A/N: So, my first attempt at a KibaIno! And i only just discovered the amazingness of this pairing... how sad. It was...different writing these two, since i'm used to ShikaIno, so it took me a bit to get it flowing right, but i think i did pretty good for a first attempt. (I hope). Seriously though, this pairing is made of win. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Oh yes, they are so mine. coughsarcasmcough.

Summary: He's not the right one, she tells herself so many times, but then why does she find herself slipping?

Slipping

Tonight is the night
to join me in the middle of ecstasy.
Don't be scared, I'm right here,
ya ready?

"You aren't Shika."

She says it with malice, with poisonous venom and an almost-snarl. Her fingernails are digging into her palms and it's almost painful to keep her mouth from falling into a quivering frown.

His eyes do not leave her own, and she is afraid of the next words he will speak. If he is hurt at all by her accusation, he does not show it. He does not flinch, doesn't even blink his brown eyes or tense his lips, which are still in a neutral line. She lets her eyes wander over his handsome features (she can not deny that he is attractive), the strong jaw and vivid red triangles on each cheek, the way his messy hair falls in front of his eyes, effortlessly completing his 'bad-boy' appearance.

"No, I'm not."

His voice is so different. It's not dismissing and unenthusiastic and calming like the one she wishes she were hearing instead. His voice is rough, just like his appearance. It's demanding and has uneven edges and at the moment has reached a low pitch that is foreshadowing painful, graceless words.

It fits him perfectly.

"Your dear Shika is dead."

I hate that.

She wishes that he would stop looking at her with those apathetic eyes that just don't understand anything, that won't stop haunting her mind whenever she tries hardest to erase him from her thoughts. All she wants is for him to leave her alone, once and for ever after.

"I wish it were you instead, in his place," she hisses, forcing her voice into harsh whispers so that he (though mostly she) won't be able to hear it tremble dangerously.

At this he does react, eyes widening and pupils shrinking in surprise, and most of all hurt. She immediately regrets her words, feeling a sharp stab of regret at the injured expression on his face. She wishes she could find her words and swallow them back down, and erase all evidence of their existence.

Sadness is not a look that suits him.

"I-I-"

She panics, realizing that time is still moving forward and the past had most definitely happened, and he is still searching her eyes for any hint about whether or not she had been speaking the truth. How was it possible for him to look so rebellious one moment and the next a wounded animal? She hates feeling guilt, despises the incessant gnawing it produces in that something called a conscience. She is unsure if hers is still whole and pure, or if it had been tainted a while back.

"I have to go."

She sidesteps him and drops her head as she hurries away, hoping that her bangs will help hide the betraying tears gliding down her cheeks. She hears him shouting her name, and she only moves her legs faster, eventually breaking into a frenzied run. She only slows down to catch her breath once she is sure that his voice is long gone. Then she takes in her surroundings, realizes she is near the Hokage tower, and chooses the best route home. Dry crusts of salt and running makeup coat her face, but for once she does not care.

"I'm sorry."

His voice is impassive, dry, blunt. He is staring straight at her again, and she feels stupid for letting herself get cornered, but she is not about to run away like the last time.

"Yeah, right. Of course you are."

His mask falters, and she realizes how easy she can hurt him with her cold words and fiery glares. And what's worse is that she always takes damage as well, because when he begins to crumble she feels a twang in her heart and her façade begins to crack and chip and fall away like pieces of peeling, old paint. And once the paint peels, little patches of terrifying truths and furtive feelings begin to show, and she panics.

All I do is hurt people…and myself.

She looks down at the ground, away from his pained eyes and frowning lips and furrowed eyebrows. Away from that face that is asking Why are you doing this?

"I'm sorry."

She finds herself repeating his words, quietly but most of all truthfully, and when his hand rests on her shoulder she grudgingly finds comfort in the gentle motion. She apologizes, again and again, and each time it feels like a weight is being lifted from her shoulders. She apologizes to him, to herself, to her lost friend (and briefly wonders if there isn't a better word for it), to everyone and everything she can ever remember wronging in one way or another.

He brings his other hand to the small of her back, and pulls her close. She lets herself lean into his embrace and clenches her hands into the front of his shirt as her forehead falls just below his chin. She lets him wrap strong arms around her and press warm lips onto her hairline, allows her eyelids to close and nose to enjoy the faint spicy scent on his clothes. Barriers begin to fall, slowly but surely.

What am I doing?

