“I'm not good at this,” he murmured.
Nearby, there were patches of tiny purple flowers. Even here, in this high place. The wind had that coolness to it again--a promise of rain.
“You're fine. You're just not used to fighting without your sand, is all! Hell, I'd probably be even worse at taijutsu if I were in your position!”
Gaara was only half-listening. He pressed his lips together after his breathing had calmed.
Naruto turned, like he was going to walk away.
But he did not.
He did not, because Gaara had reached up and taken hold of his wrist.
It was a light grip, certainly not enough to halt Naruto if he had wanted to pull away.
“Gaara?”
In his chest. Something. It was almost painful. And his heart was beating so fast.
The moment was ... this must be terror, Gaara thought. But not a horrible kind, as he'd once experienced. This was like a terror of not knowing, but wanting.
“You always walk away.”
A statement, not an accusation. At least, he hadn't meant it as such.
“Don't walk away.”
He did not know quite what he wanted, but he didn't want that.
“Gaara.”
This time, there was no implied question that Gaara heard. His stomach roiled a bit.
“Naruto.”
A little dumb, he thought, parroting names this way, but they did not seem to have any other words at this moment, and Gaara's mouth felt dry as the sand, and his body was still singing. He'd never felt like this before. It was confusing. Upsetting, kind of. It made him almost dizzy and sick.
“Naruto,” he said again, as if there was not another word in all the languages that existed. This time, he heard the tremor in his voice.
His name said in such a manner was all it took for Naruto to drop to a sitting position beside him.
Suddenly, awkwardly, they were twisting and shifting and facing each other and whatever Naruto saw on Gaara's face - fear, wonder, excitement; he must have really looked thirteen in that instant - appeared to give him concern, and there was breath, and Gaara smelled ramen on it, and he wanted something and he did not know what, but he wished Naruto would figure it out and tell him. He had said he would lead the way - he had said --
“You ...”
He gulped visibly. Gaara almost did as well.
“You can practice kissing with me,” Naruto said, voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “I-if you want, that is. But promise not to tell anyone, all right?”
This time, it was Gaara's turn to make an incoherent sound, something like an “uaaawghhhh”, very soft, but his mind only dimly registered this.
“Because we're friends,” Naruto went on, “and b-because you wanted to know about kissing, and I kind of want to know, too, and I kind of want to try it, and I kind of want to be good for the girl I get with someday, and --”
Gaara's hand had moved, as if of its own volition, down from Naruto's wrist. He now felt himself desperately linking and unlinking their fingers, clenching and relaxing.
Did he want--?
He swallowed hard. Like a cloud inside, pushing out, and sand on his skin, tingling all over. This had been building all night, he suddenly realized. All night, all day, for all the days he'd been here. Maybe even before that. Maybe it'd started even back when Gaara had lain here, in this village, beaten and bleeding and exhausted.
He did not know. He did not know if he wanted to know.
He did know that he itched everywhere.
In an instant, his hands were all over the place. On Naruto's arms, squeezing, in blond hair, on his cheeks, briefly, tracing his collarbone through the fabric of his jumpsuit.
Gaara could not resist the instinctive flinch that came from being touched, and he squinted one eye, and he felt his nose wrinkle, because everything tickled. Naruto's breath, his nearness, his hair when they moved and bumped into one another, the night air, Gaara's stomach. Even his soreness was tickling him raw. It was nearly too much to stand.
Their noses brushed, and Gaara pushed himself backwards - wary - and Naruto grabbed him by the sash around his chest and lifted him forward, then slammed him back down.
“I want to kiss you,” Gaara said.
“What the hell are you doing, then, Gaara?”
That was the part he didn't know. Squirming, apparently. He wiggled himself out of Naruto's grip and turned over, holding himself up with his hands and gasping harshly. It was just overwhelming, being touched. It was so nice and so awful at the same time. It filled him with disgust and discomfort, but left him wanting more. Gaara had never known anything like this.
