Temari could peel the girl out of the tunic quickly, spread her open and bite at the fragile flesh over collarbones so thin and delicate they resembled bird wings. She would slide rough callused fingertips, worn and heavy with ridges from her fan-work and weathered from the harsh climate of the Sand. She might lick that smooth skin; feel the humidity of her breath reflected back from the heat and curve of breast. Possibly trace the simple lattice work of ribs under soft flesh, trace the longing curve as a waist dipped and curtseyed from her palms. She thought of pushing her fingers into hair, dark and silken as it spilled free and plentiful from tight buns, of pressing the girl down into the dusty floor they faced each other over. She knew if she wanted all she had to do was give her a look: heated, molten. Eye the dark haired petite girl with a longing that every girl understands but never really talks about, except to other girls, late at night when the giggling has passed.
Temari was never one of those girls that giggled. She was a girl who wanted. She knew the tight tense feeling of her own fingers skimming along the inside of her thighs. The sharp lip biting gasp of breath as she pinched her own nipples, teased them hard. She knew the feel of her head snapping back as sweethotsugarbliss coursed through her. She knew how to touch; knew what slick wet paths on her sex to follow. She knew where to press, had tasted the rich copper penny tang of herself. She could dip her head, feeling slim thighs against her cheeks, as she licked, laved, nuzzled, loved the slippery folds against her lips, the tight hot curls against her nose. She could grip those slim boyish hips and hold the girl down and show her what another woman's tongue could feel like. She wanted to hear the other girl cry out for God while those slender fingers scrabbled over her scalp, pulling her deeper. There's no such thing as God, that's what she believed, but maybe, just maybe there was such a thing as salvation. Or, possibly, just sin.
Temari didn't like to talk, she preferred to just shut up and prove herself with action. She felt her own breathing quicken and the fire of lust boil under her skin. She cocked her head and gazed at the deceptively plain girl, sliding her eyes over chin and cheek, touching her intimately with her gaze. She knew the way nipples felt against fingertips, the way girls' mouths were softer, gentler under her lips. The way they opened under her tongue. The soft mewling cries she could almost hear the other girl making as she shook, dark doe eyes wide in wonder; could imagine the tremble of lip as she cried out, as she came with Temari's fingers deep within her, her thumb stroking the bundle of nerves slowly. Temari knew how to tease. She licked her lips and shrugged, settling for breaking her instead. Temari understood that sex was just another form of violence.
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