If Boruto wasn't sixteen, he'd be having a midlife crisis.
He's sitting across the table from Sarada at the café down the street from her house. She's sipping on a vanilla latte. He's nursing a black coffee because he feels like a grown-up and it's going terribly. The caffeine is making his hands shake. Or maybe that's the trauma.
They are both trying to pretend that their dads are not, at this very moment, in the same house. Alone. Probably doing unspeakable things.
He shudders.
"Stop thinking about it," Sarada says, not even looking up from her phone. She has scary intuition.
"I'm trying not to," he mutters. "It's just... they're probably... you know."
She sets her phone down. Her expression is a careful blend of amusement and sympathy. It is the same look she gives him when he trips over flat ground.
"They are adults," she says, in a tone that is way too calm. "They're... reconnecting. Or whatever."
"Reconnecting?" Boruto parrots. "Sarada, my dad looked at your dad like he wanted to eat him for breakfast. And your dad looked at my dad like... well, like he wanted to be eaten for breakfast. And now they're in the same house. Alone. I'm never going to be able to eat breakfast again."
She lets out a little sigh. It's not a mean sigh. It's the sigh of someone who has had to be the responsible one for a very, very long time.
"My dad has been... happier," she says, her voice quieter now. "Since everything came out. Since they started talking. And... whatever else they're doing. He's been smiling more."
Boruto stops stirring his coffee. He looks at her. At the way her eyes soften when she talks about her dad, about this new thing in their lives that is so strange and so complicated. He thinks about his own dad, about the relief he saw on his face when Boruto had finally, finally said it was okay.
He feels a knot in his chest loosen. The trauma is still there, but something else is pushing its way through. Something a little like happiness for them. And a little bit of, God help him, acceptance.
"Yeah," he admits, staring into the black depths of his cup. "My dad, too. He's... lighter."
"See?" she says. "It's not all bad."
"No," he concedes. "But the visual evidence is... scarring."
She laughs, a bright, sudden sound that makes the café feel warmer. He finds himself smiling back. He can't help it. Her laugh is contagious.
"We're going to have to get over it," she says. "It's their lives."
He groans and lets his head fall onto the table with a soft thud. The wood is cool against his forehead.
"I know," he says, his voice muffled. "I know we are. But give me, like, a year. Maybe two. Also, did you know that my dad is going to move in with your dad?"
Sarada just sips her latte, completely unfazed.
"He told me last night," she says. "He asked me how I'd feel about it. I told him it was fine."
Boruto lifts his head, blinking.
"You're okay with that?"
"I mean... Don't get me wrong. The idea of them... cohabitating... is a little weird." She wrinkles her nose. "But it's better than my dad being alone in that giant house all the time."
Boruto just stares at her. He's impressed. No, he's more than impressed. He's in awe of her. She's handling this with a grace he couldn't even fake if he tried.
"I guess," he says, defeated. "I just hope your dad knows what he's getting into. My dad is a terrible cook and he leaves his socks everywhere. He snores, too. Like, a jet engine taking off."
Sarada grins.
"My dad is a neat freak," she says. "But they did live together in college. I'm sure they remember each other's... habits."
That's a terrifying thought. His dad and her dad. As college students. Sharing a space. The sheer amount of stupidity that must have been contained in that dorm room is probably a public health hazard. He shudders again.
He pushes the coffee away. He's done with it. He needs something else. Something to ground him in this new, bizarre reality. He looks at Sarada. At the serious, beautiful girl he loves. She is his anchor. She is the thing that makes sense in all this chaos.
"So," he says, changing the subject. "Wanna come over and watch a movie? My mom said it was okay." He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. "We can complain about our dads together."
She smiles, a real, genuine smile that makes her whole face light up.
"I'd like that," she says. "A lot."
He pays for their drinks, feeling a little more like himself. A little less like a teenager caught in the middle of his parents' soap opera. They walk out of the café, into the bright afternoon light. It feels like a new beginning. A scary, confusing, but ultimately, good beginning.
"So," she says, as they walk. "On a scale of one to ten, how mentally scarred are you, really?"
He thinks about it for a moment. He thinks about the look on his dad's face. He thinks about the way Sarada talked about her dad being happier. He thinks about the future. About holidays, and birthdays, and family dinners. About how different things will be, but also, how they might be better. More honest. More real.
"About a six," he admits. "But I'm working on it."
She laughs, and he feels a warmth spread through his chest.
"Me too," she says. "Although if I think about them getting married and how that'd make us, like, step-siblings, it goes up to about a nine."
He stops dead. He looks at her. Her eyes are wide. They both stare at each other for a second, the full, unadulterated horror of that prospect washing over them.
"Okay," he says, finding his voice again. "Let's just agree to never, ever bring that up again."
"Deal," she says, grabbing his hand.
They take the bus to his neighborhood. The ride is quiet, but it's a comfortable quiet. He feels her thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. He leans his head against the window, watching the familiar streets blur by. It feels grounding. Normal. It's exactly what he needs.
When they get to his house, he unlocks the front door, and leads her inside.
"Mom, we're home!" he calls out.
"In the kitchen!" she replies.
They find her at the sink, washing dishes. She turns around, a smile on her face. Her hands are wet, suds clinging to her wrists. She looks tired, but also, strangely, relieved.
"Hi, Mrs. Uzumaki," Sarada says.
"Hi, sweetie," Hinata replies, drying her hands on a towel. "It's good to see you."
"You too," Sarada says.
Boruto watches them. There is no awkwardness. No tension. Just warmth. He feels a rush of affection for both of them.
"We were gonna go watch a movie," he says.
"Okay," she says. "Dinner will be ready in a few hours. Sarada, you should stay and eat with us. I'm making mackerel."
"That sounds great," Sarada says. "Thank you."
They head to the living room, and collapse onto the couch. He puts on some dumb action movie he's seen a dozen times. He doesn't really care about the plot. He's more focused on the feeling of Sarada leaning against him, the sound of her breathing, the way she fits perfectly against his side.
He feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is what's real. This is what matters.
He's still confused about a lot of things. Still a little hurt. Still a little scared. But he's starting to understand. Starting to accept that love is messy. Complicated. And sometimes, it doesn't make any sense at all.
But his love for her? That's the one thing that's simple. The one thing that's easy. The one thing that he can hold onto, when everything else feels like it's falling apart.
He turns to look at her. She's already looking at him. Her eyes are soft. She smiles. And he knows, with a certainty that settles deep in his bones, that even if they are young, even if their lives are a little weird, even if their dads are... well, their dads... they'll be okay.
They have each other.
And that's enough.
-
Naruto lies on his side, the sheets tangled around his legs, watching Sasuke dress. The afternoon light is starting to fade, painting the room in shades of gold and orange. Sasuke moves with an easy grace, pulling on a pair of dark jeans, then a black t-shirt. He doesn't rush. There's no hurry. It's a quiet, domestic scene, one that feels both brand new and achingly familiar.
He feels a warmth spread through his chest. He could get used to this. Very, very used to this.
"So," Naruto says, his voice a low rumble. "About me moving in."
Sasuke turns around, raising an eyebrow. He leans against the dresser, arms crossed. A smirk plays on his lips.
"Having second thoughts?" he asks.
"No," Naruto replies. "Just... thinking about the logistics." He props himself up on an elbow. "Are we telling people? Like, officially? Or are we just... letting them figure it out?"
Sasuke is quiet for a moment. He looks thoughtful. He looks at Naruto, and his expression softens.
"I think," he says, slowly. "That it's up to you. I'll follow your lead."
Naruto feels a lump in his throat. He wasn't expecting that. He was expecting Sasuke to be all, "we tell them when we're ready," or, "we don't have to tell them anything at all." But this... this is different. This is Sasuke handing him the reins. Trusting him with the next step.
"Okay," Naruto says, clearing his throat. "I'll... I'll think about it."
"Good," Sasuke replies. "Now, are you going to get out of bed, or do I have to come and get you?"
Naruto grins. "Is that a threat?"
Sasuke pushes off the dresser, and walks toward the bed. He looks dangerous. He looks delicious. If it wasn't for the last three hours, Naruto would be scrambling to get his clothes off again.
"You tell me," he says, leaning over him.
Naruto's breath hitches. He looks up at him, at the dark eyes, the sharp cheekbones, the way the light catches the hair falling over his face. He feels a surge of affection so strong it almost hurts.
"Okay, okay, I'm up," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm up."
Sasuke chuckles. He straightens up, and holds out a hand. Naruto takes it, and lets Sasuke pull him out of bed. His legs are a little wobbly. He feels sated, and sleepy, and ridiculously happy.
He finds his clothes scattered on the floor. He pulls on his jeans, and his t-shirt, and runs a hand through his hair. He knows he probably looks like he just had sex for three hours straight. Because he did. And he's not even sorry about it.
"Ready for that tour now?" Sasuke asks, leaning against the doorframe. He's still smirking. Naruto wants to kiss it off his face. He probably will, later.
"Sure," Naruto says. "Lead the way."
Sasuke shows him the balcony first. It's a large, private space with metal railing and a few potted plants that look expensive and very much alive, which means someone is taking care of them. Naruto is willing to bet it's Sarada. The view is of the quiet, tree-lined street below. It's peaceful. It's a good place to think. Or to drink coffee. Or to kiss someone stupidly handsome in the morning.
Then Sasuke leads him through the rest of the house, pointing out the study, the storage room, the guest bedroom. Naruto makes mental notes of everything. He's going to live here, after all.
"You really need some decor, though," he comments, as they head back to the kitchen.
"I'm sure you'll have plenty of ideas," Sasuke replies.
"Damn right I will," Naruto says.
They enter the kitchen. The chopped vegetables are still sitting on the counter, abandoned and half-prepared. Naruto is suddenly, painfully hungry. He's always starving after sex.
"Can we finish making lunch?" he asks.
"I wouldn't call it lunch anymore," Sasuke points out.
"Dinner?" Naruto counters.
Sasuke rolls his eyes, but he doesn't disagree. He starts preparing the ingredients, and Naruto joins him. He tries to fake competence. It's not a complete failure.
"I'm going to have to learn how to cook," Naruto muses.
"Probably," Sasuke agrees.
"Will you teach me?" he asks, glancing at him.
Sasuke smiles.
"Bold of you to assume I'm a good cook," he replies. "I only started learning how to cook for Sarada, and I'm still shit at most things."
Naruto laughs. It's an unexpectedly endearing admission.
"Well," he says. "Imagine, two thirty-eight-year-old men, struggling to make stir fry."
"Sounds romantic," Sasuke deadpans.
Naruto bumps their shoulders together.
"It does, though," he says, his voice quieter now.
"Yes," Sasuke admits, as he stirs the vegetables. "It does."
Naruto feels warm. Content. This is what's real. This is what matters.
Sasuke sets a timer. They sit at the kitchen table. Naruto watches him. The afternoon light is turning golden, spilling into the kitchen and lighting him up.
Naruto is going to have this. Every day. He's going to wake up next to him. Make breakfast with him. Maybe go on a date, or two, or a hundred.
"Sasuke," he says, the words coming easily. "I want everyone to know."
"What?" Sasuke asks, meeting his eyes.
"I want people to know," he says. "I want people to know that I'm dating you. I want to tell them."
Sasuke is silent. His expression is hard to read. But Naruto knows him. He knows every inch of him. He knows the way his breath hitches when Naruto touches him, and the way his lips part when he's about to come, and the way his eyes burn when he's about to kiss him. He knows his soul. And his heart. And the beautiful, complicated, impossible man behind the mask.
He is loved.