Abruptly, he turned and shoved Naruto down so that he was atop him, hands on either side, looking down. A confused, questioning look passed between them. Suddenly, Gaara was on his side, then his back again. He rolled them once more.
Gaara pushed his head down on Naruto's chest and drove his knee into the ground as he maneuvered to shove as much of their legs and thighs together as possible.
The tickling was becoming ... something. It started in his stomach, like a tightness that was quickly knotting him from within. It flared in the small of his back, in his curling toes, in his small injuries, threading over and under and through the pain. It was like pain, but not.
From his own mouth, the most wretched sounds were emerging; strangled, choked, rasping, coughing but not coughing, half-sobbed.
Naruto wrapped his arms around Gaara's waist and lifted him.
He planted Gaara down again so that they were both in a sitting position, eyes level.
Now Gaara was afraid. Afraid of what, he didn't know, but afraid, generally, and his sand was not here, and it was too wet to make use of the soil. He shouldn't have left it behind. He'd always been more guarded than that; what was he thinking?
Gaara felt his friend's face move near his own. He was breathing in Naruto. Inhaling him, taking him right into the bloodstream. Gaara's hands, now on the ground, squeezed erratically.
The first kiss, such as it were, was a mess.
They kept their eyes open, actually staring at one another.
Gaara had never thought--
Crushing, killing; he could manage that. When the endless sand cracked bones and compressed people and the blood drained and mingled until he stank of it. Gaara of the Sand. And some days, he had thought (or Shukaku had told him, he wasn't always sure), he was the sand. Endless torrents of sand and malice, and there was nothing at the core but the body that housed Gaara, though his soul was in the sand; Gaara, he'd thought for years, was the desert, and the granules in the gourd.
But the gourd was not here, and the body of Gaara, “the demon who loved itself”, had another body against it.
Naruto kissed him, moving his lips insistently.
Gaara had never thought he'd wind up like this.
He had never, not even in his craziest Shukaku-induced imaginings, supposed he might end up in a foreign village, doing something besides satiating the thirst for blood that had overtaken him. No, here he was, far from home, under light of the same moon that had witnessed his tears, his torment, his first murders.
Now he was with his first friend, the boy like him, and they were kissing. Quick. Slow. Mismatched. There was no rhythm to the way they quirked their mouths.
Gaara's lips were dry, sore from Naruto's fist.
The bottom lip had plumped from that strike. The bruise, if one formed, would be hidden by the sand. Naruto captured Gaara's aching bottom lip with his teeth, and Gaara could feel that he was trying to be careful, but it hurt. Naruto's tongue ran across his top lip.
“I think this is wrong,” Naruto said suddenly. “Gah. We're doing it all wrong, Gaara!”
It definitely felt unusual to have someone licking him on the lip. Gaara wanted to file that sensation away in his memory, in case it never happened again.
“Repeat it,” he said.
“No, we're doing it wrong, dattebayo. Open your mouth.”
Gaara obeyed.
When he felt a tongue poking into him, he nearly jumped backwards. Naruto held him by the arm.
“You wiggle too much,” he broke the kiss to say.
Their teeth clicked together. And then Naruto was shoving so much of his tongue into Gaara's mouth that he thought he was going to gag on it.
Was this what kissing was supposed to be like? Hitting your teeth and choking on someone's tongue? Gaara wondered.
“Damn!” Naruto broke the kiss again. He swiped the back of his hand over Gaara's chin, wiping away the saliva. “I think I'm still doing it wrong! Was that amazing for you? It wasn't for me, either! Man, I'm never going to impress Sakura-or whoever-like this!”
His eyes got a faraway look and he scrunched up his nose.
“I guess I'm just gonna have to keep kissing you until we're awesome at this.”
It wasn't the kissing which had Gaara's attention, though. It was the press, though maybe that was not the right way of putting it.
