The first time he kisses her, they are sitting beside a small campfire, wrapped in wool cloaks that help ward against the chill. They could've spent the night at a village inn; he told her he didn't mind the extra bit of travel, but she'd been very firm about how she expected things to proceed now that she had joined him.

"No concessions," she'd insisted, her mouth set in a stubborn line, fists on her hips. "I can rough it with the best of them, Sasuke-kun, so you'd better not cut any corners just because I'm here."

He'd responded by tapping her forehead, an affectionate indulgence that still struck him as foreign. "You have an inflated sense of your own importance to me, if you think your comfort is my biggest concern."

"I - I didn't say that!" she spluttered, her cheeks aflame as she held up a hand, the universal 'stop' gesture. "Of course I - I only meant - I'm not dead weight," she finished resolutely, and he caught the jut of her chin, like she was daring him to contradict her while seeking assurance at the same time.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, unbidden. She reminded him of Naruto. They really were entwined, all three of them, they were part of each other and he'd been foolish to believe he could sever ties so easily. He'd have to tear apart his entire body to root every trace of them out. "You never were."

She looked thunderstruck, as if she couldn't quite believe she'd heard him correctly. Her eyes were overbright when she said, "Oh. Well." She turned away from him then, and he could hear the emotion in her voice, though she did her best to hide it. "I know. But thanks. So, where are we going?"

He glances over at her, watches while she rubs her hands together and warms them by the fire, her face cast in flickering light. During moments like these, he realizes just how fond of her he's become, how accustomed he's grown to her presence at his side, how much he'd miss her if they parted ways. He wonders when, exactly, she burrowed beneath his skin, though he suspects it began years ago, inch by steady inch - which would explain why he'd felt a strange sense of relief that she wouldn't let him resume his journey without her, not after he'd left her behind once already.

She still loves him, never stopped loving him, and for the longest time, he didn't consider what that meant, didn't examine his own heart because his aspirations were bigger than himself, all-consuming. There was only power, and darkness, and the vision of a future utterly devoid of the influence of the past, where he would be alone, a receptacle of the entire world's hatred.

But some dreams are made to die, so that others may take their place. Some changes are small, quiet, yet no less revolutionary.

"Sakura."

"Hm?" She tucks a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, gives him her full attention, the way she always does.

The way she always has.

Governed by an emotion too raw to name, he closes the scant distance between them, angles his head, presses his mouth against hers. And he thinks, this is kind of...different. And he thinks, her lips are soft, they're so soft. And he thinks, all right, now what? How long do kisses usually last before they're awkward? He has no idea, and he decides he'd rather not find out. Even so, he's a little disappointed when he draws back; part of him wants to try again.

He peers at her to gauge her reaction, experiences a brief moment of panic because her eyes are still closed. Maybe he should've waited, maybe the timing wasn't right, maybe he's a terrible kisser - though he isn't sure what criteria is used to determine whether or not somebody is good at kissing -

And then she opens her eyes. And then she looks at him as if he'd reached into the sky and hung the moon for her. And then she smiles the prettiest smile he's ever seen, open and honest and real, full of so much love it almost takes his breath away.

They sit like that in silence, the fire burning on, for a long time.

Their second kiss happens when they visit a bustling market town, for no other reason than the simple pleasure of being there. They buy skewers of meat and bags of spiced nuts and walk among the stalls that sell a variety of wares, from tiny blown-glass sculptures, to bolts of brightly-colored fabric, to weapons of all kinds. At one point, Sakura strikes up a conversation with a grizzled giant of a man who more closely resembles a bear than the herbalist he is, and the talk soon shifts to Sakura's work in the field of children's mental health.

The market teems with life, a cacophony of voices laughing, haggling, calling out to each other above the din, and though he remains vigilant, Sasuke is nonetheless riveted by what transpires in front of him - by what a remarkable woman Sakura really is.

While he began his quest of exploration and atonement, she identified a problem often overlooked by fellow medical professionals and made great strides in her attempt to correct it, so much that other villages took notice and asked for her help with their own efforts. As he listens to her talk about her successes and failures, her tireless pursuit of results, her advocacy on behalf of the children her clinic serves, he realizes he's proud of her, beyond proud of her. She's done incredible things and will continue to do incredible things, with or without him.

But that doesn't mean he isn't grateful she's here.

"Who's the handsome lad over there, Miss Sakura? Your husband? Looks roguish-like, you be careful of the rogues," the herbalist warns; apparently, the topic of conversation has shifted again.

"Oh!" Blushing, Sakura flashes him a grin over her shoulder, and it occurs to Sasuke that he probably sports his own blush at the moment. "No, Leon-san, Sasuke-kun isn't my - we're traveling companions, you see. But I'll be careful, I promise." Laughter in her voice, she adds, "I know how to defend myself from his type."

