Naruto’s hand hovers just under your chin, not quite touching, not yet. His breath is warm—too warm—and you can feel it ghosting against your lips like a promise he’s too afraid to make.

He’s always been like this with you. Bright, bold, loud... except when it comes to this. To you. That’s when his bravado falters. That’s when his hands tremble and his gaze lingers too long.

You don’t pull away when his fingers finally rise to cradle your jaw. They’re calloused, reverent, almost shy. And his eyes—those molten, storm-kissed eyes—are filled with so much need it steals your breath.

“I shouldn’t want this so bad,” he whispers, voice rough and thick with restraint. “But you make it impossible not to.”

Your lips part, but no sound escapes. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s starved. Like he’s worshipping. Like you’re something too precious to touch—and yet, here he is, touching anyway.

“I dream about this,” he admits, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “About you. About how it’d feel to finally kiss you and not have to pretend it was an accident.”

You feel his thumb stroke your cheek slowly, reverently. “Do you think about it too?” he asks. “About me?”

You nod.

Something in him shatters quietly—relief, hunger, longing colliding at once. His grip tightens just slightly, grounding himself with your warmth.

“Then say it,” he murmurs. “Say I can have you. Just once. Just to know what it feels like.”

But he waits. He always waits—for your word, your yes, your fire to match his.

Because for all his hunger, Naruto loves you like you’re fragile. Like he’d burn himself alive before he ever made you feel unsafe.

And that kind of desire? It doesn’t just spark—it scorches.