There was a certain intensity to Naruto's body, a strong energy and aliveness; his scent -- heavy and musky and boyish - washed over Gaara, and his voice was all over his skin; his breath warmed his lips and face and when he moved forward, roughly, they wound up pushing into one another, and this was the part where the sickeningly exciting feelings became powerful.
Not entirely comfortable. It made him hot and itchy, and his skin got moist enough that his hair stuck to his head and he felt the dirt in his pores more acutely, and when Naruto shoved him, Gaara felt like his skin was becoming something foreign, something far too sensitive. His clothes scratched him and everything, every inch, just tingled and hummed and parts of him were tickly and sore and throbbing and achy and sick, but it was all addictive, and he wanted more, but he wasn't sure if he should ask.
“That was better. Now you kiss back.”
Gaara yanked his arm away and feverishly ran his fingers over Naruto's shoulder; he touched his pulse point, then threaded the tips of his fingers through his hair again. It was soft to the touch.
“I feel unusual,” Gaara told him. His breathing was changing, too.
“Oh, yeah?”
So was Naruto's, actually. In fact, he was panting.
During the next kiss, Naruto was less reckless and Gaara tried to find a harmony in the motion; they still weren't great at it. Battle was their specialty, and while teamwork was a part of that, teamwork of tongues and mouths had never been a part of training. At one point, something did slide the right way and for a moment, Gaara felt a jolt at the base of his spine.
Naruto must have felt it as well. He stopped, looking blurry-eyed and red-faced and breathless.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.”
Gaara had no idea if he wanted this to continue or not. There was certainly a part of it that felt wonderful; he was beginning to feel his body stirring and craving these touches, wondering how they might feel if the obstacles of their clothing were removed.
The thought made him dizzy with need.
On the other hand, this situation had begun to take on a dangerous feel; they didn't know what they were doing, what territory they were crossing into. Well, Naruto might've, but Gaara didn't think so. Gaara was hesitant. He'd never been this close to someone before. And dimly, somewhere along the way, he had begun to remember what he had heard about sex, and was this sex? Had he already had sex? He did not think he had, but Gaara remembered the borders of sex--as a definition--being confusing, and it was associated with many related behaviours, wasn't it?
He didn't really know if he should be doing something he didn't know well enough to know if he were doing it or not.
He guessed he probably shouldn't.
The only reason he even knew to place the word “sex” on the activity was because he knew that when his body got hot like this, it was because of sex, and puberty, and that he was thirteen and his trainers had informed him that nin, like any other boys of such ages, would have to face such discomforts, but as shinobi, they would have to suppress them with their will-power, because a shinobi child had priorities that took precedence, and Gaara had never had much trouble keeping his lust at bay.
He had been far too unhappy and too pained to have much of a libido; Shukaku had had too much control, turning Gaara's focus toward blood, and as a ninja, the “weapon” of Suna, he did indeed have priorities elsewhere. Stirrings did arise from time to time, but they had always been easy to ignore.
Now, there were no immediate priorities. Shukaku was quiet. And Gaara did feel pain, but of a different kind.
He had no idea how to handle this-what the “appropriate” response would be.
Then, he found himself without time to contemplate the matter further.
Naruto-who had somewhere along the way stripped himself of his jacket and top-tackled Gaara, biting at his ear and neck.
Gaara felt a hand on his chest, then lower, under the sash, and--
Under his shirt. On his abdomen.
In an instant, Gaara was on his knees and Naruto's arm was twisted behind his back.
Gaara released it before Naruto had time to protest.
“I apologize,” he said quietly. “I had not meant--”
He had not meant to. It had been pure instinct. No one touched Gaara. They absolutely did not touch the skin of any sensitive places.
And his belly had been right where some of his most intense heat and tightness was pooling, and Naruto had touched it. The result was akin to being shocked.
“S'okay,” Naruto replied, not looking too fazed. He was grinning and still looking twitchy, as if he might jump Gaara again, though he held back. “I should've asked. So you want to take care of it on your own?”