"Okay," Sasuke says, and there's a small smile on his lips. "I'd like that."
"Okay," Naruto echoes.
The timer goes off. They both look up, startled.
"I'll get it," Naruto says, getting to his feet.
He turns the heat off, and stirs the vegetables one last time. He feels a hand on his hip, and then a warmth at his back. Arms wrap around his waist. Lips brush the back of his neck.
The universe is infinite. There are countless galaxies, infinite stars. And somehow, in all that vastness, he found Sasuke. And they found each other. Again, and again, and again.
Maybe the gods are laughing at him. Maybe the fates are conspiring against him. Maybe life is just a cosmic joke.
But he'll take it. He'll take all of it. Because it led him here. To this. To him.
"Let's eat," Sasuke murmurs, and Naruto is helpless.
He turns around. He meets his gaze. He cups his cheek, and leans forward.
They meet in the middle.
-
Sarada is vibrating with excitement.
The airport is bustling. Families are saying their goodbyes, suitcases being dragged behind them, children in tow. People are hurrying to gates, bags slung over their shoulders. The lights are bright, the air conditioner blasting, the PA system playing some generic pop song.
But all her focus is on the gate at the end of the hall.
The plane just landed. She knows that. She heard the announcement. But she's been waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and it's finally happening.
"Calm down, Sarada," her dad says.
"I'm calm," she replies, bouncing on her toes.
Her dad doesn't argue. He's smiling, the expression small and private.
Naruto (he'd insisted on her calling him that, a few weeks after her dad had told her about their relationship) is standing a little to the side. She thinks he's giving her and her dad space, or something. He looks nervous, too. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his eyes fixed on the gate.
The first person comes through. Then another. Then another. And then-
"Mom!" Sarada cries, and sprints toward her.
She throws herself forward at full speed, and her mom catches her the way she always has, like Sarada is something precious and familiar and irreplaceable. Sakura smells like fabric softener and airport air and home.
"Hey, honey," her mom says, hugging her back.
Six months. It hits Sarada all at once. Six whole months. Six months in which she grew taller, learned how to cook actual meals, made new memories, survived school, found her footing, lost it again, fell in love, mended relationships she never thought would be mended.
Her life is completely different from when Sakura last saw her.
And she wants to tell her everything.
"It's good to see you," her mom says, pulling away. She puts her hands on Sarada's shoulders, looking at her.
"You too," Sarada replies, beaming. "Dad's here, too."
She glances behind her. Her dad is still standing by the gate. She half-expects him to look awkward. But he's not. He's walking toward them, and there's a small, gentle smile on his face.
"Sakura," he says, softly.
"Sasuke," she says.
Sarada watches them, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. She's never seen her parents interact like this. They have always been friendly, and polite, and a little distant. But there's something different in the way they're looking at each other. There's something almost... tender.
Her dad hesitates for the fraction of a second, and then, he hugs her.
It's like the two of them are having a secret conversation, a conversation that only they can hear. Her mom's breath leaves her in a small, shaking exhale as she wraps her arms around him and pulls him in. And her dad goes. Fully. Completely. He leans into the embrace like a man who has finally been forgiven for something he's been carrying for years.
It's not a lovers' hug, Sarada knows. It's not longing or regret.
It's a thank you.
It's an I'm sorry.
It's an I know.
It's an I understand.
She glances at Naruto. He's watching them, his eyes soft. She wonders if he knows. If he understands the weight of this moment, the significance. She thinks he does. He's looking at her dad, and there's so much affection in his gaze.
When they pull away, her mom's eyes are a little shiny. But she's smiling, a wide, brilliant smile that lights up her whole face. She notices Naruto, then, standing a few feet away. Something shifts in her expression. Sarada can't place it, but she knows it's important.
"Naruto," she says.
"Hi, Sakura-chan," he replies, voice small. Almost shy.
She doesn't say anything else. She just walks up to him, and wraps her arms around his neck. He's shocked, for a second. But then, his arms wrap around her waist, and he pulls her close, holding her tight.
It's a hug between old friends. People who once loved the same man, who had the same dream, who wanted the same thing.
Sarada is stunned. It's such a simple, uncomplicated thing. But it feels like an important step. An acknowledgement. It's her mom's blessing, her dad's freedom, her own acceptance.
"I- um- hi," Naruto stammers, his voice muffled. "I missed you, ya know?"
Her mom laughs, a light, tinkling sound. She pulls away, and smiles at him.
"I missed you too, idiot," she says.
He looks relieved. And a little overwhelmed. Sarada wonders if he had been afraid of this moment. Afraid of being unwelcome. Afraid of stepping into a family that's no longer whole.
"Sasuke said it was okay, so I—"
"He told me," her mom says, cutting him off. "It's okay, Naruto."
She puts a hand on his shoulder. They smile at each other.
Sarada's heart is hammering. This is a new world. A better world. She's not sure if it's the kind of world that makes sense, or follows rules, or even if it's supposed to. But it's the world she's been handed. It's the world that was made possible by love. And she's ready to live in it.
"So," her dad says, glancing at her. "We were thinking of having dinner. What do you say?"
Her mom looks at him, and then, at her. And then, she looks at Naruto, and the expression on her face is full of so much joy, so much warmth, that it almost hurts to look at.
"That sounds perfect," she replies.
Sarada feels a prick of tears. She clutches her mom's hand. Sakura squeezes back. Her dad meets her eyes, and in that silent exchange she sees something she has wished for her entire life: her parents finally at peace with themselves… and with each other.
Her dad is happy.
Her mom looks at Naruto. Naruto is smiling, a little dazed, a little overwhelmed.
"You're coming too, right?" she asks, a hint of a challenge in her voice.
"Of course," he replies. "I wouldn't miss it."
"Good," she says. "Come on."
And she leads the way.
The four of them walk through the airport, her mom's arm wrapped around her shoulders, her dad a step behind. Naruto is at her mom's side, the two of them chatting amiably, his hands in his pockets.
