Narrowly missing the full force of the attack, Hidan’s huge scythe sliced through his left arm like a knife through butter. Instinctively, Orochimaru clasped his right hand over the bleeding stump, fingers twitching with both pain and unrestrained anger. His face distorted into an unnatural smile, a raging fury in his eyes second only to the obvious agony he was experiencing at the loss of a limb.
The Sannin’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, jaw cracking loudly as it opened far beyond human measures. An odd, squelching sound came from his body and he appeared to convulse violently, a pair of pale hands reaching out of the man’s oversized mouth. Orochimaru peeled off his old skin with ease, revealing a fully regenerated form. He glared at the young woman for a brief moment, sadistic smile wavering as he fought to keep himself composed. This form of regeneration was always a taxing process, not lessened by the sheer force with which Hidan’s scythe had made impact. His old skin lay on the ground beneath his feet, limp, dead, a mere cast off, yet another gruelling addition to the snake-like features of the Sannin.
Despite his steely expression, which he had somehow managed to maintain even with his body under such immense physical strain, Orochimaru’s breathing was ragged, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his pale skin. He opened his mouth to speak, words strained and husky. “Too little, too late, my dear. Any efforts to defy me now will be of no benefit to you. Why, in a few short moments that sedative will have disabled you entirely, but don’t fret. No, my dear, our encounter is far from over.” He paused for a moment in a regrettably urgent attempt to catch his breath, panting in short, sharp gasps, wheezing heavily. “But let us continue our little discussion when you wake, hm? I can only hope that my research facility will be to your liking.” He watched with a sadistic glee as Hidan slowly lost conciousness before him, thinking only of the monstrous fate that was yet to befall her. Taking a few steps towards the young woman, he halted just short of her reach, voice nothing more than a venomous whisper. “I hear that you enjoy pain. How very fortunate.”
A jolt of sadistic pleasure shot through Hidan at the sight of her scythe ripping through flesh, bone, and muscle, and she watched as the ground was splattered with Orochimaru’s blood. “There- hah!” Hidan swiftly drew her weapon back, but as she raised it to her lips, she froze at Orochimaru’s sudden, inhuman contortions.
Hidan was so mesmerized by the sight- Orochimaru climbing out of his own mouth like a grotesque rebirth- that she forgot to ingest his blood immediately. It was an extraordinary and frustrating thing to witness, for he was fresh and new and regrettably whole. Her grin wavered before falling into a scowl. She did so enjoy forcing others to endure the fate of dismemberment she was plagued by all too often. And she’d never seen anything like it before (except, perhaps, in a snake shedding his skin, and that metaphor seemed all too fitting), but nobody would ever get anything done if they dwelt on all the world’s incredible and unusual feats.
But it was obvious that the experience had winded him (as it damn well should have), and Hidan would’ve remained confident in her lead over the battle if not for the dizziness that beckoned her more strongly to sleep with every fleeting second. “Fuck off.” Came her response to Orochimaru’s hoarse words. She was just beginning to feel the true weight of her scythe, all seventy pounds of it, quiver in her hand, and she quickly ran her tongue over the edge of the outermost blade, licking up the blood she’d caught a few moments earlier. Her flesh darkened to black, and white, bone-like markings rose up on her skin to contrast it. “Gh- feel this, you-” She dropped her heavy scythe and instead withdrew a kunai. Her head swam as she thrust it towards her skin, but rather than drawing the blood she needed to form her diagram, the knife only scraped her shallowly. She tried to push it in further, something she hadn’t hesitated to do in a long while, but her quivering hand betrayed her. A few seconds later, Hidan lost her footing and fell to the ground, finally succumbing to the sedative in her system. As she lost consciousness, her ritual form flickered and then faded away, leaving her skin pale white as per usual.
“Really now, there’s no need for such language.” The Sannin crouched, his porcelain fingers gracing the bottom of Hidan’s chin as he tilted her head upwards, meeting her relentless gaze. Such defiance, ruby red irises aflame with a furious determination. He wanted to watch the light fade from those eyes as she succumbed, immortal body giving in to a drug of his own creation. He smirked, feeling the muscles in her body relax until her head finally fell limply into his hand.
A small sound of approval passed Orochimaru’s lips, smug, full of confidence, yet still retaining it’s usual delicately smooth and haunting edge. He maneuvered her lifeless body into his arms, not without some difficulty, his own body still reeling from the onslaught of the young woman’s attack.
After standing motionless for a moment, the Sannin raised a pale hand to brush a strand of silver hair away from Hidan’s face, his touch oddly delicate as he leaned closer, his soft, husky whisper caressing the air like crushed velvet. “It would appear that even you are not immune to science, my dear. Such a pity. I had hoped for a rather more spectacular demonstration of your skills, however…” He straightened up, voice carrying on the harsh wind that had risen from the North, tussling Orochimaru’s hair until his vision was obscured by strands of billowing ebony. “Perhaps this is for the best. I assure you, there will be plenty of time display your prowess in a more controlled environment. But enough of that, I do believe it’s time we were going.”