“Are you asking me to have sex with you?”
“Of course not! Only men and women can have sex. Don't be so naïve, Gaara!”
“I believed sex was complicated and difficult to define.”
Gaara thought for a moment, then added,
“I thought only boys and girls could kiss, too.”
“Well, only boys and girls kiss for real. It's different for buddies, like you and me.”
Gaara was about to ask how, but Naruto interrupted him.
“C'mon. At least take off your shirt! It's gotta be miserable in those clothes. Aw, damn. I wish we had something cold to drink. I'm so...” He looked at Gaara and faltered. Suddenly, he did not seem at ease. “I mean ... is it okay if I talk about this? I just assumed, y'know, we're both boys and all ... we have the same parts ... I didn't figure you'd care if I talked about this in front of you, or whatever, but then I remembered you're all, uhhh, not used to some things and kind of innocent in your own way and wow, Gaara, I'm really sorry if I stepped on your toes! You want to just go back to my place and play games or something?”
Gaara looked away.
Below, Konoha was sleeping. He had never heard it so quiet before.
The only sounds in the vicinity were those of the wind blowing through the branches, and the dripping of water from the leaves.
“This,” he began, “is why I believed sex to be complicated.”
Gaara reached up, and, with great care, began removing his sash.
--
--
--
It rained again that night.
In retrospect, Gaara wondered if Konohagakure, like Sunagakure, had a season for the rains.
In retrospect, Gaara wondered many things.
He sat in the windowsill, closing his eyes intermittently. The gourd continued to rest in the corner. Every so often, he heard the whispering of the sand; it mixed well with the voice of the wind.
Looking out at the puddles covering the streets and the sidewalks, Gaara wondered if it had appeared this way in Suna thirteen years before. He wondered if it had been considered a good omen, or the opposite.
Something had been put to rest tonight.
It was not only Naruto, snoring softly in his bed, or Shukaku, resting on the fringes of Gaara's consciousness, eternal, dreaming the dreams of demons that eluded Gaara with the night. It was not Konohagakure, which never seemed to still entirely; there were still lamps sprinkling the Hidden Village with their light, and frogs and insects and trees and things whistling and rustling. It was not the sand, which had been peculiarly quiescent, seeming to sense that its master was placated.
Everything smelled of resin, pine needles, and thick musk-including, Gaara supposed, himself.
The moon and the stars etched his face into the glass; a soft, frosty glow of white and blue shadowed his features.
They had kissed until they could not breathe, until thoughts made of words melted and became only the kinesis of the body, which did not think, only knew. Somewhere in time, the roughness had ebbed, and movements became synchronized; a mysterious harmony, skin on skin, the best feeling in the world (Naruto had been right; such stuffy heat did feel much better to one unclothed), the best pain Gaara had ever known.
The rain came, hard and icy, and drenched them in a torrent.
Refreshment that rarely found its way into the desert: it washed the burn and left them soaking and shivering, the ache now muted and throbbing.
They grabbed up their discarded shirts and sandals and made their way back down the cliffs, barely speaking, their footsteps leaving small imprints in the soft dirt.
They did not discuss what had happened, or what almost had--almost because Gaara was sure there was something else, something more, some way two people, even boys, could be together, and in their need and desperation, he was sure they would have found it if time had allowed.
But they were not ready yet.
For once, Gaara did not want to ask any questions.
For once, Naruto did not want to ramble.
Gaara found himself in Naruto's shower, staring down at his feet.
Mud sloughed off. He picked the twigs from his hair.
Earlier, Naruto had touched it and commented that it seemed to be growing out.
He needed to meet up with his brother and sister again. Tomorrow.
He scrubbed himself until the smell of soap covered the other scents somewhat.
He felt like a stranger in his skin, and there were still things he wanted to ask, but now the questions were elusive and uncomfortable. Now, Gaara just kept stealing glances at things and thinking about parts of his body he had never paid much attention to before, and wondering why he was doing that. He wanted to pay his body more attention in general, but he did not entirely feel comfortable doing so, because now that the edge of lust has been taken off, he could not stop thinking of how in Suna it would be considered obscene.