Later on, as they traverse one of the quiet side-streets, Sakura holding a bag of remedies gifted by the herbalist, Sasuke bumps against her lightly. "Traveling companion," he says, with raised eyebrows. ('Rogue' doesn't bother him nearly as much.)

The blush returns, rosier than before. "What else was I supposed to tell him? I couldn't just say you're - " She bites her lip.

Another bump. "I'm what?"

She throws her free arm in the air. "I don't know! I mean, I know...how I feel about you, but I never know how you feel about me."

"I kissed you," he points out, because she's the only person he's ever kissed, the only person he's ever wanted to kiss. He wants to kiss her right now.

Her face is positively on fire. "And we didn't talk about it. We- "

"I guess I'd better do it again," he says, and does it again.

This kiss is vastly better than their first. He has his arm around her waist, drawing her close; she has one hand flat on his chest, the other curled around the back of his neck - she'd dropped the bag of remedies, he assumes. Their mouths start off closed, but then she opens hers, and he opens his, and he wonders why he'd been so hung up on the particulars by the campfire.

"I'm not your traveling companion," he whispers once he forces himself to break away, too soon.

"No, you're not," she agrees, breathless.

"I am a rogue, though. Good luck defending yourself from me."

With a snort, she rolls her eyes and punches his shoulder. "Quiet, you."

He thinks he's falling in love with her.

The rain comes down in sheets, the rain comes down in buckets, the rain comes down, and down, and down. There's no end, just a steel-gray sky, roiling clouds, and the rain.

She runs barefoot through puddles, kicks up mud, turns her face skyward and twirls, her pink hair plastered to her forehead, her cheeks, her neck.

When she's not looking, he crouches, dips his finger in the mud, makes sure he has a nice big glob of it before he straightens back up. "Try this on," he all but shouts, and, smirking, draws a messy, soupy line from her forehead to the tip of her nose.

"Uchiha Sasuke!" she shrieks around peals of wild laughter, and tackles him, the brute strength behind the surprise blow enough to knock him off his feet.

The mud is cold and wet and squishy beneath him. They roll around in it, fight for the upper hand, smash mud in each other's faces or stuff it down shirt collars. The tussle ends when she claims her spot on top of him, straddling his chest while he squints up at her through the rain and the mud. She's beautiful, even like this. Especially like this.

She leans down, brings her face so close their noses touch, cups his filthy cheeks between her equally filthy hands. "I love you," she says, and kisses him - slowly, gently, a sweet contrast to the rain that pours over and around them. He returns the kiss, bunches his fingers in the soaked fabric of her pants, at her hip. They don't rush; there's nobody around to see them. He loses track of how much time passes, and he doesn't care.

"Me too," he says against her lips, and he knows it's the truth. He must've known when he returned to Konoha, after he'd read Naruto's letter. He wanted to be where she was. He wanted to be with her.

She draws back to look him in the eye, and he can't tell if she's crying or if it's only just the rain. Maybe both. "Say it again."

There are moments he misses his other hand, and this is one of them, but he doesn't regret his decision to forgo an artificial replacement. His body suits the person he is now. He releases her hip so he can mirror her, touch the side of her face. "I love you."

The rain comes down, and down, and down, and he doesn't feel a drop.

"Uchiha Sakura," she says, like she's never tasted anything so decadent. She wears his name as well as she wears his sweater (her sweater, she always insists), and that's very well, indeed.

The sweater is the only article of clothing she has on.

She is currently seated in his lap, and she divested him of all his clothing a while ago.

His wife. His beautiful, independent, strong, talented, willful, compassionate wife. He thinks he is going to enjoy being a married man.

As if she is attuned to his thoughts, Sakura squirms a little, rubs herself against the part of him that actively desires attention, and he draws in a sharp breath, gives her a look so pointed it could cut glass.

She blinks, all feigned innocence. "How should a wife know what her husband wants if he doesn't tell her?" For emphasis, she rolls her hips, and he bites back a curse.

"Sakura," he growls instead, his hand sliding beneath the sweater to feel along the ridges of her spine. "Your husband - " She rolls her hips again and he shudders, snaps his own hips up by reflex; they both groan at the sensation of it. " - Wants you, wants to be inside you. Now."

Her kiss is heat and passion and a ferocity that urges him to respond in kind, his hand splayed on her back, pressing her toward him. He feels powerless beneath her. He feels unstoppable beneath her.

"That can be arranged," she murmurs.

He brushes his lips against the swell of her stomach.

"What do you think of Sarada, for a girl?" she says, stroking his hair.

A few comfortable moments pass, and Sasuke rises, taps her forehead, an affectionate indulgence that doesn't strike him as foreign anymore.

"Perfect."

/drags hands down face yeah I've really fallen in love with this ship we may as well face facts here. rating just in case!