The Sannin closed his eyes for a moment, tilting his head upwards and breathing deeply as if to taste the air, before vanishing in a puff of smoke, leaving no indication that either he, or his hot-headed prisoner, had ever been there.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Orochimaru held a syringe up to the light, turning it in his hand until the sharp point of the needle glinted, and the bubbling pink liquid in it’s barrel bore the reflection of the young woman behind him. He smirked, gently setting the instrument down and turning to admire his next victim. And oh yes, a victim she would be. His eyes scanned her sedated body, strapped firmly to a stone chair with various metal cuffs and chains. Stepping over to her, he turned her face delicately in his hand before running a cool finger down to the sturdy cuff binding her wrist, a dark, almost proud smile tugging at his lips. Each one of these metal bonds had spikes protruding inwards. The more she struggled, the more mercilessly they would tear into her pale flesh.
The Sannin chuckled softly to himself, his tone light, smooth, but with an undertone so threatening it would inspire fear in the hearts of even the most powerful shinobi. “I do hope that you wake up soon, my dear. It’s a tragedy to waste such precious time, and to think…” He paused, almost purring the last few words as he returned the syringe to his hand, admiring it once again in the dull candle light. “You could be experiencing the pain that you seem to be so fond of.”
Kabuto’s words, both soothing and revoltingly patronizing, did nothing for the Sannin’s delirium, the sound of his voice merely echoing like the distant trickle of water through a cave. There were other voices too, dark, vicious, resonating around him in an inescapable crescendo of torturous moans. He could barely make out their words for the horrfying screams that came with them, but they sang of weaknesses, doubts, failures that only Orochimaru himself could know of. Yet they were so real, entirely different entities. Vile creatures the fed on his darkest memories. His hands clenched into fists, clinging to Kabuto for dear life as he willed himself to listen to reason, for the voices to subside into the nothingness that he knew they must be. Try as he might, the Sannin’s inner strength was failing him. The voices grew louder, taunting, maddening, cutting deep into his very core.
Orochimaru’s heart rate slowed slightly as his medic became more gentle in his movements, descending from the blind panick of mere moments ago. This was Kabuto. His loyal medic, most trusted servant, and even more when the occassion called for it. Despite the voices that still raged inside his head, he surely knew that Kabuto meant him no harm. At least, no more than the Sannin would find pleasurable. He took a deep, shuddering breath, muscles relaxing slightly as he lifted his head from Kabuto’s chest, daring to open his eyes in an attempt to regain some sense of reality. These voices, these feelings, they were just hallucinations. Not real at all.
He felt utterly sick at what he saw, head swimming with a sudden terror he wasn’t aware someone such as himself was even capable of. There were more of them now, those dark, distorted figures, oozing around him like thick, black tar. They multiplied before him, edging closer, gaping mouths dripping with poisonous words. Their hands caressed him, coating his frail body with a liquid that seemed to make his own flesh decay before his very eyes. He could hardly breathe as he raised his eyes to meet Kabuto’s. There was no man before him, no creature that could even resemble human form. No. This was death, he knew it beyond all doubt. This monster had come to claim him. The Sannin felt numb, any sense of himself, of reality, vanishing to leave only a maddening fear that consumed him completely.
Orochimaru stopped breathing as the dark figure pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. He returned it out of instinct, body acting of it’s own accord, mind a mess of raging panic. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine his sanity returning. That he was the powerful, immortal Orochimaru, a man who struck fear into the hearts of many, who could claim anything he pleased. He begged his mind to return to the rational world, to accept these delusions for what they were and revel in the glory of Kabuto’s arousing touch, but to no avail. Defeated, he fell limply into the medic’s lap, body trembling ever so slightly. Unable to shut out the horrors any longer, his eyes went wide, wild, speaking of an insanity he only hoped Kabuto could cure.
It was not without great alarm that Kabuto recognized the signs of his master’s demons manifesting themselves before his golden eyes as he suffered through a drug-induced delirium. The dilation of his pupils from their usual slits, the cold sweat that Kabuto tasted on his swiftly chilling lips, the tremors that racked his form, the deranged madness that fell from his mouth in broken sentences and harried words.
The medic worried his bottom lip at the sight. Such a fitful reaction… He hadn’t anticipated the medication, however strong its effects had been intended to be, to cause Orochimaru such torture. Perhaps his host body’s rejection of his essence taking up residence inside it did in fact take a toll on his mental faculties. Such a theory was fascinating and worth looking into, but Kabuto knew he had to focus, for the time being, on righting whatever he had incited. The time for playing games with the older man was long since over.
Not caring if Orochimaru struck him in a frenzy, he leaned in to place a tender kiss on a gaunt cheek and murmured reassurance—just a little longer—and straightened up, reaching into the pouch at the back of his sash and pulling out another syringe. A sedative this time, one that would, he hoped, return the Sannin’s mind to a state of ease.
Before he could think twice about the possible wrath, rational or otherwise, that would meet his actions, Kabuto grabbed ahold of Orochimaru’s thin wrist and, after uncapping the needle with his thumb, injected the counter-remedy into the blue vein that marred porcelain skin when Orochimaru was so agitated, pushing down on the plunger with practiced ease.
The Sannin felt his heart lurch. This creature, unidentifiable now through the shrouds of dark mist that billowed off it’s distorted form, this thing… He shuddered, watching in horror as the figure appeared to reach into itself, a black, pulsating hand emerging with a small instrument lodged between it’s shadowy fingers. It took a moment for Orochimaru’s tired mind to register the item. He was exhausted, and the simple definition between delusion and reality was becoming all too taxing. Squinting in the dim light, his eyes widened as they made out the small, cylindrical shape nearing his arm. A syringe.