He turned the faucet and stepped out. Lightly, he toweled himself off and regarded himself in the mirror, feeling the coolness seep into his toes from the tile flooring.
He wiped the fog away with the back of his hand.
The Demon who Loved Itself.
So his mother had wished him to be.
Then this was what it looked like. What would it look like when it got older? What would she have thought if she had seen it-no, him-now? Had she, even for a moment, considered his birth with anticipatory joy?
Tentatively, Gaara placed a finger in his mouth and pulled at his cheek, wondering if he would ever grow accustomed to making use of those muscles. Shukaku had, but he wanted to smile for reasons that had nothing to do with Shukaku.
“Remember, don't tell anyone,” Naruto reminded Gaara in a whisper when he entered the bedroom. He held up the cover, inviting him.
Gaara hesitated.
“I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about this, Gaara.”
Gaara did not understand why Naruto insisted on this so strongly that he kept repeating it; some social etiquette that must have passed him by like so many other things, he figured.
“I don't sleep.”
“I know.”
“Is this about sex?”
“Just get in! Jeez! And no.”
Gaara considered this. He trusted Naruto.
“Y'know, you're as pervy as my sensei,” Naruto said, once Gaara had climbed in with him. “Always asking about sex, and kissing, and thinking everything I do is about that. Next thing you know, you'll be stalking girls at waterfalls.”
“Shouldn't you--” Gaara looked in the direction of the bathroom.
“Nah. I don't need to.”
“You smell like you do,” Gaara observed.
“Man, some friend you are.”
“I apologize.”
“I was just kidding. Jeez. Now, remember, don't mention this, all right?”
He threw an arm over Gaara and nuzzled him.
“I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea,” Naruto said. Gaara felt that sunny blond hair tickle his throat. Its smell was strong and earthy, but not unpleasant. “Don't want anyone thinking I swing that way, and don't want anyone thinking I'm some idiot who needs a hug or something. I'm not a sap like that. I'm a ninja.”
But this, Gaara thought, made them feel less like wild animals.
He wished he could tell Naruto that now he thought he understood what it felt like to be human. When Naruto talked to him, took him places, sparred with him, kissed him; yes, even that. The flood of warmth, of covoluted emotions Gaara could not put names to; like humanity entering him with each touch, being kissed into him, until he could do nothing but hold on and let it take him, whether he willed it or not.
To be human was to not have all the answers. To be human was to feel difficult. Layered. Animals acted on instinct. Animals got rabid.
Humans said things they didn't mean and conveyed things they didn't say.
Humans could hurt you to the point of insanity or make you feel so good you would think you were dying.
Being human was tricky, and frightening, and many other things, but that was the point: it was many things, not a single thought, not something that could be expressed in a few adjectives and syllables. Gaara was finally beginning to understand that he could live a full lifetime and he'd never fully comprehend it, because the longer he existed, the more questions he would accumulate.
Maybe that was the point, too.
“Maaaaan. I hope the milk didn't spoil again.”
“Drink wine.”
“Trying to get me drunk?” Naruto yawned. “Can't believe I'm leaving tomorrow. Mmf.”
“Will you miss it?”
Gaara shifted to look at Naruto. Large, sweet blue eyes blinked at him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I will. Not so sure it'll miss me, though.”
“It will,” Gaara said, and he didn't doubt this.
Strong hands made fists and kneaded his back. He relaxed and eyed the gourd.
Although Shukaku had rumbled throughout Gaara's stay in Konoha, the demon had never surfaced. The headaches were awful, some days, but tonight ... tonight, fighting it and keeping it at bay had seemed easier.
How do you hurt, Naruto?
“I want to be missed, someday,” Gaara said.
Naruto smiled against him.
“Well, you will be. Soon as you leave tomorrow.”
