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mooryomi_gaeru as a gift for [Unknown site tag]yomi_gaeru.[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four]
At Thirteen(Continued)
Madara was scowling.
His brothers had swarmed his room that morning, waking him from a dead sleep, but that wasn’t why he was tetchy. Tomo and Shichi hanging off his arms and legs as he dutifully made his rounds to thank his family for visiting didn’t bother him in the least. Izuna abandoning him without warning had caused a muscle in his cheek to twitch in irritation—he’d always relied on Izuna’s steadiness—, but even that wasn’t the source of his foul mood.
His dark eyes scanned the room for the hundredth time.
His jaw clenched.
“Something wrong,” inquired his father, leaning in to speak quietly to his eldest son. For such an important day, Madara’s mood had been positively toxic. It had started well enough, but the longer the afternoon ran, the more vexed Madara had become. Tajima often excused or overlooked his son’s behaviour in light of his pride—probably more than he ought to—but when Madara had outright ignored several elders who had approached him with congratulations that day, he’d had to step in.
—granted, he did have an inkling as to the source of his son’s ill humour.
It almost made Tajima smile.
“No,” snapped Madara. He pored over the room again.
“Then stop acting like it,” warned his father. He sympathized with his son, but there were occasions when one had to put their emotions away neatly in the closet and behave moderately socially acceptable. Today was one of those days.
To be blunt, Madara’s behaviour was embarrassing. His childishness was only reinforced when he pouted and crossed his arms in front of him, muttering a dark,
“Hn.”
“Madara.”
Madara’s shoulders tensed in a straight line before he huffed and ignored his father.
Tajima shot his son a warning look and straightened.
Then, from his advantaged height something caught Tajima’s eye; there, at the entrance to the ballroom-turned-banquet-hall, Izuna had arrived with a guest.
Tajima blinked. He recognized that hair…
The crows feet at the corners of his eyes deepened with appreciation and kind memories. He recognized that kimono, too.
Tajima glanced down at his eldest son who sulked beside him. As much as he’d like to tease or wheedle him, it was probably for the best if his son started behaving like a gentleman again. Soon.
He leaned down to advise Madara of their new guest’s arrival when Tomo’s excited shriek rent the air.
“Haruno-dono! Guess who’s back? Madara-ni and father!”
At Tajima’s side, Madara’s head whipped towards the origin of the cry. A blink later and he vanished into the crowds like smoke.
Oh boy, thought Tajima with an internal sigh. He just hoped Izuna got out of the way before Madara reached Sakura, or—
From more than halfway across the room, he could tell the shoving had begun. With heavy shoulders, Tajima strode purposefully towards the aggressive cluster of children to separate them.
… Boys.
###
By dinner, the majority of the guests departed with promises to return another time for a longer visit. Thoroughly wiped out, the boys retired to the family sitting room after their father and Madara saw everyone off at the front door. Sakura chose her usual cushion as they waited for supper; instead of sitting in her lap, however, Shichi, Tomo and even Koji had clambered up onto their father’s lap, seeking his attention. Izuna also clung to his father’s side, though less obviously. The boys were blatantly relieved to have their father and brother back.
Madara, meanwhile, sat upon his usual cushion, no closer or further away than usual. Unlike his brothers, his steady gaze was trained on Sakura through the rest of the hour as they waited for their meal. Sakura sat primly upon her cushion and forced herself not to squirm. He didn’t stare at her so before he left on his trip.
What was Madara up to this time?
Dinner was served only to the immediate family and Sakura, in the family dining room. It was Sakura’s first time joining them there, and she was again grateful that Izuna had taken her aside when she first arrived.
“Everyone will want you to stay. Just sit beside Tomo. He’ll be excited you’re there and chat your ear off,” had assured Izuna.
Izuna had been right, and Tomo did.
It was only then that the rest of the conversation around Sakura truly sank in. The celebration.
Tajima lifted his glass in a toast.
Sakura, Madara and Izuna had also been given (small) glasses of wine and the younger boys lifted their glasses, too.
“To a successful trip and many returns to my eldest as he celebrates his thirteenth birthday!”
“Happy birthday, Madara!”
“Happy birthday, Uchiha-san?!”