Every fibre of his body screamed to get away, weak muscles trembling and twisting in a frantic desperation. He fought against the creature’s vice-like grip with what little strength he had left, thrashing and writhing hopelessly in a clumsy bid for escape. Any notion that this foreboding figure could in fact be his own trusted medic had vanished, leaving only a deep longing for the man to return, to cure him of this madness. He felt a familiar surge of anger at the thought of the silver-haired young man, fleeting through his mind only to leave heightened sense of loss.
Such powerlessness, this debilitating sensation that pulsed through him with a burning intensity, in all his long years he had known nothing like it. Had he been fully aware, or able to obtain just a fraction of his usual conciousness, he could have dismissed it as merely the side effects of the drug, but it was too late for that now. He was afraid. Terrified of this monster that sat so intimately before him. A creature possessing the voice of the one man that he had trusted to save him.
The tip of the needle glinted in the dull light, and he bucked, brushing weakly against the dark form, still captive, still tormented, with no means of escape. He let out a pained whimper as the sharp metal pierced his skin, feeling the cool liquid burn into his veins. Stomach churning, his eyes stung as he was overcome by dizziness. His limbs felt numb, the sensation spreading throughout his body, leaving him limp and helpless against the dark forms that danced around him in a compacting circle. This was not salvation. That syringe, that drug, whatever it was had only tied him down, bound him more tightly in the grip of his delusion. Now he was paralysed, unable to move a single quivering muscle as the shapes continued to multiply, their torturous screams growing louder with each passing moment. In his thrashing, his feeble resistance, he had been only slightly distracted from them, but now they consumed him, voices raging inside his crumbling mind. Powerful, unbearable, all knowing. The only words that would ever hold any power over Orochimaru. The things that mattered. He lay motionless, a single tear trickling down his porcelain cheek as he stared brokenly into the face of his captor.
Sleeping was normally not a problem for him. Tonight however, seemed to enjoy making him miserable. Naruto sighed. Well, not miserable, just unable to sleep. He was exhausted from the long journey he and his team mates had done during the day; yet sleep eluded him. The others were soundly alseep in their sleeping bags, and Naruto finally had just had it.
So he moved away from the small little camp site that Team Kakashi had set up to move away into the darkness of the trees. He wasn’t going to go to far, but just far enough to maybe clear his mind and then try to go back to sleep. It was really a dumb move to go into dark woods alone on his part, but Naruto was really too tired to care. At this rate, even if he found an enemy, he wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.
It was the perfect night for a stroll. Not cold, in contrast to the harsh chill that had plagued Orochimaru as of late, nor bearing the uncomfortable heat of the summer that was soon to come. The air was pleasantly cool, a soft breeze tussling his long, ebony hair. The forest around him was illuminated by a proud, full moon and thousands of stars which twinkled so brightly overhead. He took a deep, slow breath, eyes closing for a moment as he took in the utter tranquility of the scene. Serenity was not something the Sannin usually favoured, but on occassion such a rarity was a welcome escape from the tiresome work of his underground lair.
He wandered aimlessly for a while, lost in the peaceful monotony of the forest, his mind refreshingly clear. Such isolation was relished by Orochimaru, who spent the majority of his time in the prescence of his test subjects or personal medic. After the events of recent months, it was only now that the Sannin realised just how relentless his work had been. A soft sigh escaped his lips, gently brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face as he noticed just how relaxed he had become. It was a wonderful sensation, not one that Orochimaru was familiar with, but he was all too aware that it could not last. He couldn’t abide the wasting of precious time, and it was not long before thoughts of experiments and jutsu tugged at his mind. Just as he turned to head back to the hideout, a journey of questionable distance, he felt an oddly familiar presence nearby. The Sannin lingered for a moment, irked by the sudden disruption to what had been such a pleasant evening. Eyes narrowing, he almost tutted to himself, dismissing the fleeting sensation as merely unwanted sentimentality.
A smirk tugged at his lips as he jumped into a nearby tree, eyes smouldering with questionable intentions. He leapt nimbly from branch to branch, focusing on the direction from which the chakra signature was emanating. His footsteps were silent, emitting no sound even with the sheer speed at which the Sannin moved. Even masked by the shadows beneath the leafy canopy, his movements were startlingly mute and graceful. He halted immediately as his keen eyes fell to the boy wandering clumsily through the clearing before him, face twisting with an unnerving mix of irritation and excitement. Well then, it would seem that it really is you, Naruto. Such a strange coincidence that I should have the misfortune of happening upon you now. Orochimaru knew that conincidence was an unlikely explanation. Konoha continued their vain attempts to track his movements, to seek him out by any means necessary. This boy had surely been sent here for a reason. It was at that moment that the Sannin noted just how alone Naruto was. No doubt that incessant team of his was lurking somewhere close by. He watched the blonde for a while longer, studying him closely, powerful mind running like clockwork. Though perhaps… your sudden appearance could prove to be quite informative…
With a movement too swift to be seen by the naked eye, the Sannin left the tree from which he had been observing the young man, landing with a soft thud on the ground below. The full moon cast long shadows about Orochimaru as he stood before Naruto, facial features distorting into a bone-chilling grin. An amused chuckle fell from his lips, an oddly haunting sound, still echoing through the darkness as he spoke. “Well, well. If it isn’t the nine-tailed child. I must say, I’m surprised to encounter you here. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how dangerous it can be to wander alone on a dark night?”
