The midnight silk of the futon was cool against Hinata's back, a stark contrast to the furnace of Minato's body pinning her gently but inescapably beneath him.
Their clothes were still in place (his haori long discarded, the dark fabric of his trousers and her pale yukata the only barriers left), yet the intimacy was already so complete that every breath felt like a confession.
Hinata's small hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers trembling against bare skin. She could feel him (every hard, unyielding inch of him) pressing insistently between her thighs, the thick ridge of his cock grinding slowly, deliberately, against the soaked silk that clung to her folds.
The friction sent sparks skittering up her spine, and she couldn't stop the soft, broken sound that escaped her lips.
"Mmmmmh…" The moan was low, needy, almost shocked at its own existence. "Kiss me more… please."
Minato's answering growl vibrated against her throat. "I'm going to kiss you all night, princess. Until your lips are swollen and your voice is nothing but my name."
He claimed her mouth again (no hesitation, no gentleness left to pretend with). His tongue swept past her parted lips, stroking deep, tasting her like she was the only thing that could sate the hunger that had been building since the moment she walked into the chamber.
Hinata's shyness melted under the onslaught; her tongue rose to meet his, tentative at first, then bolder, curling and sliding in a dance that made them both shudder.
The kiss was wet, filthy, perfect. Saliva gathered at the corners of her mouth; their tongues tangled and retreated, tangled again, until a thin silver strand still connected their lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe.
Hinata's arms reached for him instantly, fingers clutching at the air. "More," she whispered, voice cracking with raw need. "Please, my Lord… more."
Minato's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with restraint and reverence. "We have all night," he promised, voice hoarse. "Every second of it is yours."
He sat back on his heels, the movement dragging that devastating hardness along her core once more. Hinata whimpered at the loss as he rose above her, but the sound died in her throat when he shrugged the rest of his upper clothing away.
Moonlight carved him in silver and shadow (broad shoulders, sculpted chest, the faint scars that told stories she would one day beg to hear). The sunburst seal over his heart pulsed faintly, as if alive.
Hinata's breath caught; her mouth actually watered. She had never seen a man like this (never been allowed to look, to want). Heat flooded her cheeks, her chest, the aching place between her thighs that throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
Minato watched her devour him with her eyes and smiled (slow, wicked, tender).
"Don't worry," he murmured, crawling back over her, caging her beneath miles of warm, bare skin.
"We'll do everything you want. But slowly. I want to watch you discover every new sensation like it's the first time the world has ever touched you."
Hinata could only nod, small and overwhelmed, as he lowered himself again. The weight of him (delicious, crushing, perfect) settled over her like a claim. She arched instinctively, trying to get closer, trying to feel every inch of his skin against the silk that still separated them.
His mouth found hers again, but this time the kiss was slower, deeper (a languid exploration that made her toes curl).
He rocked his hips in a deliberate, torturous rhythm, dragging the length of his cock along her slick folds through their clothes, pressing the head against her clit with every upward stroke.
The friction was maddening; Hinata's thighs trembled, trying to close, trying to trap him there.
"Mmmmmh…" she moaned into his mouth, the sound high and desperate. "Kissing feels so good… I didn't know… I didn't know it could feel like this…"
Minato pulled back just enough to look at her (really look). Her lips were swollen and cherry-red, eyes glassy with wonder and lust, midnight hair fanned across the silk like spilled ink.
She looked utterly debauched and utterly innocent at the same time, and the sight cracked something open in his chest.
"You're perfect," he said, voice rough with emotion. "So fucking perfect I almost don't deserve this."
Hinata's eyes filled with sudden tears (not sadness, but the overwhelming intensity of being seen).
"You're the only one who's ever looked at me like I'm… enough," she whispered. "Like I'm more than the crest on my back. Like I'm allowed to want."
Minato's forehead dropped to hers, breath mingling in the tiny space between them. "You are allowed," he said fiercely. "You are allowed to want, to take, to feel everything. Starting tonight. Starting with me."
He kissed her again (softer this time), but no less consuming.