Sakura flushed as her voice rang out discordantly with the others. Not just for her words, but her startled tone.
It was Madara’s thirteenth birthday.
That’s why there had been such a flood of people, she realized.
Then, her eyes widening—
—she hadn’t brought a gift.
After everything he had bought her, gifted her, forced upon her, she hadn’t brought him a single thing.
Across the table Izuna met her eyes and gave her a look, shaking his head subtly, so Sakura buried her surprise down deep and pasted on a smile, acting like everything was fine, this was great, she wasn’t an absolute hobo of a guest who had shown up, borrowed clothes, and not brought the host a gift on his milestone birthday.
No, she was worse than trash.
She hadn’t even known it was Madara’s birthday.
She fleetingly wondered if the Uchihas had a trap door she could fall down, hide and die in.
Probably somewhere, she admitted to herself. But the likelihood of her finding it in that exact moment was nil.
Her shoulders heavy, Sakura tried to smile through the rest of the meal, the cake and the presents his brothers and father gave Madara.
As she sat with them at the dinner table, Sakura’s heart was hollow in her chest through it all. She was a very poor friend.
She would have to find something for him and bring it around on Monday, decided Sakura firmly. Yes. That was what she’d do. She could find something for him. She had her allowance. She would definitely find something fit for Madara, the heir to the Uchiha, the prodigy, the most educated youth of her generation, the richest boy in Japan.
(Sakura despaired.)
By the time the evening drew to a close, the maids had folded Sakura’s original kimono and wrapped it in a parcel for her to carry home. The light had faded hours ago and the chilly December air had turned frosty while snow lay in white drifts upon the frozen ground.
“Madara,” said Tajima as he rounded the younger boys up for their bath. “See Sakura-chan home. It’s late.”
“Yes, father.”
She was doomed.
The atmosphere between her and Madara as they walked outside was tense. To her relief, Madara didn’t speak for some time. It was pleasant not fighting for once, but unfortunately it left Sakura too much time to overthink all her errors that day.
She sighed heavily as they passed through the main gate and onto the main sidewalk.
Beside her, Madara studied her profile.
“What’s wrong,” he asked.
Sakura glanced over at him. As he’d mentioned early that morning, he was taller, but then again, so was she. His voice was deeper since his return, though. He had a man’s voice, now.
Her spine had shivered every time he spoke that night, until she got used to it. Their whispered conversation in the shop had hidden it from her before.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know it was your birthday,” said Sakura, shame-faced. “I didn’t get you a gift. You got me so many nice things, and I showed up empty-handed. I am sorry for being such a poor guest.”
The clouds above them hid the sky. Fortunately the wind had died down earlier that evening. It was a pleasant, if cold, night for a walk. She spoke quietly, mindful that their conversation would carry.
“Hn.”
Sakura glanced at him. He was still looking at her.
Her cheeks warmed in response.
“What will you do to make it up to me?”
They turned and walked between several tall storehouses. They had arrived much sooner at the merchant district than Sakura anticipated. She hadn’t been paying attention to the route at all, Madara’s presence had distracted her so much.
She shook her head and refocused on their surroundings. As she did, Sakura’s eyes widened and she looked around.
This wasn’t her usual route home.
The storehouses that towered over them on either side had no windows. At some point they diverted from her normal path. Now there was no road, only a sidewalk—more of an alleyway—between them. It was dark, quiet, and void of a single soul beyond their own.
A wiggle of warning wormed its way into Sakura’s lower belly. When she glanced over her shoulder she caught sight of Madara’s guards, casually waiting behind them at the mouth of the alley. When she turned the other way, the path forward held only darkness.
She and Madara slowed to a stop in the middle, concealed by the tall buildings’ shadow. The lack of moon in the sky that night ensured their privacy.
“Hn?” he asked smoothly.
On silent feet Madara turned to face Sakura, intently holding her gaze with his. He had become more calculating, bolder, since his time in England, she realized.
Sakura’s mouth went dry as cotton.
“Uchiha-san,” said Sakura, unsure what to answer. “I don’t know, yet. But I’ll find something you like.”
“You don’t sound very confident,” he said, taking a step closer to her.
Much bolder.
Sakura’s brow dipped as she stepped back towards the brick wall behind her.