Orochimaru vanished, lightning fast reflexes launching him into the air a mere fraction of a second before the young woman’s scythe sliced through empty space. Narrowly avoiding the attack, he reappeared just inches behind her, his body racked with unsuppressed laughter. “Really, my dear. Did you honestly expect such a direct attack to work on me?” He paused, sighing softly to himself. “Now then, I think perhaps it’s time we put an end to this little game, don’t you agree? After all, why waste time here when it would be far more beneficial to continue our discussion elsewhere, hm?” With that, the figure of Orochimaru that had stood so confidently behind Hidan melted away into a distorted mess of mud and earth. A clone.
A slight flick of the Sannin’s wrist revealed a syringe in his hand. Shifting it gracefully between his fingers, he moved with the wind, appearing as only a quick flash launching towards Hidan’s neck. He felt the tip of the needle graze her skin, using what little opportunity he had to expel its contents into her bloodstream. It made contact only for a spilt second, but that was enough. The drug should have an almost immediate effect. Almost. Orochimaru’s actions had been focused entirely on speed, on sedating this woman so that she could be of further use to him in his lab. As a result, they were almost clumsy, his close proximity to Hidan regrettably leaving him open to an attack.
“It’s not about that, fuckass.” Hidan countered; her plan was rarely to surprise her opponent, and she always expected them to dodge or block her attack, as failure to do so would often result in a lethal wound. Her scythe wasn’t just useful for providing a wider range in which to strike. Rather, she intended to swing relentlessly until her stamina outweighed the other’s and they slipped up for just a moment, or got just too close to her and allowed the smallest of scratches, and that would be enough to kill them through use of her strange voodoo magic (though, of course, it was “jutsu,” and there was a logical explanation for it all- divinity).
Hidan heard Orochimaru’s voice sound from behind her, and she immediately whirled around on one heel and struck his clone just as it melted into mud. “Ch-” Before she could move again to locate him, she felt a prick of pain in her throat. Quickly, but quickly enough to avoid injection, she leaned back from the syringe, her free hand on her neck. It was probably some sort of paralysis drug or a tranquilizer- shit.
And without wasting a second, Hidan decided she’d aim to kill the man before the effects of whatever took hold, and she took advantage of their proximity to turn towards and swing at Orochimaru with both her scythe and a kunai she’d just drawn from the pouch against her thigh. Even after just a few seconds, her limbs began to grow heavy- so she was more determined to be swift with it, even if that meant foregoing the sadistic show she loved to put on for her Lord at every kill.
Narrowly missing the full force of the attack, Hidan’s huge scythe sliced through his left arm like a knife through butter. Instinctively, Orochimaru clasped his right hand over the bleeding stump, fingers twitching with both pain and unrestrained anger. His face distorted into an unnatural smile, a raging fury in his eyes second only to the obvious agony he was experiencing at the loss of a limb.
The Sannin’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, jaw cracking loudly as it opened far beyond human measures. An odd, squelching sound came from his body and he appeared to convulse violently, a pair of pale hands reaching out of the man’s oversized mouth. Orochimaru peeled off his old skin with ease, revealing a fully regenerated form. He glared at the young woman for a brief moment, sadistic smile wavering as he fought to keep himself composed. This form of regeneration was always a taxing process, not lessened by the sheer force with which Hidan’s scythe had made impact. His old skin lay on the ground beneath his feet, limp, dead, a mere cast off, yet another gruelling addition to the snake-like features of the Sannin.
Despite his steely expression, which he had somehow managed to maintain even with his body under such immense physical strain, Orochimaru’s breathing was ragged, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his pale skin. He opened his mouth to speak, words strained and husky. “Too little, too late, my dear. Any efforts to defy me now will be of no benefit to you. Why, in a few short moments that sedative will have disabled you entirely, but don’t fret. No, my dear, our encounter is far from over.” He paused for a moment in a regrettably urgent attempt to catch his breath, panting in short, sharp gasps, wheezing heavily. “But let us continue our little discussion when you wake, hm? I can only hope that my research facility will be to your liking.” He watched with a sadistic glee as Hidan slowly lost conciousness before him, thinking only of the monstrous fate that was yet to befall her. Taking a few steps towards the young woman, he halted just short of her reach, voice nothing more than a venomous whisper. “I hear that you enjoy pain. How very fortunate.”
Karin had made her decision in the smoldering ruin of her village, and there was no turning back. She had believed that you die two deaths: one when the physical body is destroyed, and another when you are forgotten. When everyone who ever knew you or cared about you has been annihilated, you have bypassed the first death. In this reckoning, she had already died twice.
But Sasuke, who had been there with Orochimaru in the aftermath of the massacre, had convinced her otherwise. He knew her; he had saved her in the Forest of Death the year before. “Karin,” he had said, ”Orochimaru thinks you have potential. I know you exist, he knows you exist, and most importantly, we both acknowledge the importance of your existence. So you have died neither a first nor a second death. Come with us.”
So she had gone with them, into a dark, dank place, hollowed out into prison cells, and laboratories, and training grounds in the catacombs. She had hoped to stay with Sasuke, but she had been separated from him almost immediately. Thankfully, she had not been confined in a cell, but had been given her own room. It was Spartan, but it was better than the smoking ruins of her childhood home.
Today, she waited in the training grounds for Orochimaru to arrive. It was dark, but she could see well enough by the candlelight, as dim as it was. She shivered in the cold, standing at the ready for whatever was to come.
