"No," Temari says, the corner of her mouth pulling into a smile that isn't quite teasing; self-satisfied and just a touch coy. She places one of her hands over his. It's warm where it rests, a barely-there pressure over the naked skin of her thigh below the hem of the robe she'd answered the door in.

"I just knew what I wanted to do, so I did it. We haven't got any work to do. This is just our time. We might as well enjoy it without worrying who might come knocking on the door or worse. Right?"

She kisses him again, her lips pressed against the sharp angle of his jawline. She appreciates the shape of his face, not quite delicate; refined, like what she's used to in Gaara, but different enough to be attractive. Which he is. He might have been a gawky boy when she met him, but Shikamaru had been growing into himself, and she'd noticed. She noticed things.