Pairing: Hyuuga Neji x Tenten
Prompt: Past Times ; 033 - "Colonial"
Rating: PG-13, T
Disclaimer: Don't own.
She gasped, hands outstretching to grab his occupied arms, and he steadied her. She looked up at him, and he grinned, a look of achievement on his face.
“Do you have it?” she hissed, breathing still uneven. He nodded, bushy brows raising, and holding up the bundle in his arms triumphantly.
“It took me a while Miss Tenten, but I managed to…”
“Thanks!” a grin enveloped her grubby features as she grabbed the package, and shuffled into an alley.
Her hands were stripping gown, petticoats, corset before her mind could react, luckily the alley was dark as she fumbled into the dark damp breeches, pulling it over her knickers. It snug tightly to her long lithe legs, Lee sure had an eye or at least luck, and she silently thanked the gods above again that her form hadn’t developed enough for any curves to be noticeable.
She pulled the wrinkled shirt over her head, a mere work boy’s shirt, but the way she needed it. A common work boy was exactly what she needed to play her part, the kind of persona barely glanced out in the crowds of colonial Konoha.
Her hair cascaded from the buns fitfully, and her hands worked skillfully, combing through rough hair and tying it at the nape of her neck. It trailed to the middle of her back, way too long to be normal for a boy, giving her more of a chance to get caught. She really should cut it short, but she knew he wouldn’t like it that way.
Luckily, Lee managed to get a straw hat, which she shoved most of her hair under as she pulled it over her bangs.
She pulled the buckle over the leather of her shoes, before quickly wrapping the gown, her undergarments and her shoes back in the bundle. She practically sprinted out, dumped the load back into Lee’s waiting arms. The sunny morning was quickly gaining clouds and turning a deep graying color.
“Good luck!” he chirped, and she flashed him a grin before dashing off, the wind already picking up, threatening to lift the hat from her face.
She cursed how her sex forced her to wear such heavy clothing; now with the weight of it lifted she could run freely, shoes clacking on the cobbled floor. She couldn’t see the faces of passersby, but when she lifted her head, one burly man she recognized as Mr. Asuma stopped her, thick strong fingers gripping tightly to her shoulder.
“Where you running off to, lad?” he grumbled, tobacco on his lips.
“I have to see to, see to, Captain Hyuuga!” she piped nervously. A small smile crept over his bearded mouth and he let go of her shoulder, giving her a quick pat on the back. She kept herself from wincing at the tingling pain in her shoulder. Mr. Asuma sure had a grip.
“Alright. Don’t take too long.”
She blushed before ducking her head and nodding. Of course Asuma knew. Most of the higher Konoha officials knew, and Asuma, arms specialist and strategist of course knew. He forged weapons too, making her close to him, but she had never told him about this disguise.
Asuma was simply smarter than verbal knowledge.
She brushed past him and Asuma took a long drag on his tobacco. He smirked, shaking his head and heading back to the forge, to his weapons. Of course, when he was her age, he was that naïve, sneaking through town after the pretty girl of his dreams. He hadn’t cross dressed for it, but he could still remember those nostalgic adventures he faced to get the attention of that nameless girl.
But she was blossoming quickly, and these were to be the last times she’d be able to wear such clothes without being noticeable. But now, these were the last times for anyone of them, they never knew when a battle may come forth, and who would sacrifice for it.
She stood in line, huffing as the men of the militia proceeded. There was whooping and cheering, and she saw him, form erect and face unsmiling. She heard the sighs of women, and gruff men jabbing their chins at him and acknowledging his excellent marksmanship.
Of course, Captain Hyuuga was catching many eyes, his physical aptitude, emotional withdrawal needed in a leading officer, and mental brutality kept him wary in the eyes of enemies. Sleek onyx hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck, the breeches and tucked-in shirt showing off masculine features, and he had silver almost hazy eyes that seemed endless. But he was not a social man, rather withdrawn and seemingly angry most of the time, his harsh words and harsher ignorance leaving dents in people’s hearts that have attempted to get close to him.
Barely anyone does, and she had the particular luck to intrigue the Captain with her lithe body and mischievous yet subtle personality.
As he passed by, light silver eyes staring straight ahead, she simply stuck her foot out in the crowd and tripped him.
He stumbled, albeit gracefully and barely noticeably, and shot a glare at her direction, frightening a few women and even making the men begin to sweat. His pupils were invisible, as he searched the crowd, too substantial to pinpoint who (but he picked her out easily when he saw her) and no one seemed to know it was her that tripped him – nevertheless, the sudden stop of his gait and the angry stare. She looked at him under the brim of her hat, grinning. He stared at her for a moment, and time stood still as they conversed, argued, compromised, and set off.
She gave him one more sly grin before disappearing into the thickening crowd, his stumble returning to its rigid posture, as he carried on.
She was waiting by the large oak tree near the field where the next day’s battle would take place; the night was falling fast around her and thunder was rumbling. It would rain soon, she knew, making the grass dewy and muddy and putting the battle into an even more dangerous state. Her eyes strained the horizon, looking for that dark shadow that would come to her under the indigo skies. She pulled the hat of her, self-consciously trying to fix its ruffled state.
Her first instinct when rough hands wrapped around her waist was to turn around and smash the intruders face in. The second was to relax, and she did, settling into the crook of his arms.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, but not at all angry.
“I know,” she replied complacently, eyes fluttering closed.
“How,” he mused softly, as they seemed to sway with the wind and his long fingers tugged lightly on the black ribbon in her hair, “Can you look so boyish in this outfit and still be my woman?”
She chuckled lightly, “I don’t have enough curves to fill it out. And your orientation is blurry, Captain.”
He shook his head, not offended, as his lips brushed against the nape of her neck, “That can’t be it.”
She shuddered as his teeth tugged the ribbon to break the hold on her hair, and his fingers threaded in her brown locks, detangling knots as he went. She spun on her heel to wrap her arms around him, and looked up into those pretty silver eyes.
Their kiss was long, intense, and as controlled as a deathly secret could be. She broke for air, nestling her head under his chin and breathing in his scent, of pine and water and wondering how she ever managed to get this man in her arms in the first place.
They stood in comfortable silence, before she pulled herself tiredly out of his arms and moved to the tree to sit under it. He followed, dropping gracefully and wrapping his arms around her body.
“The battle’s tomorrow,” he murmured and she nodded.
“The Sound isn’t going to know what hit them,” she replied, and his lips brushed against hers, to shush her, as if she spoke tyranny.
But they all were guilty of treason, a tiny colony rebelling against the world’s best. But they were guilty the most, a silent couple, rebelling against the social hierarchy and duty that was held alike in the hearts of their people and their enemies. They were doing what no other lovers dared to do, even at times of war. They weren’t meant to attract, it just seemingly happened to be that way, and it was not be found out, lest shame comes upon them.
He pushed her to the grass, kissing her deeper. It was his way of telling her that she was his, that although they were nothing but strangers in the sunlit village, that she was his under the blanket of night.
He murmured her name into her mouth, and she turned her head to the skies. A drop of rain fell on her cheek, increasing as the minutes ticked by and she realized she was crying.
He had been watching her watch the skies, and had moved to brush the tears away with the pad of his thumbs, rough skin over her damp face. She turned to him, knowing this may be the last day to see him.
“When I come out of it alive,” he muttered, without using if and using when, “Stay with me.”She smiled, and under the dark skies she had whispered those three simple words. Because that was all they really needed was something to break out a revolution in them.
Notes: Because there are few fics with Tenten in petticoats and Neji in breeches.
Cross-posted to 50alternates