//A little bit of background on Karin from the 3rd Naruto Databook:”Once in a village* wiped out by war, there was a young girl, all alone and totally unscathed. ‘She could tell lots of people were coming.’ Which prompted Orochimaru into inviting Karin to the Hidden Sound village… She’s served Oto (the Sound) ever since, thanks to her honed perception ability, and her clear head. But even as Orochimaru’s underling, Karin feels no obligation towards him. Karin still fulfills her duties out of affection for Uchiha Sasuke.” (*”Village” here means “A normal village, not a shinobi housing facility.”)
The Sannin’s footsteps echoed through the darkness, pace oddly slow as he made his way along the narrow corridors. His lips curled into a smirk, mind flooded with thoughts of the girl who awaited his arrival. Karin had proven herself to be a worthy asset since joining his cause what seemed like only a short time ago. It was odd, at least by his reckoning, that the girl had taken such an instant liking to his young protege. She would attempt to hide it of course, but not a sharp exhale of breath nor a quickening heartbeat could escape Orochimaru’s keen observation. Of course, such a pitiful feeling of affection had not been allowed to fester, and she was quickly removed from Sasuke’s influence. The Sannin wouldn’t dare waste this girl’s potential to aid his cause with her unique abilities, to serve him without doubt or question. No, this one could be useful, very much so if her powerful sense of perception was properly utilised. And Orochimaru intended to do exactly that, but not before testing Karin to determine her limits, then perhaps an experiment or two to perfect the ability. Yes, this girl really was a well of opportunities.
Orochimaru’s smirk faded as the air grew chill, somewhat damp, becoming only increasingly so as he progressed into the deeper halls. His footsteps slowed as he reached a large oaken door, hand lingering purposefully on the handle for a moment before opening it with a loud creak. A flood of cold air hit him, causing his eyes to narrow slightly. Orochimaru did not like the cold, this dank atmosphere, despite how prominent it was in his underground base. Quickly dismissing the unpleasant sensation, he turned his attention to the girl standing uncertainly in the dim glow of the candlelight. He spoke abruptly, voice cutting through the heavy silence before he had even stepped into the dark, cavernous hall. “My dear Karin. It has been a while, hasn’t it?” He closed the distance between them, moving quickly but with a haunting elegance, keeping his eyes fixed on the redhead as he did so. “I’m pleased you could meet me here at such short notice, I do so look forward to seeing how your talents have progressed.”
A self-important laugh rippled from Orochimaru’s chest, “Oh my dear, you needn’t explain yourself to me. I have no interest in how you may or may not feel about the other fools in that organization. No, right now my sole interest is you.” He raised an eyebrow as she spat the threat, her patience was obviously wearing thin. I’ve wasted enough time here already. I do believe its time to get what I came for. The Sannin shifted on his feet, an amused glint in his eye as the young woman reached for her scythe. “Really now, Hidan. Are you so sure that we must resort to violence? I’d much prefer for you to join me willingly.” His smile darkened, eyes narrowing. “No matter…”
“Well, there’s no way in Hell that’s going to happen, is there?” Hidan sneered, twitching her arm so that her scythe’s blades glistened in the light overhead. “And unless you want to just lay down while I split open your stomach and rend your guts, this shit isn’t going to be resolved peacefully.” If he hadn’t pissed her off, or if she hadn’t been her organization’s enemy to begin with, she might not have listened to the tantalizing whisper beckoning her to satisfy her bloodlust.
Hidan preferred not to make bluffs, so she darted forward to close the distance between her and Orochimaru (that was essential, since she was a close-to-mid range fighter and wasn’t worth her shit for long-range attacks) and spun her scythe once, tearing up the earth beneath her as her weapon made its way towards Orochimaru’s chest.
Orochimaru vanished, lightning fast reflexes launching him into the air a mere fraction of a second before the young woman’s scythe sliced through empty space. Narrowly avoiding the attack, he reappeared just inches behind her, his body racked with unsuppressed laughter. “Really, my dear. Did you honestly expect such a direct attack to work on me?” He paused, sighing softly to himself. “Now then, I think perhaps it’s time we put an end to this little game, don’t you agree? After all, why waste time here when it would be far more beneficial to continue our discussion elsewhere, hm?” With that, the figure of Orochimaru that had stood so confidently behind Hidan melted away into a distorted mess of mud and earth. A clone.
A slight flick of the Sannin’s wrist revealed a syringe in his hand. Shifting it gracefully between his fingers, he moved with the wind, appearing as only a quick flash launching towards Hidan’s neck. He felt the tip of the needle graze her skin, using what little opportunity he had to expel its contents into her bloodstream. It made contact only for a spilt second, but that was enough. The drug should have an almost immediate effect. Almost. Orochimaru’s actions had been focused entirely on speed, on sedating this woman so that she could be of further use to him in his lab. As a result, they were almost clumsy, his close proximity to Hidan regrettably leaving him open to an attack.
