Romancing the Kazekage- A Gaara Love Story

Sex

Sex

The night was a velvet dark, humid, bleak and barren. Candles flickered in the palace, warming the air with the scent of sandalwood as the moon ascended to meet the storm. Drapes billowed and swayed on the Kazekage's balcony, beckoning in the night, calling kismet to throw off the veil and reveal itself to the world.

On nights like this, in these hours of isolation, locked away in his room, his blood used to boil. The hunger for death was insatiable and the need to feel power surge through him was turning into desperation. All Gaara wanted was to let go, to unhinge the door that he had crafted between Shukaku and the world. To be swallowed whole by his insanity and taste blood was an overbearing instinct he was finding harder to silence.

The Kazekage stood in the half-darkness of his bedroom, his shadow flickered against the wall in the candlelight. His hands gripped the chair at his dressing table with such force that his knuckles were white from the pain of clutching to sanity. His head bowed, Gaara's face furrowed and contorted as he fought against his instincts. He staggered his breathing, trying to remain in control, trying not to listen to Shukaku's whispers that were attempting to persuade him that it would all feel better if he followed that scent of blood on the air.

Usually a cold moon would lend him company on nights like this, to cool his blood, to help him part with the lust. But there was no moon tonight.

"Ah!" Shukaku raised his head at the thought of her and Gaara gripped the frame of the chair so tightly a crack formed beneath his finger tips and ran along the wood, splintering the beautiful carvings, as though a blade had been run along the chair.

He couldn't take this anymore. It was tearing him apart. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. But his blood was boiling, his heart was pounding fit to burst -

"Kazekage?" The temperature in the room plummeted, at just the sound of her voice. Delicate and coy, the moon watched him from the doorway.

Slowly, Gaara opened his eyes and looked up to the mirror in front of him, the grand, gold-framed mirror that hung on his dressing table. He saw her in its reflection. The sight of Ai stood in red the colour of blood, her fair skin glowing in the candlelight of his room, her bright eyes narrowing on him with that look that killed him, so pure and innocent…she was to be his undoing.

His eyes were red, she noticed, his crimson waves of hair messy and rugged. The Kazekage stood hunched over his dressing table chair, his Kazekage robes abandoned to reveal his black clothes beneath. She had to take a breath and look away for the feeling of want was turning into an ailment. He was her weakness and she sighed deeply; no woman knew addiction, obsession, insanity, until you knew him.

They looked at one another in the reflection of the mirror. The outside world was forgotten, a distant memory, a dream, no longer a hindrance. The silence stretched on as they appraised one another; the coldness of the moon fighting against the heat of his blood, a war was breaking out between them and both were caught in the cross-fire.

Gaara bowed his head; he couldn't look at her anymore. The candles flickered as though cowering when he spoke suddenly:

"What did I do to deserve this torture?" His voice was husky, as though his throat were sore and dry.

"Torture?" She asked gently. Gaara looked back up at her reflection and growled.

"Two years it took me to tame this beast," he snarled; "this disease of madness!" He shut his eyes tightly as he felt Shukaku tremble. "And yet," he looked up to her, "in just a glance you unravel all that I have worked so hard to restrain." The frustration in his voice withered away, his shoulders slumped as he looked on at her as though defeated.