There is still so much uncertainty ahead of them. The future is terrifying, and complicated, and a little bit scary. But Sarada feels a rush of hope, a sense of peace.
She looks at her parents. They look so much happier, now, than she can ever remember seeing them. It's as if a burden has been lifted from their shoulders. As if a weight has been lifted from their hearts.
Sarada knows it's not easy. Not for her, or her mom, or her dad. But she also knows, without a doubt, that it's worth it.
Whatever happens, whatever the universe throws at them, they will get through it together.
-
Sasuke places the last box on the living room floor, and straightens up.
He's panting, and sweating, and a little sore. His muscles are burning, and his clothes are covered in a fine layer of dust.
Naruto is not faring any better. He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt, exposing the hard, golden line of his stomach. His cheeks are flushed, his hair damp, his t-shirt plastered to his back in a way that makes Sasuke feel a little unsteady.
It should be illegal to look like that after moving boxes for hours.
"Fuck, that was the last one, right?" he pants.
"Yeah," Sasuke replies. "We're done."
Naruto lets out a dramatic groan, and collapses onto the couch. He stretches out, a long, lean line of golden skin and muscle. Sasuke looks away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. They still have to unpack. They can't just laze around. They are responsible adults, for God's sake.
But he's tired. He's been moving boxes all day. He deserves a break.
He sinks onto the couch next to Naruto. The cushions dip under their combined weight. Naruto shifts, the lazy slide of his body sending his arm brushing against Sasuke's. It's barely a touch, but it goes through him like a live wire. A familiar heat blooms low in his stomach, unwanted and entirely welcome.
They're quiet for a moment. The only sound is their breathing, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant wail of a siren. Sasuke's house is officially Naruto's house, too. All of Naruto's things are here, scattered in boxes all over the living room. Half of his clothes are already in the closet. His toothbrush is in the bathroom. His ridiculous orange comforter is on the bed.
Sasuke's house, their house, is a mess. It's chaos.
It's perfect.
"So," Naruto says, breaking the silence. "We did it."
"Yeah," Sasuke replies. "We did."
He looks around the room, at the mountains of cardboard boxes, at the packing tape and bubble wrap, at the half-empty glasses of water on the coffee table. It's a disaster zone.
"It's hurting you, isn't it?" Naruto asks, a knowing smirk on his face.
Sasuke glares at him. "What?"
"The mess," Naruto says. "Your neat-freak soul is screaming in agony right now."
"My soul is not screaming in agony," Sasuke deadpans.
"Liar," Naruto teases. "You want to unpack everything right now, don't you? You want to organize my books by color, and fold my clothes, and-" He cuts himself off, his eyes widening in mock horror. "Oh my god. You're going to organize my ramen packets by flavor, aren't you?"
Sasuke's lips twitch. He can't help it. The idea is... appealing. Horrifyingly so.
"I'll try to restrain myself," he replies, his voice dry.
Naruto laughs, and it's a bright, happy sound that fills the entire room. He shifts again, and this time, he rests his head on Sasuke's shoulder. He smells like sweat, and dust, and sunshine. And like Naruto.
Sasuke's breath catches. He wants to freeze this moment. To bottle it. To keep it forever.
"You can if you want," Naruto murmurs. "Organize my ramen. I won't even complain."
Sasuke is quiet. He feels Naruto's head on his shoulder, the warmth of his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He feels a contentment settle over him, so profound it almost scares him.
He has never been this happy. Not in his entire life.
"I'm not going to organize your ramen, Naruto," he says, but his voice is softer now.
"Good," Naruto replies. "Because that would be weird."
"Yeah," Sasuke agrees. "It would be."
He wraps an arm around Naruto's shoulders, pulling him closer. Naruto sighs, a happy, contented sound. He leans into the touch, his body melting against Sasuke's. This is it. This is the feeling he's been chasing. The feeling he's been craving for seventeen years. It's not a grand, epic romance. It's this. It's quiet. It's simple. It's them, on a couch, in a messy living room, surrounded by boxes and bubble wrap.
And it's everything.
They stay like that for a long, silent stretch, the city's evening hum a distant backdrop to their shared quiet. The last of the sunlight fades, leaving the room in the soft, hazy glow of the lamp in the corner. The boxes seem less like obstacles now, and more like the building blocks of a future.
Naruto's hand sneaks up, fingers tracing idle patterns on Sasuke's chest, over the thin fabric of his shirt. Each touch is a spark, a small, deliberate claim.
"You know," Naruto says, his voice a low rumble against Sasuke's shoulder. "We should christen the couch."
Sasuke lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He looks down at the top of Naruto's head, at the messy blond hair, at the way the lamplight catches the golden strands.
"We moved all day," he says, but the objection is weak. He knows it. Naruto knows it.
"We did," Naruto agrees. "And now we're done. Back to being roommates."
Sasuke's lips twitch into a smile. "Is that what we are?"
"Among other things," Naruto replies, and he leans up, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Sasuke's neck.
It's a chaste kiss. A sweet, gentle thing. But it's enough to make Sasuke's blood run hot. He's tired, and sore, and covered in dust. But he wants him. He always wants him.
He turns his head, and captures Naruto's lips in a proper kiss. It's slow, and deep, and full of unspoken promises. Naruto melts into it, his mouth opening, his tongue sliding against Sasuke's. He tastes like sweat, and exhaustion, and like home. Sasuke's hand moves from Naruto's shoulder to the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in the soft hair there. He holds him tight, deepening the kiss, pouring all of the love, and the want, and the sheer, overwhelming relief of having him here, finally, here, into it.
Naruto pulls away, panting, his cheeks flushed. His eyes are dark, and hungry. He looks at Sasuke like he's the only thing in the universe.
"Okay," he says. "The couch is definitely happening."