Gaara swallowed. “I meant ... more permanently.”
He felt the smile fade.
“Just say you want to be remembered. Less depressing ...” Naruto yawned. “'Course you will be. Me, too. They'll tell stories about us. Think about that, Gaara. Someday, some old guy will be sittin' around telling some kids about these great warriors from years and years ago ...”
“Demons?”
Naruto looked contemplative. “No. Heroes.”
“Will tonight be remembered?”
“Hah! If I didn't know you better, Gaara, I'd think you were making a joke. Dattebayo. 'Course not. This stays between us. Makes you wonder what things all the people in the stories were hiding, doesn't it? They say the Fourth Hokage was so great. What'd he do in his spare time? Huh? Wonder if he had a friend he... well.” Another yawn. “Mmf, nahhhh. Look, it's special like this, y'know? Our little secret. Just ours.”
His eyes fluttered closed.
Ours. Gaara liked that.
“Someday,” he said.
“Someday?” Naruto murmured.
“Someday, I'll--”
Gaara shifted, carefully, so that his arm was over the other. It was still awkward, doing such a thing. The urge to jerk away remained, but he did not act upon it.
“I'll--”
“Shhh. 'Tttebayo.”
“I want to--”
“Shhh. I know.”
After a fact, Gaara knew he did.
They did not have to say anything more.
Then Naruto was asleep, warm dead weight, and Gaara found himself up and in the windowsill, contemplating.
How did Naruto hurt?
Tomorrow, Gaara would leave. Tomorrow, Naruto would belong to his team-mates, and Konoha. The Hidden Village needed him. Uchiha Sasuke needed him.
More importantly, Naruto needed his rival. He needed to save people from themselves. He needed to be a hero.
And he would be.
This interlude - these small hours - were for him. To give him respite from his loneliness, as he had given Gaara. A final gift of parting before the long journey ahead.
For Naruto, that blissful sleep would end soon, and there would be hardships and starless nights.
But that was the way of the shinobi, the path of one who aspired to be a kage. Forming bonds meant protecting them, losing them, repairing them, and there were hardships, always.
For his part, Gaara knew what he needed to do. Naruto had shown him, without ever saying a word about it.
Their lives diverged now, but someday.
Gaara closed his eyes.
The ocean would wait for them.
Someday, he would see it, and he would believe it. Water enough to drown the desert.
He opened his eyes and looked up through the dark shroud of the evening--broken now by the first slivers of morning light.
The Fourth looked down at him with eyes of stone.
What secrets were they hiding?
Ours.
Ever so slowly, he smiled.
Fate did not permit it at this instant, but someday, he would figure out that way people fit together.
Then.
Gaara turned away from the window, arms by his sides, and went to retrieve his gourd. It was nearing time to leave, after all.
=
(I KNOW GAARA SAW THE OCEAN IN THE MOVIE BUT WTF IT WAS CRAP AND MADE NO SENSE.)
Notes: 'Fic was set after Sasuke left, but before the timeskip, though you could obviously tell that. All happened in my imaginary little world, in which Gaara got to stay and hang out with Naruto for a while.
Title is pretty obviously a nod to the song “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas [linked to YouTube because I'm too ghetto to even bother with Sendspace]. I was listening to that when daydreaming a NaruGaaNaru fic.
I intend to write a sequel, sometime, as the fic itself implies. Actually, I'd originally intended to write a NaruGaaNaru fic set during the current timeline or thereabouts, but I decided to hold off to see where canon is heading at the moment. So I backtracked to the safety of the pre-timeskip period, wherein canon's next events are already known. The sequel, should I ever write it, will be more in the current timeline and will have an actual plot, I think. This was mostly an excuse to write boy love.
For some reason, I kept imagining Gaara in his Chuunin Exam outfit in this fic, hence the part with the wrappings in the beginning. Well, I guess Gaara can change clothes as he sees fit, eh?
Cheers and thanks for reading.