A pained gasp escaped Orochimaru’s lips as the medic grabbed his hair, quickly ripping his head back with a forceful jolt. He stared into Kabuto’s eyes for a moment before grimacing, squeezing his own eyes shut as he drew a long, shuddering breath. He lay still, expression pained, suppressing the urge to vomit as his head throbbed so vigorously. Before he even had time to gather his thoughts, the medic was on him. A hot, heavy weight, rubbing so temptingly against his flesh. Orochimaru failed to hold back an almost pitiful moan, torn between submitting himself to this raging lust and the dire need his body had for rest. He wanted this, he couldn’t deny that, but now? When the Sannin was so utterly exhausted that it took all of his strength just to stay awake? A sudden thought coursed through his tired mind, a thought so unfitting for a man of his reputation that it verged on delusion. If he were to pass out now… No, he had to stay concious. There was no telling what Kabuto was capable of with this new found sense of power, and though Orochimaru would never admit it, he somehow feared what implications losing conciousness now might have. What Kabuto could do in such a lust-driven state. For a moment, his trusty medic was truly a force to be reckoned with, a threat, an abomination to all that he knew.
What had been so wonderful just moments ago became rapidly distorted, the Sannin’s mind twisting and corrupting it as if by some will other that his own. Orochimaru found himself reeling back from reality once more, to weakness and pain and an overpowering sense of helplessness that shook him to the very core. He fought against it, nails digging into Kabuto’s back, face buried in the soft material of the medic’s purple garb, muttering desperately under his breath. Eyes still tight shut, his mind waged war on itself, the powerful dominant Sannin wanting nothing more than to let this young man ravish him, dominate him and revel in every second of it, but the exhausted, powerless Orochimaru pleading for rest, for the return of his former glory, for his medic to be nothing more than a devoted servant who would cater to his every whim. And he meant every whim. But lying there as he was now, a limp, writhing, sweating and exhaused form, he found that he no longer knew his own mind.
The room around them melted, a dark mess of shadows and twisted shapes, screaming, wailing, distorted figures reaching out ominous hands towards him. They mulitipled, gathering around his medic in a dark aura of power and lust and evil intent. The man’s smooth voice sent a shiver down Orochimaru’s spine, all meaning forsaken for the intent that those words seemed to hold. Kabuto was all that there was, all that existed in this world, and suddenly, without reason or logic, the Sannin feared him from the bottom of his heart.
“Ah-ah… Please, Orochimaru-sama, do be calm,” he murmured against velvet skin as he felt the Sannin’s heart rate increase under Kabuto’s palm and his breathing grow quick and agitated as it only did when his body was at its breaking point. “Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself, now would we?” Though the words were said with a condescending smirk and in such a patronizing tone that they would definitely get the medic swiftly backhanded under different circumstances, there was genuine concern beneath them. In his master’s drugged state, with his mind even more muddled by the haze of pleasure that was sure to be clouding it still more, there was no telling what Orochimaru might do if he suddenly decided that Kabuto was taking a few too many liberties with his fragile body.
Like pass out, for one thing. And that would put a halt to the medic’s fun for sure.
So Kabuto changed his tune a bit, growing slightly more gentle in his movements, though his hips still straddled the older man’s and his hand still retained its grip on his hair. His lips brushing against the shell of Orochimaru’s ear and his other hand stroking that firm chest, he breathed, “I’m afraid I can’t make up your mind for you, so you’ll have to manage some sort of retort.” With that, he caught the man’s lips in a deep, arduous kiss, savoring the taste of his master before pulling away again and whispering with a growing sense of enjoyment.
“So who is it, exactly, that belongs to whom right now, Orochimaru-sama?” He licked his lips, emboldened by the pleasure he saw reflected in burning amber eyes. “Or should I say Orochimaru…?”
Kabuto’s words, both soothing and revoltingly patronizing, did nothing for the Sannin’s delirium, the sound of his voice merely echoing like the distant trickle of water through a cave. There were other voices too, dark, vicious, resonating around him in an inescapable crescendo of torturous moans. He could barely make out their words for the horrfying screams that came with them, but they sang of weaknesses, doubts, failures that only Orochimaru himself could know of. Yet they were so real, entirely different entities. Vile creatures the fed on his darkest memories. His hands clenched into fists, clinging to Kabuto for dear life as he willed himself to listen to reason, for the voices to subside into the nothingness that he knew they must be. Try as he might, the Sannin’s inner strength was failing him. The voices grew louder, taunting, maddening, cutting deep into his very core.
Orochimaru’s heart rate slowed slightly as his medic became more gentle in his movements, descending from the blind panick of mere moments ago. This was Kabuto. His loyal medic, most trusted servant, and even more when the occassion called for it. Despite the voices that still raged inside his head, he surely knew that Kabuto meant him no harm. At least, no more than the Sannin would find pleasurable. He took a deep, shuddering breath, muscles relaxing slightly as he lifted his head from Kabuto’s chest, daring to open his eyes in an attempt to regain some sense of reality. These voices, these feelings, they were just hallucinations. Not real at all.
He felt utterly sick at what he saw, head swimming with a sudden terror he wasn’t aware someone such as himself was even capable of. There were more of them now, those dark, distorted figures, oozing around him like thick, black tar. They multiplied before him, edging closer, gaping mouths dripping with poisonous words. Their hands caressed him, coating his frail body with a liquid that seemed to make his own flesh decay before his very eyes. He could hardly breathe as he raised his eyes to meet Kabuto’s. There was no man before him, no creature that could even resemble human form. No. This was death, he knew it beyond all doubt. This monster had come to claim him. The Sannin felt numb, any sense of himself, of reality, vanishing to leave only a maddening fear that consumed him completely.
