Souta's fingers slid up from her hips, tugging at the tie of her robe. The knot loosened more, the fabric parting to expose the soft curve of her stomach, then higher, revealing the edge of her chest. Her breath hitched, eyes snapping to his as panic flickered in her chest.
"Souta—what are you—" she whispered, voice trembling, but he didn't stop. His grin softened, eyes dark with something heavier than playfulness.
"Shh," he murmured, easing her off his lap. Before she could protest, he guided her down, laying her gently onto the futon beside them.
The fabric rustled faintly under her, and she froze, half-propped on her elbows, robe splayed open. He hovered over her, hands braced on either side, his gaze raking over her exposed skin—stomach, thighs, the faint mark above her navel. His breath quickened, control slipping.
"Mikoto," he said, voice rough, "you're too much. Can we…?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs, panic surging. "No—no, wait," she hissed, hands flying to pull the robe shut, clutching it over her chest.
Her eyes darted to the hall, then back to him, wide and frantic. "Not here. Itachi's right there—he could wake up. Fugaku could walk in any second. This is too much."
Souta paused, hands stilling, but his eyes stayed locked on her, hungry. "You're killing me," he said, voice low, almost a groan. "Seeing you like this—I can't just stop. You're right there, perfect, and I—" He leaned closer, lips brushing her collarbone.
She shoved at his chest, her whisper sharp. "Souta, stop. I mean it." Her hands trembled, holding the robe tight, her face flushed with fear and leftover heat. "Not here. Not now."
He pulled back, exhaling hard, running a hand through his hair. "You're serious?"
"Yes," she said, sitting up, knees drawn close. "I—I like this, you, but not like this. If we get caught…" She swallowed, voice dropping. "Someday, somewhere else. I'll let you. Just not here."
His smile flickered back, softer now, reading her. "You promise?"
She nodded. "Yes. Just… go. Please."
Souta lingered a moment, then stood, adjusting his shirt. "Alright. Holding you to that." He slipped to the window, glancing back with a smile. "Next time, no interruptions."
Mikoto tightened her robe, heart racing as Souta slipped out the window. Danzo's Root ninja were too close—she had to get him out. She threw on dark clothes, checked Itachi was asleep, and followed him into the night.
Souta crouched in the alley, grinning. She grabbed his arm, pulling him through the shadows of the Uchiha compound. A Root ninja stood near the wall, scanning.
Mikoto pressed Souta against a building, hand over his mouth, glaring as he smirked. The ninja looked away; she dragged him forward. They dodged another watcher behind crates, then hit a side path. At the low wall, she whispered, "Over." He vaulted it, she followed—quiet, fast, out.
She led him to the river, their spot, water rushing soft. He turned, grinning. "Nice work sneaking me—"
Mikoto cut him off, grabbing his ear and twisting. "You know what's next," she snapped, voice low. "Pull that again in my house, and you're done."
He winced, laughing. "Ow—okay! Worth it, though."
She let go, arms crossed. "Not funny. Itachi could've heard."
"Still got you here," he said, rubbing his ear, smirking.
"Next time, I won't be nice," she warned, turning to the water, hiding a flush.
Mikoto turned from the river, her warning still hanging between them, arms crossed tight. Souta rubbed his ear, stepping closer, his smirk unshaken. "Next time, huh? Guess I'll take that as a challenge."
She glared, ready to snap, but he moved fast, catching her wrist and pulling her against him. "Souta—" she started, voice low, but he cut her off, his other hand sliding to her waist.
"One more thing before I go," he murmured, eyes glinting under the moonlight. "A proper goodbye."
Her breath caught, protest fading as he tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing her jaw. "You're too much," she whispered, half-resisting, but her hands flattened against his chest instead of pushing.
He grinned, leaning in slow, deliberate, letting the anticipation build. His lips hovered over hers, close enough she felt the warmth, but not touching—teasing her until her eyes fluttered shut despite herself.
Then he kissed her. It started soft, a gentle press, his lips warm and firm against hers. She stiffened, caught off guard, but he didn't rush—deepening it gradually, coaxing her open.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head just right. The kiss grew hungrier, his tongue brushing hers, tasting her like he'd been starving for it. She gasped into his mouth, a quiet sound he swallowed, and her hands fisted his shirt, pulling him closer even as her mind screamed to stop.
He pressed harder, lips moving with a rhythm that stole her air—long, lingering pulls, then short, teasing nips that made her tremble. His grip tightened on her waist, anchoring her as he angled deeper, exploring every corner of her mouth.
Finally, he pulled back, slow, lips brushing hers one last time, leaving them tingling. She stumbled slightly, breathless, eyes wide as she sucked in air. Her face flushed crimson, lips parted, still feeling him there. He grinned, steadying her with a hand on her hip, voice rough. "Told you—one kiss. Enough to remember me by."
Mikoto glared, panting, shoving him weakly. "You're—awful," she managed, voice shaky, her heart hammering so loud she swore he heard it.
"Awful and good at it," he said, winking, stepping back. "Next time's longer." He turned, sauntering off into the dark, leaving her reeling by the river.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing, lips still warm, pulse wild. "Idiot," she muttered, but a small, dazed smile slipped out. The water rushed on, oblivious, as she stood there, caught in the aftershock of him.