She loosens her fingers and pushes back abruptly, and his arms fall to his side and she can see that he is trying to hide his frustration. Before he can speak, a bell chimes merrily and two pairs of eyes snap to the doorway, through which enters a young man. He stops when he senses the tense air surrounding the pretty blonde girl and the boldly tattooed guy standing in front of her with a look of irritation in his slanted eyebrows.

"Um…is this a bad time?"

Her mouth opens to answer, but he speaks first.

"No. I was just leaving."

He sweeps past the visitor and out the open flower shop door, closing it behind him with the jingling of bells, and her eyes follow him until he is past the windows and out of sight. She then turns to the customer and gives him a bright smile.

"How can I help you?"

"Kiba, stop it! Let me go!"

She struggles against the firm grasp he has on her wrist and tries to twist her arm away, but he holds tight. Her eyes dart fearfully through the crowd of villagers on all sides; she doesn't want to cause a scene and draw attention to herself (for once).

"Then walk with me," he demands, already pulling her along behind him without waiting for an answer.

The sun beats down on their heads and their feet kick up dry dust that sticks to her legs and his pants. Her wrist in his hand feels sweaty and gross and she tries to ignore it, instead focusing on the ground that is scattered with various rocks and twigs. He stops suddenly and finally lets her arm free; she wipes the thin layer of sweat on her skirt.

"What do you want?"

He turns around and grabs her shoulders, looking at her eyes as she stubbornly looks to the side.

It's always about the eyes. He's always trying to look me in the eyes.

"I want you to stop pretending."

She purses her lips and sends him a scowl, and all too late realizes that he caught her and it's too late to look back away. So instead she crosses her arms haughtily, and in the most scathing voice she can manage, she asks, "Pretending what, exactly?"

She dimly notices that it's funny that the last time they had 'talked' (the word doesn't quite fit right…), and the time before that, she had first spoken in much the same tone.

Why am I so mean?

His fingers flex slightly on her shoulders and he matches her scowl with one of his own, though it fits his face much better than it does hers.

"Pretending that you don't remember us before. I want you to stop pretending that nothing ever happened."

Her heart seems to trip up and stumble over itself a few times as her mind works feverishly to make up a come back. She needs to deny.

"What do you mean 'us'? There was never an 'us', Kiba. It was never you, it was him."

"Bullshit," he retorts, shaking his head and causing long strands of brown to brush over his forehead. She can tell that he is angry now. "You know that you're lying, you can't deny it. And anyway, Shikamaru's dead. Gone. And you need to finally accept that and move on."

She bites her lip. His words pierce deep and strong, ripping and tearing and hurting so very badly, and she hates him for making her face the truth. Because it has been two months since the burial and she still finds herself staring out of her window at the fluffy clouds from time to time, wishing and hoping that he'll waltz back through the village gates and up to the top of his hill and lie down on the grass, just like old times. Deep down she knows that it is an impossible wish. Which is why she does not want to face the truth.

But she knows that she can't avoid it forever because of a certain wild, tattooed, much-too-loud dog-lover who is always there when she wishes he weren't.

Inuzuka Kiba. He had been practically invisible to her until that one day the Hokage assigned them to the same mission with another two ninja. They clashed immediately, both being stubborn and assertive and too hardheaded to get along on any one thing. He called her a stupid blonde around the campfire the first night, and she immediately jumped to her feet and punched the living daylights out of him, earning a scolding from her other team members about 'saving the violence for enemies.' She had muttered that he was as good as one.

They seemed destined to loathe one another, and yet out of their rivalry grew something else: an awkward, flawed friendship. One full of flying insults and mumbled apologies, mulish competition and grudgingly given congratulations, fearsome glares and unstoppable, bubbling laughter that had them cackling until they could barely breathe.

And Ino had never remembered being more happy.

Except for now, because all he does now is remind her of things she wishes to forget, as he also tries to make her forget things she wants to hold on to forever.

"I can't move on," she says shakily, though her eyes are surprisingly dry. The tears have been long since used up. "I can't just forget Shikamaru." She pushes his arms off of her shoulders. "I love him."

"But you're in love with me."

"I-"

She is rendered speechless by his daring statement, and is just a little bit afraid of the gleam in his eyes. She wants to deny deny deny, but her mind goes blank when she tries to think of something to support her refusal. Her hands shake and she kneads them into the purple fabric of her skirt.

Suddenly, a slightly calloused hand is on her cheek and his lips cover hers. His eyes are closed but hers are open wide in alarm, and she is paralyzed for what feels like years but in reality is just a few seconds. With a squeak she pushes him away and turns, feet already carrying her away quickly. It is a routine she is now all too familiar with.

"Ino!"

