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A shinobi’s body was often a map of scars, a physical testament to who they were, where they’d been, and how close they had come to a final acquaintance with death. The more severe the scar, the more intimate that dance had been. To Rin, who was well accustomed to the marvels of the human body—and the not-so-human body—this visual record never ceased to stagger and amaze.
She bore more scars than most, such that a kinship with Obito had become absolute in the years after they left Konoha and forged new bonds in unlikely places.
At first glance, Konan’s skin, cream-pale and almost silken, seems free of scars—a curiosity here in Ame, where most of their generation’s youths were exposed to corrosive gas, acid rain, steam explosions, and all manner of dangers foreign to other villages. The visual and tactile perfection, it seems, is entirely composed of chakra-transformed paper, like a protective shell.
It takes years for Konan to willingly drop the illusion when they love one another, and when she does, Rin memorizes every perceived flaw like a secret to be kept. In honor of such a gift, Rin gives herself over to her lover so that she might do the same. Free of barriers, as naked as the day she was born.
The scar that crosses Rin’s chest resembles melted candle wax more than anything else; the damage was so severe that even the swift healing of a jinchuuriki couldn’t bring back its former perfection. Konan’s fingers trace it with reverence, her amber eyes rising to lock onto Rin’s own gaze. Feverish lips meet, tongues tangle and slide, and hands imprint themselves upon lush curves with matching heat.
There is no battle here, no power struggle, no competitive need to assert dominance. What lies between them is the ebb and flow of desire given freely, of a simple surrender to the pull of primal needs.
With Konan beneath her, bare and open, Rin explores with hands and mouth, learning her lover anew. Her pulse races, blood boiling with a slow hunger that is not her own, and she wants nothing more than to slam shut the mental wards she’s created against Isobu, but her path towards control of the Three-tails requires communion. Communion or Obito’s help, which is not ideal right now, not when she wants this moment with Konan to be everything it ought to be.
Rin blinks and knows Isobu’s chakra is awakened, and with it the uncertainty she often feels, the fear. The creeping dread that comes with knowing that a full loss of control could be fatal. That Obito could be too late.
A graceful hand rises to trace the jagged shell-markings that have risen across Rin’s cheekbones. “I’m not afraid of you, pretty girl.”
“Konan... I don’t think…” Rin is hushed by the fingers that now press against her lips.
“You don’t. Which is why you forget.” Konan reverses their positions with an effortless swing of strong legs around Rin’s hips, and dips low, crouching over her in a sinuous movement that brings them entirely skin to skin.
Her lips drag across Rin’s in a messy kiss. “You’ve got the strongest will of us all.”
Konan moves lower, pressing more open-mouthed kisses along Rin’s collarbone, making her writhe and whimper as one gentle hand drifts between them to cup the softness of her feminine mound. It’s the first time they’ve loved without barriers between them, and with that thought, hunger morphs to something sweeter, something eager for tranquil warmth and sunlight filtering through warm waters.
Citrine eyes go dark with want as Konan watches Rin, running her tongue along one pebbled nipple, then the other, sucking with relish. Her fingers part dewy lips, seeking wet heat, and Rin’s eyes fall shut as she gasps, her hips drifting up, up, up to meet Konan’s touch.
The maddeningly light pressure of Konan’s longest finger traces circles around her clit, making everything within her clench and pulse, growing heavier with rising need. Konan spreads wetness up and down, teasing along every dip and curve of drenched folds, leaving no part of Rin untouched except that which is so very empty.
“Tell me what you need, love.” Konan’s lips cross scars to place a kiss right over the heart that should have stopped beating long ago.
Now that heart is hers.
“I need you, please… just please don’t stop.” Rin’s voice is rough in her own hearing, reciting a profane litany to her own personal angel, one that echoes off stone walls to surround them with its sound.
Konan’s fingers slip inside her, and the ecstasy is made absolute. The fear is gone.
Perhaps this is what true communion is meant to be, with love at its heart.