“I…”
He stepped closer to her and Sakura’s back bumped against the brick wall.
Her pulse beat wildly in her veins.
“I can suggest a few things,” said Madara.
He looked down at her lips. Sakura’s stomach flipped.
The quiet night stretched between them for a long minute.
“Say my name,” he commanded quietly.
Sakura’s heart squeezed into her throat. She couldn’t—the rudeness—the indecency!
“I can’t,” breathed Sakura.
“Madara-san,” he coaxed, stepping closer. She shook her head.
“Madara-kun,” he added. Only an inch separated them.
His chest to hers, he closed the gap.
“Ma-da-ra,” he whispered slowly, enunciating each syllable.
His warm breath feathered over Sakura’s lips and throat. It misted between them in the frozen air and hung like a spell.
Sakura’s hand lifted between them instinctively, her palm on Madara’s chest. Taking it as encouragement, Madara leaned into her.
“A-anything else?” begged Sakura with a shaky breath, trembling.
“Hn… Yes.”
Madara’s warm fingertips lifted, delicately traced Sakura’s jaw and cradled her cheek. His dark eyes flooded red in the darkness as he stared at her lips. With a firm, gentle grip, he turned her head so his soft, warm lips ghosted over the sensitive shell of her ear.
“I want you to wear something from me,” he whispered.
He must have felt her shiver for his grip on her tightened. But it wasn’t fear. Sakura swallowed because a flicker of confidence kindled inside her.
“I did. I am,” she said, excited and relieved.
She cautiously lifted her free hand to her hair, turning her head just a touch more, so the nape of her neck was exposed. She shivered again as cold air snaked down the collar of her kimono and juban. There, nestled in the artistry his maids had transformed her hair into, were placed the sakura petal kanzashi and several pairs of the pearl drop pins he had given her that spring. The effect was subtle and stunning when taking into account that the pearl drops had been placed to mimic the look of sakura petals blowing in a breeze. It didn’t suit the season, but with how well the kanzashi was camouflaged in her hair, the pearl pins doubled to resemble snowflakes or ice drops.
And only Madara got to see the full effect of them. For only he had been so close to her to notice them.
Modest pride warmed Sakura that she could give him at least this.
“See—?” she began, but Madara’s grip on her coat tightened and his warm exhale cascaded over Sakura’s pale skin in a rush, cutting off her words.
Sakura was sure Madara must have felt her heart pounding between their chests in spite of their winter clothes. She had never been pressed so intimately against someone before, let alone a boy. Her heart raced. She was too nervous to move.
“Do… do you… like it?” she murmured, unsure what to do.
“Ah,” breathed Madara thickly.
His swallow was audible.
Sakura shivered again. His more adult voice did things to her now… But she forced herself to rein in her response.
“That’s good,” said Sakura, her shoulders relaxing minutely.
“Don’t,” growled Madara when Sakura moved to turn her head forward again. He restrained her, her throat vulnerably stretched and exposed to his eyes and the cold.
She froze.
Madara’s grip moved over her coat to slide down to her hip, where he pinned her to the wall. His eyes burned into hers. Then, ever so slowly, Madara leaned over her shoulder.
He held her gaze until his eyes closed.
His lips parted.
—And he softly grazed his teeth over the edge of Sakura’s nape.
Sakura gasped and arched against Madara reflexively. Her eyes clenched shut and she covered her mouth to muffle the inappropriate sound she made. Madara’s resulting low moan, as she surged against him, went straight to Sakura’s lower belly and weakened her knees. When the tip of Madara’s tongue then brushed against her sensitive skin, Sakura whimpered, supporting herself by wrapping her arm around his neck. Her other hand abandoned his haori to bury itself in his thick hair, tugging gently when Madara dragged his teeth against her throat again, this time harder.
Sakura’s indecent moan echoed down the alley.
“What are you doing?” she begged quietly in a reedy voice.
“Taking my birthday present,” murmured Madara possessively against her racing pulse.
“P-please don’t take much more,” pleaded Sakura timidly.
“Hn,” he challenged, but reluctantly removed his lips from her throat. Slowly he leaned his head back, permitting her breathing room. Still cradling her cheek, he tilted Sakura’s head back to face him, his eyes glittering in the obscurity. “You wore them.”