One hand slid up her side, pushing the yukata higher until it bunched beneath her arms, baring the pale, trembling plane of her stomach.
His thumb traced the delicate line where silk met skin, then dipped lower, brushing the edge of the damp patch that had soaked clean through.
Hinata gasped into his mouth, hips jerking upward.
"Sensitive," he murmured against her lips, delighted. "Everywhere I touch you, you light up for me."
She hid her face in his neck, muffling a whimper as his fingers continued their lazy exploration (never breaching the fabric, just tracing the shape of her through it, learning the exact spot that made her thighs clench and her back arch).
"I want to feel you against me," she confessed in a rush, voice muffled against his skin. "All of you. Skin to skin. I want to know what your heartbeat feels like when it's racing because of me."
Minato's control fractured just a little. He sat up again, kneeling between her spread thighs, and looked down at her (sprawled, flushed, lips parted, yukata rucked up to reveal miles of trembling leg and the dark, wet patch between them).
"Take it off," he said, voice low and commanding. "Show me what's mine."
Hinata's hands shook as she obeyed, sitting up just enough to pull the yukata over her head. The silk whispered away, leaving her completely bare beneath him for the first time.
Moonlight bathed her in silver (small, perfect breasts rising and falling rapidly, nipples tight and dark rose, the soft curve of her belly, the glistening folds between her thighs that clenched visibly under his gaze). She was exquisite (shy and bold, terrified and aching, every inch of her screaming want).
Minato exhaled a reverent curse. "Hinata…"
He lowered himself again, this time skin to skin. The shock of it tore a cry from her throat (his chest against her breasts, his stomach against hers, the scalding heat of his cock nestling between her slick folds with nothing between them now). He didn't push inside (not yet), just rested there, letting her feel the weight, the pulse, the promise.
Hinata's legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, trying to pull him closer. Her arms wound around his neck, fingers threading through blond hair as she dragged him down into another kiss (this one frantic, messy, perfect).
They moved together like that for what felt like hours (slow, grinding rolls of hips, open-mouthed kisses that never quite broke, hands roaming everywhere they could reach).
He mapped the curve of her waist, the soft underside of her breast, the trembling hollow behind her knee. She traced every scar, every ridge of muscle, the sunburst seal that seemed to burn hotter under her palm.
Every time she whimpered, he soothed her with soft praise whispered against her lips.
Every time she arched, he rewarded her with a harder grind that made her sob his name.
Every time tears slipped free (because it was too much, because it was everything), he kissed them away and told her again that she was perfect, that she was his, that she was safe to fall apart.
At some point the kisses turned lazy, drugging (long, slow licks into each other's mouths, gentle sucks on swollen lower lips, soft bites that made her gasp and cling tighter). Their bodies were slick with sweat now, sliding together in a rhythm older than words.
Hinata's voice was wrecked when she finally spoke again, barely above a whisper.
"I feel like I'm burning," she confessed against his jaw. "Like there's a fire inside me that only you can feed. I don't ever want it to stop."
Minato's arms tightened around her, crushing her to his chest as he buried his face in her hair.
"It never has to stop," he promised, voice raw. "Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not as long as you want me."
She pulled back just enough to look at him (eyes luminous with tears and something fiercer).
"I want you forever," she said simply. "Even if it's selfish. Even if it's impossible. I want this (you, me, this feeling) forever."
Minato kissed her then (slow, reverent, devastating).
"Then you'll have forever," he whispered against her lips. "Starting right now."
And outside the fusuma, the proud Hyūga clan leader and his wife knelt in silence, listening to the soft symphony of their daughter's surrender (every gasp, every whispered confession, every broken plea for more), knowing that the future of their bloodline was being rewritten one trembling heartbeat at a time.
Inside, wrapped in moonlight and each other, Minato and Hinata drowned in the slowest, sweetest kind of intimacy two people had ever shared (fully clothed yet more naked than they had ever been in their lives).
And the night stretched on, endless and perfect, because some fires were never meant to burn out
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