Sasuke is breathless. He watches the way the shadows play on his skin, the way his lips are reddened from the kiss. There's a bruise on his neck, just barely visible under his collar. Sasuke's handiwork.
He wants to leave another.
"We really shouldn't stain the couch," he manages, even though he's aching with want, even though every inch of him is burning.
Naruto's eyes darken.
"You're right," he agrees, his voice hoarse. "That kitchen counter, though."
"Kitchen counter?"
"I'm imagining you spread out on it," Naruto continues. "Pants around your ankles, me between your legs. Maybe a tie in your mouth."
Sasuke is lightheaded. The image is...
"Tie?" he echoes, weakly.
"Mhm," Naruto says, leaning in to trail kisses down his jaw, his neck. "Your fancy, expensive ones you wear in the courtroom. Tied around that pretty mouth."
Sasuke is struggling to remember how to breathe. It's a ridiculous idea. Completely impractical. A terrible waste of good silk.
"Or," Naruto adds, and his teeth graze Sasuke's earlobe, sending a bolt of electricity through him. "We could use a tie to tie your hands behind your back. That'd be fun, wouldn't it? If I fucked you like that."
The thought is... so much more appealing than it has any right to be. He feels a flush creeping up his neck. He's a respected defense attorney. He's a father. He's a grown man, for God's sake. He's not supposed to be getting flustered by Naruto's stupid, filthy fantasies. He's not supposed to be imagining the cool silk wrapped around his wrists, the stretch in his shoulders, the delicious, helpless feeling of being completely at Naruto's mercy.
"Or," Naruto breathes, and he's sliding a hand up Sasuke's thigh, high enough to be obscene. "We could go to the bedroom. Like normal people."
"No," Sasuke says, and the word is out before he can stop it. "No."
Naruto stills. He looks up at him, surprised.
"No?" he asks. Sasuke can see the gears turning in his head. He can see the way Naruto's mind is already working, already planning, already mapping out all the ways he's going to ruin him.
"No," Sasuke confirms. "I don't want normal. I want your ideas."
Naruto's grin is wolfish. It's a beautiful, terrifying thing.
"Okay," he says, standing up. He holds out a hand, and Sasuke takes it. "Let's find a tie, then."
-
Sasuke bites back a moan.
The marble of the kitchen island is cold against his bare chest. His cheek is pressed to the hard, unyielding surface, and he can feel the slight vibration of the refrigerator through the stone. His hands are bound behind his back, the silk of his favorite navy tie a delicious, firm pressure around his wrists.
He wears that tie for closing arguments. It represents control, precision, the power of a well-crafted sentence. He has never, in his wildest dreams, imagined it would be used to restrain him in his own kitchen.
Naruto is behind him, a solid, warm presence. His hands are on Sasuke's ass, spreading him open. He's taking his sweet time, the absolute bastard. He's just looking. Sasuke can feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch. It's maddening.
"Are you just going to stare all day?" Sasuke grits out, his voice strained.
"I'm admiring the view," Naruto replies. "It's a very nice view."
And then he leans down, and licks a stripe from Sasuke's balls to his hole.
Sasuke chokes on a gasp. His hips jerk back, seeking more contact, more of that wet heat.Naruto laughs quietly, a warm puff of air against Sasuke's skin, and the sound shoots straight through him.
"Patience," Naruto murmurs.
Sasuke wants to be patient. He also wants to claw the countertop into dust.
Naruto licks him again, slower this time, tracing him like a map he intends to memorize. Sasuke's mind flickers white, thoughts scattering like startled birds. His breath turns ragged, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and need. He can feel how vulnerable he is. How open. How much trust is threaded through every breath he manages to take.
He hates it. He loves it. He feels it everywhere.
"So good for me," Naruto whispers, against his skin. "Always so good."
Instead of eating him out like Sasuke so desperately needs him to, he straightens up. Sasuke whines, a pathetic, needy sound he would deny to his dying breath. He hears the cap of lube snapping open, the slick, wet sound of Naruto coating his fingers.
Then, one finger presses inside him. No preamble. Just the slow, inexorable breach. Sasuke sighs, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing. Naruto's finger is long, and thick, and it curls just right, finding that spot inside him that makes sparks dance behind his eyelids. He adds another finger, scissoring them, stretching him open. It's good. It's so good. It's not enough.
"Sorry, Sas," Naruto whispers, a warm puff of air against the small of his back. "I can't miss out on such a lavish meal."
Then Naruto's tongue is back, lapping at him where he's stretched around his own fingers. The dual sensation is obscene. The wet heat of Naruto's mouth, the clever pressure of his fingers. Sasuke is babbling now, a stream of incoherent pleas and curses. He's so close. He's going to come just from this. From being fingered and eaten out on his own kitchen counter like some kind of depraved romance novel hero.
He feels the tell-tale tightening in his balls, the coiling heat in his spine. He's teetering on the edge.
"Naruto," he gasps. "Naruto, I'm gonna—"
Naruto pulls away.
Sasuke chokes on a frustrated sound, hips straining for friction, anything, but Naruto holds him steady. Holds him still. Holds him like he knows exactly what Sasuke needs and is cruel enough to withhold it for just one moment more. Sasuke hates him. He loves him. He wants to fucking kill him.
"Hey," Naruto says. He leans over, his chest pressing against Sasuke's back. His lips brush Sasuke's ear. "Look at me."
Sasuke turns his head. It's awkward, and it strains his neck, but he does it. He looks at Naruto, really looks at him. His face is flushed, his pupils blown. He looks completely wrecked. And he looks so, so happy. He runs a hand through Sasuke's hair, pushing the sweaty strands away from his face.
"I want to see you when you come," Naruto says. "All right?"
And Sasuke understands. This isn't just about getting off. It's about trust, most of all. About being seen. About all the messy, complicated, beautiful parts of being two people who have found their way back to each other after a lifetime of lost chances.
