Memory Meme: ✓ - a sexual memory
Let there be no mistake: Tobirama is not kind or gentle. He is neither considerate nor compassionate and he says as much.
“You are sure about this?” he asks, looking down at the young girl.
Her hand clasps her opposite wrist and her shoulders jerk in an aborted attempt to evade his stare. But she stays and, against all odds, blushes.
“Y– yes, Lord Hokage. I’m sure.” Her bright eyes dart to his before skittering towards the other side of Tobirama’s cramped living room like a scared rabbit. But a smile remains. “If the Lord Hokage would have me…”
He would, he thinks to himself. He would have her and everything that she has to offer, everything that she is. Even if she is almost twenty years younger than him, even if she is a civilian and has no idea of the darkness that lurks inside men, even if she is too pure and ignorant for his blunt hands. He is selfish.
He steps forward and brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. When she relaxes and leans into his touch, he knows that he should be a better man and send her away.
It comes as a surprise, then, when she makes the first move, closing the distance between them to untie his belt.
Her movements are shy and slow. He can almost see into her thoughts, how she is waiting for him to order her to leave and remove her lowly self from his presence. His power and status is what fuels her affection. For a fatherless peddler girl to have the attention of a leader of ninja clans must be an intoxicating feeling. She has never spoken of it, their brief conversations revolved around the care and cultivation of herbs, but he knows that that must be at the root of her interest. It must. The world revolves around power and his hardened heart would not make him a desirable lover for a fellow ninja, much less a barely-of-age civilian.
“Lord Hokage, is this… all right?”
Tobirama, he wants to correct her, but doesn’t. He needs that barrier to remain. That is right. This – whatever this is – isn’t.
Her fingers touch his skin as she peels back the shirt from his shoulders next. They are coarse from hard labour and warm, as warm as a summer sun blazing over a winter landscape.
He wraps a hand around her smaller ones and it feels like holding a songbird. Then he cups the side of her neck, thumb measuring the fast beat of the pulse on her carotid. It unsettles the hair that he had previously tidied.
He kisses her, lips dry and chapped against soft ones.
“Yes. Like this. This is just fine.”
And he finishes what she started. Clothes pool down where they stand before he guides the two of them to the bedroom.
Her hair splays over his pillow like a mark of ownership as he tastes her for the first time.
