He dropped into his room, his black body suit ripped, his skin abraded and bleeding. His right cheek hurt where a foot had caught it, and he could feel a slight, burning pain on his eyebrow where a kunai had narrowly missed his left eye.
It was a balmy summer night, heated where thick forests surrounded the village.
He felt chilled. Jerkily he closed his window and walked to the bathroom. His eyes felt glazed, his scalp cold, his body numb.
Even the hot shower needles failed to warm him sufficiently. Dry but shivering, he entered his bedroom and headed straight for /her/ closet.
First, the silk peach-pink underwear that slid sensually against his skin.
Then the opaque fish-net stockings that covered all the unsightly, /unwomanly/ gashes, on his limbs. Slowly, he smoothed it up, automatically placing the garter belts.
Fuzzy warmth chased its way up his toes and he breathed, tension easing.
Next came the triple-layer of soft, ruffled petticoats that came to a fluffy halt two inches above his knees.
The dress he chose was hand-sewn, a frilly, frothy creation of fine black cotton with a lacy, square neckline, long ribbon-bedecked sleeves, and a skirt embroidered with scarlet roses.
A black satin corset covered his torso. Languidly, he pulled at the laces and tied them, moulding the semi-hard frame to him like second skin.
The sunny warmth became a slow, heated flush that made its way to his cheeks, even before he delicately applied the cosmetics that would highlight his sloe-dark eyes, bring color to his waxen face, and hide his wounds.
By the time he put on the heavy leather boots with their high heels and array of buckles, he was hot and tingly all over.
Death was Sasukes domain.
Life was Sakis.