Orochimaru stopped breathing as the dark figure pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. He returned it out of instinct, body acting of it’s own accord, mind a mess of raging panic. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine his sanity returning. That he was the powerful, immortal Orochimaru, a man who struck fear into the hearts of many, who could claim anything he pleased. He begged his mind to return to the rational world, to accept these delusions for what they were and revel in the glory of Kabuto’s arousing touch, but to no avail. Defeated, he fell limply into the medic’s lap, body trembling ever so slightly. Unable to shut out the horrors any longer, his eyes went wide, wild, speaking of an insanity he only hoped Kabuto could cure.
Feeling his mind begin to sharpen, the Sannin’s eyes locked briefly with Kabuto’s, leaving him almost shocked by the ravenous lust that seemed to smoulder in those onyx orbs. A ragged, sensual moan ripped from Orochimaru’s throat with each new kiss planted on his ivory skin, reveling in the sheer sensation. He reached up, wrapping both arms around Kabuto’s broad shoulders, finding himself able to kiss the medic with more passion as he slowly felt his strength return. Nuzzling at his neck, Orochimaru’s long tongue caressed the length of Kabuto’s collar bone, pulling back periodically as his body swayed with unrestrained gasps. The Sannin let out an almost animalistic scream when his medic’s hands found their way into his kimono. Overcome by the intensity of the young man’s touch, he found himself drowning in the heat of the moment, mind a mess of saliva and flesh and Kabuto. Only Kabuto.
Writhing forcefully beneath those strong hands, Orochimaru flinched slightly as he felt Kabuto’s nails cut into his flesh, body still tender from the intense pain that seemed like only a distant memory. His own hands began to claw feverishly at the fabric of Kabuto’s shirt, not quite coordinated enough to find their own way into the medic’s garments. Unable to mask his frustration, the Sannin’s contribution became more frenzied, sucking, biting, ravishing the young man’s soft neck. Orochimaru breathed the medic’s name between incoherent moans, his strained voice set at an oddly high pitch. “Kabu…to… My Kabuto…”
To loose himself so deeply in the actions of another, to be so completely pleasured and ravished and dominated. In all his long years, it wasn’t something the Sannin had encountered before, not a situation he would ever have allowed to himself to be familiar with. To submit himself entirely to Kabuto’s will was humiliating, it undermined his power, even caused him to lose control over his own body. And he loved it.
“Nngh— Ah!” Strangled moans fell from Kabuto’s parted lips as his master grew more aggressive, abusing the flesh of his neck and drowning out the rest of the world until Kabuto’s head was spinning, dizzy with pleasure. Control was briefly lost as he closed his eyes and let his head fall languidly back to allow the biting and sucking at his skin. “Ohh… A-aah, Orochimaru-sama…” He could feel heat consuming his entire body, starting by tainting his cheeks with color before steadily rushing to his abdomen, to his groin, and as he felt himself grow harder that strange but fierce desire for dominance overtook him again.
It would be easy to let Orochimaru, however handicapped he might be, seize control and take his medic right then and there, but Kabuto just knew somehow—call it a hunch—that deep down, past that seemingly insurmountable ego, the Sannin craved a change of pace, and the possessive rasping out of Kabuto’s name confirmed this…and sent a shiver down the young medic’s spine. Yes. He was his master’s, but he’d remember his place later. After he’d drawn out more of those delightfully submissive little moans.
Letting his body act of its own accord so he couldn’t think twice about the possible consequences of his actions, Kabuto fisted a hand in Orochimaru’s silky ebony hair and tugged on it, hard, roughly pulling the older man’s head back and exposing that lovely, graceful neck. He licked his lips, shifting on top of the Sannin so that their hips pressed together more firmly, and a smirk graced his features as he spoke, tone lilting.
“Oh I’m yours, am I, Orochimaru-sama?” He leaned down, running his tongue along that smooth alabaster column of the older man’s throat, fanning hot breath over his skin and murmuring as he used his free hand to pull his kimono down, revealing one shoulder. “Then by all means, do assert that power. If you can.”
A pained gasp escaped Orochimaru’s lips as the medic grabbed his hair, quickly ripping his head back with a forceful jolt. He stared into Kabuto’s eyes for a moment before grimacing, squeezing his own eyes shut as he drew a long, shuddering breath. He lay still, expression pained, suppressing the urge to vomit as his head throbbed so vigorously. Before he even had time to gather his thoughts, the medic was on him. A hot, heavy weight, rubbing so temptingly against his flesh. Orochimaru failed to hold back an almost pitiful moan, torn between submitting himself to this raging lust and the dire need his body had for rest. He wanted this, he couldn’t deny that, but now? When the Sannin was so utterly exhausted that it took all of his strength just to stay awake? A sudden thought coursed through his tired mind, a thought so unfitting for a man of his reputation that it verged on delusion. If he were to pass out now… No, he had to stay concious. There was no telling what Kabuto was capable of with this new found sense of power, and though Orochimaru would never admit it, he somehow feared what implications losing conciousness now might have. What Kabuto could do in such a lust-driven state. For a moment, his trusty medic was truly a force to be reckoned with, a threat, an abomination to all that he knew.
