Sand

Matsuri giggled uncontrollably. Well, what was she supposed to do, when all the most sensitive parts of her body were being caressed at once? The heat gliding over her stomach, the gentle touch on the backs of her knees and the inside of her elbows, the ribbons of softness sliding over her neck, her breasts, her legs. Even as she felt the smooth, unbroken caress, she knew it was him. His hands, his skin, his touch on her body, tickling her, teasing her. The giggles gave way to breathy gasps, then low moans as she began to squirm. The slight pressure on the backs of her knees was all that was needed to make her crumple, but even as her heart jumped as she fell, she felt the pressure on her back intensify, the caress becoming a steady grip and she was lifted, limp and dangling, into the air. She put her complete trust in the force holding her, letting it carry her, letting it lay her softly on the bed.

The living caress snaked up her back, the steady flow winding into her hair. Even as she felt the steady spreading pressure she could feel it focusing, taking the shape of a hand, a tight grip on her head, holding her, controlling her. She felt the shift as he climbed onto the bed beside her, but still he kept his distance. Still he would touch her only with his sand.

She opened her eyes. It was like her body was caught in a miniature sandstorm, but no stray grains clouded the air between them as he slowly leaned over her. Not very far, mind, but just far enough so that he could look down into her face as she felt the delicate touch of his sand. It was him touching her, she knew, the sand was a part of him, like another, all encompassing limb. She knew that every way it touched her, running over her stomach, sliding down her legs, winding into her hair, was how he wanted to touch her with his hands. The sand was the piece of him that did as he pleased, the part that instinctively reached for whatever it was that he wanted, like a child grasping for everything in reach. The sand did everything Gaara wanted to, and now it did what he felt he could not, touch and caress every inch of Matsuri's bare skin.

She looked up at him, meaning to smile and tell him it was all right, he could touch her with his hands, his skin wouldn't burn her. But she stopped at the look on his face, the words stuck in her throat as she gazed up to meet his aqua-green eyes.

A tortuous wash of emotions swirled across Gaara's face. There was desire, Matsuri could see the raw hunger smoldering in his gaze, but that was all but lost in the painful indecision. His shoulders shook, his eyes were wide with confusion, pain . . . and fear. Those eyes, sunken and black rimmed from a thousand sleepless nights, were awash with a terrible, paralyzing fear. He was afraid, afraid he was going to hurt her. And the thought was so terrible it held him frozen in place. Matsuri could see the little boy behind his eyes, frightened and crying, not understanding why the other children wouldn't let him join their game. Not understanding why someone would feign love and then try to murder him. Not understanding why whenever he reached out to someone they recoiled in fear. Not understanding why even his own father rejected him. She felt her heart flutter, as though it wanted to fly out of her chest and wrap the boy in a warm and loving embrace. She wanted to hold him to her, to whisper softly that it was alright, that some one was there, that somebody loved him. A single, silent tear rolled down Matsuri's face.

Instantly the sand fled her body as though caught in a high wind, and Gaara jerked back, his face contorted in horror. Matsuri jerked as the warmth of the sand left her, making her feel bare and exposed. Her eyes cast around wildly for a moment in confusion at the sudden sensation, until at last they settled back on Gaara's face. She raised herself slightly off the bed, drawing closer to him even as he pulled back from her.

"Did . . . did I hurt you?" he asked tentatively, his face downcast, afraid to look at her. She shook her head, reaching out a hand slowly to cup his cheek. At first he shied away, then stilled at her touch. His whole body seemed to both tense and relax as she caressed his cheek, lifting his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.