you know that something's got to, something's gotta give

[breakthroughs]

As much as Darrow and Konoha differ on the surface, finding a common thread between the two of them hasn't been too difficult. As long as humans are still the dominant force in a population, there's a commonality that can be drawn between the motivations of government, and in the votes and sway of the people. Shikamaru's days have been filled not with the question of what drives the population, but instead in memorizing laws, regulations, and all the minutiae imaginable.

It's not an unpleasant task in of itself, but there are only so many hours that Shikamaru can put into the effort before he grows weary, and lazy, and entirely unwilling to lift his chin for a second longer.

The scent of cigarette smoke still clings to his clothing as he heads back to the apartment, massaging the bridge of his nose as he walks quietly up the stairwell. He's ridden the elevators on occasion when speed and discretion alike are needed, but prefers the quiet steadiness of step after step.

Passing by the fourth floor, Shikamaru pauses, giving it a lingering glance before deciding to make a detour. It hits him belatedly that he's not even sure if Temari will be in at this hour. On the bright side, it's too late for Naruto to come stopping by and nosing around.

One hand in his pocket, Shikamaru raps sharply on her door, waiting until it opens to rub at the back of his neck with a weary look.

"The twelfth floor is too far up," he declares.

Comments

[unfrangible]

"I didn't plan on it," she says, settling herself onto the couch beside him, one leg folded over the other. She turns a smile of amusement and easy fondness on him. "If I did anything, I'd rather work as, what do they call them? Traffic cops. I don't mind having to meet quotas. Or surprises."

Reaching out, she folds a hand over one of Shikamaru's knees. "If you get fired, you could try to start working as a private detective. But that would lose about half the benefit you get from the other job. And figuring out if people's husbands are cheating just seems so damn banal."

[breakthroughs]

Traffic cop. It's a good fit for someone of Temari's personality, someone who won't hold back for the sake of protecting feelings and who won't be gotten the better of with a pair of imploring eyes. He can already picture it, the momentary smirk on Temari's lips before pulling someone over, marching right up and asking them if they realize how fast they were going.

Because most of the time, they probably do.

"Banal doesn't seem like the worst problem in the world to have," Shikamaru admits, lowering one of his arms discreetly, until it rests over Temari's shoulders. His cheeks color slightly. "More that working with someone else's relationship seems... troublesome. They could solve as much by turning to a counselor."

He traces his fingers idly along Temari's upper arm. Brief, fleeting brushes. "I'll ask around work and see if they have an opening."

[unfrangible]

"Probably not to you," Temari accuses, although it is gently, and fondly, and she would truthfully not have Shikamaru any other way. His arm across her shoulder is a warm, comforting weight, unlike anything she's ever really allowed herself in the past.

"Maybe they could save themselves some trouble that way," she told him. "But not everyone wants to avoid trouble. Some people can't survive without it. That's just how they are. They aren't happy unless they have something to be unhappy about."

She paused, considered, and leaned forward to press a soft-mouthed kiss against his lips

[breakthroughs]

"I suppose some people would rather feel friction than nothing at all," Shikamaru muses, immediately thinking about Naruto as a kid. Which wasn't to say that Naruto didn't have things to be upset about, but — if there was ever an example of someone who made mountains out of molehills, it might have been Naruto.

Though he's changed a great deal since then.

Before he can let himself sink into the thought, Shikamaru finds his vision suddenly overtaken by an increasingly blurred face. It's unlike anything he's ever read. He can't make out the individual lashes, though they look dark gold to his eyes. He has no words to describe the feel of her lips, can't tell whether she's wearing lipstick or nothing at all. What strikes the most is the warmth, of a soft quality that seems to rush from her breath to his cheeks, Shikamaru's breath suddenly short as he tries to determine what he's supposed to do. Deepen the kiss? Pull back for a breath?

Instead, he holds still, tentatively turning towards his side and reaching out to run his hand down Temari's side. He doesn't want to pull away just yet; he can only imagine how his expression must look. Sheepish, probably.

"Was I being that obvious?" murmurs Shikamaru between soft presses from his lips against the bow of her mouth, fingers tracing down and splaying over Temari's thigh.

[unfrangible]

"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.

[breakthroughs]

Everything that Temari says has a practical undercurrent. There's no need to belabor the obvious, the fact that the two of them have gotten along well together for years. That they share enough to understand one another on a deeper level than they might with others. Temari is always sensible. Never dramatic. Things which put Shikamaru himself more at ease — not that he lets too much get to him to begin with.

But what he finds himself focusing on in the moment is everything outside of that. The smoothness of her skin under the pad of his thumb. The warmth of her lips. As his heart comes down from the sudden surge of adrenaline, he becomes to hone in on the little details about the moment, filing them away in his memory. His pulse feels like a harried flutter as he turns further to the side, hand smoothing along the circle of Temari's waist and fingers splaying over her back.

"I wouldn't be worried about who comes knocking, anyway," he murmurs, smiling faintly before Temari cuts him off with another kiss. He finds breath where he can, in small and inexperienced gasps, his cheeks warming by the second. "I was just waiting because I wasn't sure where you were. Maybe I should have taken the initiative. A man should know how."

[unfrangible]

"The only thing that a man should know how to do is be himself," Temari says, though she smiles at the hand splayed against her back, fingers warm and tickling over the sensitive skin that runs down the dip of her spine.

"That isn't your excuse to be a wet noodle, either, you know. There are standards everyone should hold themselves up to. Whether they're a man or a woman. Like telling other people upfront when they want something. Are we calling that initiative? I guess we could."

[breakthroughs]

"The key word there is when," Shikamaru murmurs, eyes dropping briefly down to the curve of her smile, his own lips quirking at her slight admonishment. Or maybe it's better described as advice.

Where women are concerned, Shikamaru admits, he's still not the best at reading them. Outside of combat, at least.

"I thought there might be time for this after the war. Presuming that war itself didn't prevent it. And now I find myself still settling into life here. What I should prioritize, how hard I should push. I don't hate it here, even if the city worries me," he confesses, leaning in to trail his lips over the curve of her cheek, then down to the softer skin at the side of her neck, gentle for the time being.

If she grows impatient, he can always adjust.