She keeps running, knowing that he will not follow, and wishes that she doesn't maybe, partially, sort of, almost definitely agree with the tiny voice in her head and the twist in her stomach telling her that she wants more.

Of him.

"I need to talk to you!"

They both falter at the sound of their voices blending together (creating perfect harmony). He rubs the back of his neck and grins nervously in a way that causes many other girls to swoon and giggle. She ignores the irritating sounds and raises a sculpted eyebrow.

"Okay, go ahead then."

She silently praises herself for the lack of malice.

He chuckles lightheartedly and gives her a sly look. "You know what they say, girls first."

A smile threatens to appear on her lips, and she instantly focuses all her facial muscles to keep a straight face. "Fine. But can we go somewhere…"

"More private?" he finishes for her, and wiggles his eyebrows.

She frowns, no longer feeling the humor.

"Kiba, don't. If you can't be serious I'm leaving."

He sobers up startlingly fast.

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

She nods to tell him that he is forgiven, and he uses the opportunity to take her hand. She is startled by the feeling of electricity that comes from a single touch, and suppresses a shiver of excitement. She can see that he feels the same thing; they hold each other's gaze with an intensity that makes her nervous, so she is the one to look away first. He only grasps her hand tighter and tugs gently to get her to start walking.

As she follows behind him, this time she keeps her focus on their connected hands, and her thoughts feel rather numb and sluggish. Streetlights send spotlights of warm yellow onto the shadowed ground and buildings, and the night air is crisp and refreshing. Far off in the forest, crickets are chirping, and she slowly lets herself get lulled into something akin to a daydream; she is conscious but not quite, because all of a sudden they are stopped and she wonders when they arrived at the edge of the training fields.

It is definitely private, that is for sure. Not another soul is in sight other than them two. She realizes that he is waiting for her to speak, and she silently apologizes for what she will tell him. She sighs heavily and begins with her eyes lowered to his chest, because he can not make her melt with his gaze that way.

"Kiba, I'm sorry."

She takes a deep breath because she needs as much time as she can get to straighten her thoughts out, because at the moment they are being rebellious and disorderly and she is afraid that they won't come out right. But she can not think because it feels like his eyes are burning holes in her and the intensity is almost enough to make her sweat. But she tries anyway.

"For everything…I've said and done, and I know I was being rude and immature. And I should have handled it all better. But this, it won't work. It just won't."

She looks up to see his reaction, and sucks in a breath as he grabs her around the waist and pulls her close, capturing her mouth with his. She can practically feel the gears in her brain screech and jerk to a violent stop, and then with much effort, as if they are out of oil, they begin turning again, much slower this time.

And as they begin to turn at a different pace, she feels her eyes begin to close and her head tip back slightly, and she feels so warm and safe and-

No!

Her palms are flat on his chest, arms straight, and she is looking directly at him, and he at her. Her thin eyebrows are furrowed and her lips pursed a bit. He just looks incredibly pleased with himself.

"Why did you do that?"

He shrugs. "I wanted to."

"Did you listen to a word I said?"

"No."

"Kiba! Stop being so-"

"But you liked it."

She repeatedly tells herself that she is not blushing in the least as he pins her with that knowing smirk.

"You wanted more. You were giving in."

She tries to mask her redness as rage, glaring at him with electric eyes of blue.

"Did not."

But he ignores her (again) and pulls her into him once more. She splutters something indignant, but it is too late to escape because he is much too persistent and kisses her for the third time in too soon (too long).

And this time he does something very strange, and caresses her face with one hand, and her stomach does a bizarre back flip that she thinks she might just enjoy.

No, stop!

Her limbs won't listen to the feeble cries her brain makes; they do much the opposite. She finds herself clinging to his shirt desperately, eyes shut tight, heart hammering erratically in her ribcage.

No, it's not right.

He smells so intoxicating and his hair is too soft against her forehead and his arms are too strong and protective and she feels herself slipping. The paint has peeled so much that by now the bare patches far outnumber the painted ones.

Stop…

But she is already lost in him. In Inuzuka Kiba of all people, and it is all because of his stupid smile and hardheadedness and childishness and inability to understand the meaning of the word no. It had always been hopeless to try to argue with him, which is why she has been lost for longer than she even knows.

But he knew all along, ever since the very beginning.

A/N: So... comments? Pretty please? I have a feeling that I'm gonna start writing a lot more of these two, i even have a story planned out, but it will have to wait until i finish at least one of my other chaptered fics. Or else i'll be swamped with stuff to write.

Oh, and the lyrics are from the song Forever by Chris Brown, in case people didn't catch that. Those few lines helped inspire this piece.