Naruto isn't getting off on the power dynamic of the tie. He's getting off on the intimacy of it. On the trust Sasuke is showing him by letting him do this. On the love that's so big, and so overwhelming, it's spilling out of them, all over their ridiculously expensive kitchen.
So Sasuke nods. Because what else is there to do? He's completely, utterly at this man's mercy.
"Good," Naruto breathes. "Man, you're a vision, you know that?"
He finally, finally lines himself up. The thick, blunt head of his cock presses against Sasuke's entrance. Sasuke holds his breath. And then, Naruto pushes inside.
Sasuke thinks he'll never get used to it. To the way Naruto's cock stretches him, the delicious burn as his body opens for him. The way they fit together like puzzle pieces, like the universe has been waiting for them to collide. He's surrounded by him, filled with him.
It's heaven.
"Fuck, Sasuke," Naruto hisses, bottoming out. His hands are on Sasuke's thighs, gripping tight enough to bruise. Sasuke clenches around him, and it draws a sharp gasp from his throat.
"Move, you idiot," Sasuke says.
Naruto does. He starts slow, setting a steady, deep pace. Each thrust is a white-hot burst of pleasure, a promise of what's to come. Sasuke meets his gaze, his vision hazy. It's intense. But not as intense as the love he sees in those eyes.
There is no sunlight now. Only the soft gold glow of the kitchen lights, painting Naruto in warmth, like some kind of golden god. The way his lips are parted, his eyes heavy-lidded with lust. The way his hair is falling into his eyes.
This is my future, Sasuke thinks. This is my life.
He feels a warmth spread through him. It's not the warmth of arousal, although that's definitely present. It's something more. A feeling, vast and terrifying, threatening to engulf him. He's helpless against it, just like he's helpless against everything about this man.
"Naruto," he whispers, because there's nothing else to say.
Naruto's thrusts grow deeper, more deliberate, each movement stealing the air from Sasuke's lungs. The silk around his wrists pulls just slightly with every shift of his body, reminding him how open he is, how exposed, how much of himself he has surrendered. The cold marble bites into his skin, grounding him while everything else inside him threatens to come apart.
He is bracing against the counter when Naruto suddenly reaches for him. Not his hips. Not his waist. His hands.
Naruto's fingers slide between Sasuke's bound ones, warm and certain, as if he has every right in the world to touch him like this. He gathers both of Sasuke's wrists into his own grip and holds them firmly, using the contact for leverage, pulling Sasuke back onto him with each deep thrust. The movement is powerful, yes, but it is also impossibly intimate. Their hands move together in a single, controlled rhythm, and Sasuke feels the strength of Naruto's hold like a second heartbeat.
It is overwhelming. Not just the pleasure, but the meaning behind it. Naruto could brace himself on the counter. He could anchor himself at Sasuke's hips. He could use anything to steady his rhythm. But he chooses Sasuke's hands. His bound hands. The part of him that cannot defend, cannot push back, cannot hide. The part he has given willingly.
Naruto tightens their interlocked grip, pulling him deeper onto his cock, and Sasuke's breath shatters. Something inside him opens in a way he cannot name, bright and terrifying and soft all at once. Their joined hands become a fulcrum, a promise, a place where trust gathers and spills over.
Naruto squeezes his hands, their fingers locked so tightly together it feels like they might fuse. He presses his forehead to Sasuke's back.
"I know," he says. "Me too."
The words land deep. They shake something loose in Sasuke, something fragile and long-guarded. And when Naruto shifts his angle, finding that perfect place inside him that pulls the air from his lungs, Sasuke is not undone by the pleasure of it. He is undone by the fact that he is seen, that he is held, that he is loved so completely.
Naruto's pace quickens, each movement guided by their joined hands, his grip firm, steady, grounding. Sasuke feels himself moving toward the edge faster than he can process, his body tightening, his vision blurring. Naruto holds his hands like a lifeline, like he is not going to let go, no matter how hard Sasuke shakes.
"Look at me, Sasuke," he pleads. "Please. Look at me."
So Sasuke does.
He looks at him.
His best friend, his partner, the love of his life. The one person he has ever wanted, ever needed, the center of his universe. The only thing that matters.
The last thread snaps.
Sasuke comes with a sob, his body seizing, his vision going black. He's vaguely aware of Naruto's hand around his cock, coaxing him through it, like he would dare let him be anything less than fully satisfied. It's a bone-deep orgasm, the kind that shakes him to his core, leaves him wrung-out and exhausted and completely blissed-out.
When he comes down from his high, he realizes that his hands are free, that Naruto has wrapped his arms around his chest. He's whispering something in his ear, a stream of affectionate nonsense. Sasuke doesn't care. All that matters is the way he feels. Like every piece of him has been rearranged, the atoms in his body vibrating with a new frequency, attuned only to Naruto.
Naruto gives one last, weak thrust, and then he's coming, too. It's quieter than his usual orgasms, and Sasuke realizes he must have been holding out, waiting for Sasuke to finish. Sasuke clenches around him, milking every last drop. Naruto's teeth sink into his shoulder, muffling his moan.
They collapse onto the floor, tangled together. They're a mess. Sweaty, sticky, covered in sweat and cum. It should be gross. It's not.
Sasuke's head is still spinning, his mind pleasantly empty. He's sated, and happy, and full. He feels a kiss pressed to his temple, the soft brush of Naruto's hair against his cheek. He lets out a sigh, a contented little sound, and Naruto's arms tighten around him.
He wants to reach out. To cup Naruto's cheek, to kiss him. But...
"Naruto."
"What's up?" Naruto's voice is muffled by Sasuke's skin.
"My hands."
"Oh."
Naruto shifts, and Sasuke feels the silk of the tie slide from his wrists. He brings his hands to the front, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders. Naruto is watching him, his expression soft, and apologetic.
"Too tight?" he asks.
Sasuke flexes his wrists, a faint pink mark circling them. It'll be gone by morning. The thought is strangely disappointing.