Sakura trembled in his arms and nodded.
“Did you wear them for me?”
Again she nodded, avoiding his eyes. She was so embarrassed.
In the dark privacy of the alley, she couldn’t explain, couldn’t admit, what had come over her, why she had let him force her up against the wall and take his pleasure of her skin. She should have protested. She should have pushed him away. She should have at least said no.
It hadn’t even crossed her mind.
When Madara touched her, Sakura submitted and obeyed.
She wasn’t ready to analyse what it meant for him to have such a hold over her.
They shared a moment of silence broken only by their faint panting breaths, steam rising from between their open mouths.
Then Madara stroked the plush softness of Sakura's bottom lip with his thumb and smirked darkly.
“I like it.”
###
The souvenirs began to arrive the next morning.
The first carton was delivered to the front door of the kimono shop. As were the second and third. By the fourth, Kizashi’s patience began to fray. When the fifth knock came and the porter entered, Sakura put a sign in the front window indicating that deliveries should be made to the rear entrance of the shop.
Madara’s lack of self-control soon filled the rear storage room. And the preparation table. And the floor of Sakura’s bedroom…
However, Madara was not completely without common sense. He also sent along carpenters to build bookcases in Sakura’s room, family room, pantry, wherever was required to house the veritable library he had shipped her.
“I’ll speak to Tajima right away,” Sakura overheard her father promising to her mother, Mebuki, his voice soothing and frightened.
“Or else!” had snapped her frazzled mother.
Sakura bit her lip and feigned ignorance.
That was, until her mother, in an effort to tidy the boxes and crates, joined Sakura to sort and shelve the new books. As Mebuki opened a new box, she gasped violently and went ashen, a hand shooting to her heart.
It was followed by a Dutch word Sakura didn’t think she’d ever heard her mother say, and then, very forcefully,
“Absolutely not!” exclaimed Mebuki, scandalized. She grabbed the entire box and marched it to the room she shared with her husband.
“Those are mine!” protested Sakura, looking up from her own box. Mebuki ignored her.
“Kizashi! I want to have a word with Tajima,” thundered Mebuki, the wrath of the gods promised in her tone. “And his son!”
The emphasis Mebuki placed on ‘son’ was more than a touch derogatory.
(Sakura began to feel a touch of concern for Madara’s imminent wellbeing.)
From her room, Sakura heard her mother piling what sounded suspiciously like hardwood furniture atop of that particular crate of books.
“When can I have them back?” called Sakura curiously, leaning over to look down the hall.
Her mother’s harried, flushed face and fiery eyes came into view and snapped to Sakura’s.
“When. You’re. Married!”
The feel of Madara’s teeth dragging down her throat the night before chose that moment to surface in Sakura’s memory.
Her cheeks flaming, Sakura ducked her head back into her current box—
—and wisely kept mum about the other two boxes she’d already hidden under her bed.
###
Of course, Madara didn’t just send books. It seems anytime he’d found something new, unique or interesting, he’d picked up two for Sakura. This included trinkets, mechanical gadgets, silk flowers. Each one was accompanied by a small note in Madara’s handwriting explaining what it was, where it was from, what he thought she’d like about it, or a short story that had absolutely nothing to do with it. It would take Sakura weeks and months to parse through it all.
And that didn’t include the alcohol.
That particular shipment, of a dozen cases of wine, beer and spirits, arrived after dark to the shop’s back door.
“Delivery for Haruno Sakura—”
“Shhhhhh….!”
Sakura looked up at her father, biting her lip.
Her father looked back at her and sighed, already walking to the second storage room on the left.
“Over here,” whispered Kizashi, peeling up a loose floorboard. “Careful, mind the stash, that’s it, thank you…”
Overall, though, Sakura treasured the random gifts. She couldn’t believe Madara had spent so much time with her in mind. She also couldn’t imagine how he must have spoiled his brothers when he returned home. The thought made her laugh.
Apparently that was just what young men did.
Boys.
###.
I swear this children
Date: 2021-10-19 04:47 pm (UTC)Re: I swear this children
Date: 2022-12-22 04:48 am (UTC)Madara is 110% super possessive of Sakura--once he has something in mind, he cannot be swayed. XD