"It was fine," he says.
Naruto takes his hands, and kisses his wrists. It's a sweet, gentle gesture, a stark contrast to the raw, primal intensity of their lovemaking. It makes Sasuke's chest ache.
"Sorry," Naruto says, and he actually sounds guilty.
"Don't be," Sasuke replies. "That was... that was fun."
He hesitates. He's not used to this, to being vulnerable, to admitting weakness. But Naruto is looking at him, his gaze open, and trusting, and it's so easy, to let the words come out.
"Being able to trust you like that," he clarifies, and Naruto's eyes widen in understanding. "I didn't think... I didn't know it could be like this."
"Me neither," Naruto admits, his voice quiet.
Seventeen years ago, when Naruto had left that dorm room, Sasuke had sworn he would never be that vulnerable again. He had built walls around his heart, walls so high, and so thick, that no one could ever breach them. He had sworn he would never love anyone like that again. Never let anyone have that much power over him.
But Naruto isn't just anyone. He never was.
Naruto is the only person Sasuke has ever trusted enough to let down the drawbridge. To let him into the castle. To let him see the scared, lonely man hiding behind the armor.
And here he is, on the floor of his kitchen, naked, and sated, and so in love it hurts.
The world is a strange and beautiful place.
"So," Naruto says, and the playful light is back in his eyes. "The counter. Ten out of ten. Would recommend."
"You're cleaning it," Sasuke replies, but there's no heat in it.
"Later," Naruto says, and he leans in, and kisses him.
Sasuke lets him.
Because, honestly, what else is there to do?
-
Himawari looks up, shielding her eyes against the sun. The sky is clear, and bright, and endless. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, salty air. It's a perfect day. Warm, but not too hot. Calm, but not too quiet.
The beach is busy, the sand dotted with groups of people, towels spread out on the ground, umbrellas propped up, a volleyball net set up a little farther away. Children are playing in the shallow waves, splashing each other, shrieking with laughter. Families are sitting around, watching, talking. Couples are strolling, holding hands, enjoying the view.
"This is probably the weirdest holiday of my entire life," Boruto says from behind her.
She turns around. He's standing there, a tray of four drinks in his hands. He's scowling, but he's also trying to balance the tray, and there's a smear of sunscreen on his nose, so he doesn't look as intimidating as he probably thinks he does.
"What's so weird about it?" she asks, taking a soda from him.
"Everything," he says, gesturing vaguely. "Dad and Mr. Uchiha are making sandcastle. Sarada's mom and our mom are gossiping like they're best friends. Mom's boyfriend is, I think, trying to teach Sarada how to swim. I don't know, the whole thing is just… so much."
Himawari looks. He's right.
Her dad and Mr. Uchiha are, indeed, building a sandcastle. Her dad is focused, carefully patting down the walls of the tower, a serious expression on his face. Mr. Uchiha is watching him, a fond, exasperated look on his face. He's probably making fun of her dad's technique, but her dad doesn't seem to mind.
Her mom is sitting next to Sakura, under a large umbrella. They're leaning toward each other, talking in hushed, conspiratorial tones. Her mom is laughing, a sound she hasn't heard enough of lately. Sakura is smiling, her expression warm and relaxed. They look… happy. She's glad.
And Boruto was right about the other thing, too. Sarada is in the water with the man Himawari's met a few times, the one her mom is seeing. His name is Kiba. He's loud, and a bit goofy, and he has a dog that's almost as big as he is. He's been trying to show off his swimming skills to Sarada for the last half hour. Himawari is pretty sure he's not that good of a swimmer. Sarada, for her part, seems to find it more amusing than anything.
She looks at her brother. He's still frowning. She takes a sip of her soda.
"I think it's nice," she says. "Everyone's getting along."
"Sure, if you ignore the fact that our dads are in a relationship and my girlfriend's dad is my dad's boyfriend," he mumbles. "And that our mom's are suddenly best friends. And that I had to see Mr. Uchiha without a shirt on today. Some things can't be unseen, Hima."
She has to fight back a laugh. He looks so miserable, it's almost cute.
"I'm sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. "You and Sarada are leaving for college soon, anyway. Think of it as a final, weird send-off."
She's a little sad about that, too. She'll be alone. But she's also excited. For him. For her. For all of them. They're all growing up. Moving on. It's how things are supposed to be.
He sits down next to her. He takes a long gulp of his own soda. The sun is hot on their skin. The sound of the waves is a steady, rhythmic pulse. The world feels full of possibility.
"Hey, Hima," he says, after a moment. "You think they're gonna be okay?"
She knows who he means. All of them.
She looks at him. She sees the worry in his eyes, beneath the grumbling and the sarcasm. He's always been the worrier. The one who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when he pretends he doesn't care.
She's always been the observer. The one who sees the little things. The quiet moments. The shifts in the wind. And what she's seen, lately, is a lot of good things. A lot of healing. A lot of happiness.
"Yeah," she says, with a certainty she feels deep in her bones. "I think they are."
He nods. He doesn't say anything else. He just looks out at the water, at the people splashing, at the sun glinting off the surface. He looks like he's trying to accept it. To let it in.
She hopes he does. She thinks he's getting there.
"I'm going to go talk to Mom," she says, getting to her feet. "Save me a spot."
"You got it," he replies.
She walks over to the umbrella. Her mom looks up, her smile widening when she sees her.
"Hey, sweetie," she says.
"Hi, Mom," Himawari replies, sitting down next to her.
Sakura smiles at her. "Enjoying the sun?"
"It's nice," Himawari says. She looks at her mom, at the way she's relaxed, the way she's not fidgeting, the way her shoulders are loose. She looks happy. It's a good look on her. "Are you having fun?"
Her mom exchanges a look with Sakura. A shared, knowing look. Himawari feels like she's missing a joke.
"We're having a wonderful time," her mom says. "It's been too long since we've done this. We used to hang out a lot in college, you know."
"I didn't know that," Himawari says.
"Oh, yes," Sakura says. "Your father and Naruto were… a handful. Always competing, always getting into some kind of trouble. We spent a lot of nights cleaning up after them, metaphorically speaking."
Himawari giggles. She can picture it. Her dad, loud and boisterous, and Mr. Uchiha, quiet and intense, probably arguing over something stupid, while her mom and Sakura rolled their eyes in the background.
"Your father is a good man," Sakura says, her voice softer. "He always has been. Even when he was an idiot."
Her mom laughs. "He was an idiot," she agrees. "But a lovable one."
Sakura looks out at the water, her gaze finding her daughter. "They all were," she says. "But they're good now. They're happy."
"Yeah," Himawari says. "They are."
She looks over at the sandcastle. It's getting bigger. Mr. Uchiha has apparently decided to help, because now there are two towers, and a wall, and what looks like a moat. Her dad is still concentrating, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
She looks back at her mom. She is watching her, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"You're okay with all this, right, Hima?" she asks, her voice gentle. "With everything?"
Himawari thinks about it. She thinks about the initial shock, the confusion, the way her world tilted on its axis. She thinks about the quiet conversations, the careful explanations, the way her dad looked at her, waiting for her judgment. She thinks about Mr. Uchiha, and the way he looks at her dad, with a kind of quiet reverence that she's never seen from anyone else.
"Yeah," she says, and she's surprised by how easily the word comes out. "I'm okay with it. But are you, Mom? Really?"
Her mom hesitates. She looks at Sakura, who gives her a small, encouraging nod.
"I am," she says, and Himawari knows she's telling the truth. "I think Sakura is the only person in the world who truly understands what I've been through. We've been… comparing notes." She smiles, a little wryly. "It's been therapeutic."
Sakura reaches over and pats her mom's hand. "We've decided to form a club," she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. "The 'Ex-Wives of Idiots Who Finally Figured It Out' club. We're thinking of getting jackets."
Himawari laughs. She laughs so hard she snorts, which only makes her laugh harder. Her mom and Sakura are laughing too. It's a ridiculous image, the three of them, sitting under a beach umbrella, laughing like they've known each other their whole lives.
"Sakura's been telling me about the dates she's been on," her mom says, once they've calmed down. "Apparently men can't believe she has a college-aged daughter."
"It's true," Sakura says, taking a sip of her drink. "The last one told me I couldn't possibly be a day over twenty-five. I nearly laughed in his face."
Himawari looks from her mom to Sakura, and sees a camaraderie she never expected. It's not just a truce, or a polite alliance. It's a genuine friendship, forged in the strangest of fires. They're not just two women who were once married to two men who are now dating each other. They're two people who found a common ground, a shared experience, and decided to build something new from the wreckage.
And then there's Kiba. Her mom's loud, boisterous, surprisingly sweet boyfriend. He's nothing like her dad. He's loud where her dad is cheerful, rough where her dad is goofy. But he looks at her mom like she hung the moon. He makes her smile. And that's all that matters.
It's all so wonderfully, bizarrely, uncomplicatedly complicated.
She looks at Boruto, who is now being dragged into the water by Sarada. He's protesting, but he's also grinning. He looks like a teenager. A stupid, happy, in-love teenager. And he is.
The world is a strange place. It's messy and it's painful and it doesn't always make sense. But it's also full of second chances. And third chances. And fourth.
She looks at the sandcastle again. It's impressive now. It has a main keep, a bailey, a drawbridge made of a piece of driftwood. Her dad is putting the finishing touches on the flag, which is a bright red piece of a plastic bag. Mr. Uchiha is watching him, his arms crossed over his bare chest. He looks… proud. And a little bit ridiculous in his sunglasses.
They're not perfect. They're a disaster. They're two men who spent nearly two decades dancing around each other, breaking hearts, including their own, before they finally got their shit together. But they're trying. And they're happy. And Himawari is starting to realize that's all anyone can really ask for.
"I'm going to go check on the construction," she says, getting to her feet.
"Have fun," her mom says. "And don't get sand in your drink."
"I'll try," she replies.
She walks across the hot sand, her sandals sinking in with each step. The sun feels good on her skin. The sounds of the beach are a symphony of summer.
She approaches the sandcastle. Her dad is putting the final touches on the flagpole. Mr. Uchiha is watching him, a small smile on his face.
"It's magnificent," Himawari says, coming to a stop beside them. "Truly a work of art."
"It is, isn't it?" her dad says, preening. "I have a natural talent for this. I should have been an architect."
Mr. Uchiha snorts. "The tower is leaning," he says.
"It's supposed to be leaning," her dad replies, indignant. "Like the one in France. The Pizza."
"It's the Pisa, you idiot," Mr. Uchiha says, but there's no heat in it. He sounds… fond. "And it's in Italy."
"Whatever," her dad says. "It's still a masterpiece."
Himawari grins. "It's the best sandcastle on the whole beach," she says. "No contest."
Her dad beams. He looks so proud of himself. Mr. Uchiha shakes his head, but he's still smiling. He looks at Himawari, and for a second, he looks a little shy.
"You having a good time?" he asks. He sounds a little awkward. Like he's not sure if he's allowed to ask her that.
"Yeah," she says, and she means it. "It's a good day."
He nods. He seems to relax a little. He looks out at the water, at the people swimming, at the bright blue sky.
"Good," he says. "I'm glad."
Her dad bumps his shoulder against Mr. Uchiha's. "See?" he says. "I told you it'd be fine."
Mr. Uchiha just rolls his eyes, but he doesn't move away. He stays close, their shoulders still touching. It's a small, quiet gesture, but it speaks volumes. It's a declaration of sorts. A silent promise. We're here. We're together. This is us.
And if this is how their story ends, Himawari decides, it's a damn good ending.