What had been so wonderful just moments ago became rapidly distorted, the Sannin’s mind twisting and corrupting it as if by some will other that his own. Orochimaru found himself reeling back from reality once more, to weakness and pain and an overpowering sense of helplessness that shook him to the very core. He fought against it, nails digging into Kabuto’s back, face buried in the soft material of the medic’s purple garb, muttering desperately under his breath. Eyes still tight shut, his mind waged war on itself, the powerful dominant Sannin wanting nothing more than to let this young man ravish him, dominate him and revel in every second of it, but the exhausted, powerless Orochimaru pleading for rest, for the return of his former glory, for his medic to be nothing more than a devoted servant who would cater to his every whim. And he meant every whim. But lying there as he was now, a limp, writhing, sweating and exhaused form, he found that he no longer knew his own mind.
The room around them melted, a dark mess of shadows and twisted shapes, screaming, wailing, distorted figures reaching out ominous hands towards him. They mulitipled, gathering around his medic in a dark aura of power and lust and evil intent. The man’s smooth voice sent a shiver down Orochimaru’s spine, all meaning forsaken for the intent that those words seemed to hold. Kabuto was all that there was, all that existed in this world, and suddenly, without reason or logic, the Sannin feared him from the bottom of his heart.
Orochimaru felt a wave of vertigo surge through him as he was lifted back to his chair, relying completely on Kabuto’s strength to maneuver him into a sitting position. By now, the Sannin had no awareness of what was going on around him, no recollection of the concious world. Watching the blur of his medic through tired, half closed eyes, he found his mind unable comprehend any sense of reality.
He let out a small gasp as Kabuto’s firm body suddenly collided with his own, feeling the man’s lips brush tantalizingly against his. Orochimaru leaned into the kiss, returning the action almost unconsciously. His movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, but even in his delusional state the Sannin managed to drape a limp arm around Kabuto’s neck. It took everything he had to weakly pull himself into the kiss, relying entirely on the young man’s strong body for support. It was a reaction performed only in body, his mind was elsewhere. Not on thoughts or happenings, but pure sensation. He knew only the warmth of Kabuto’s smooth skin, those soft, delectable lips as they entwined with his own, the firm hand that supported his now throbbing head. Orochimaru’s own contribution was surprisingly gentle, what would have been a raging passion replaced with only a wilful compliance. His lips stroked softly against Kabuto’s, opening and closing slightly, no force behind the action. He groaned quietly, almost pitifully as the seemingly endless kiss starved his lungs of oxygen. The Sannin didn’t have the strength, or even the will to pull away. After a long moment, with a pained gasp, he briefly parted his lips from Kabuto’s, taking frantic gulps of air before relaxing into the medic’s touch once more. He writhed weakly beneath the young man, creating a gentle friction between the two of them, concious part of is mind searching only for a position that might ease his exhaustion. He felt Kabuto’s tongue caressing down his parched throat, making a small gulping sound as his own tongue found it’s way past the medic’s open lips.
A rough, sensual moan ripped from deep in Orochimaru’s chest as he sunk his tongue deeper into the medic’s irresistible mouth. His hair clung to the back of his neck, skin moist and clammy, heartbeat growing progressively faster as he was consumed by a maddening, lustful pleasure. His reactions were weak, disjointed, fuelled by an almost primal desire for the man’s glorious touch.
The reaction that Kabuto evoked from the older man was delightful, and he reveled in combined disbelief and unrestrained pleasure at Orochimaru’s submission to his kiss, to his touch. It was strange, not being on the receiving end of such attention, but he was only too willing to take advantage of the situation. Besides, he was doing this for his lord’s benefit, wasn’t he?
He couldn’t help but smirk against the Sannin’s lips. Like hell.
A sudden gasp was drawn from him as Orochimaru’s long, powerful tongue invaded his mouth, slipping along his own tongue and his teeth and almost choking the medic, who still hadn’t quite mastered the art of kissing the serpentine man so deeply. He moaned breathlessly, lips parted, opening up to the onslaught before remembering who it was exactly who was in control, at least until the numbing effects of the medicine wore off, and that could be very soon, and then he’d have missed the opportunity.
Breaking away, panting, he met the Sannin’s heated gaze for a moment before lowering his head again and repeating his actions from earlier, but with far more fervor. With each kiss he placed on Orochimaru’s perfect skin—his jaw, his skin, his clavicle, his shoulder—he breathed out his name, reverent as a prayer.
“Orochimaru-sama…” The older man’s skin was regaining its usual chill, the fever subsiding, something Kabuto was only too happy to help with as he slid his warm hands under the silk of his kimono, stroking and caressing Orochimaru’s bare chest, occasionally digging his nails into the skin. Oh yes, the Sannin’s body was simply a splendor to behold…and it was all Kabuto’s.
Feeling his mind begin to sharpen, the Sannin’s eyes locked briefly with Kabuto’s, leaving him almost shocked by the ravenous lust that seemed to smoulder in those onyx orbs. A ragged, sensual moan ripped from Orochimaru’s throat with each new kiss planted on his ivory skin, reveling in the sheer sensation. He reached up, wrapping both arms around Kabuto’s broad shoulders, finding himself able to kiss the medic with more passion as he slowly felt his strength return. Nuzzling at his neck, Orochimaru’s long tongue caressed the length of Kabuto’s collar bone, pulling back periodically as his body swayed with unrestrained gasps. The Sannin let out an almost animalistic scream when his medic’s hands found their way into his kimono. Overcome by the intensity of the young man’s touch, he found himself drowning in the heat of the moment, mind a mess of saliva and flesh and Kabuto. Only Kabuto.
Writhing forcefully beneath those strong hands, Orochimaru flinched slightly as he felt Kabuto’s nails cut into his flesh, body still tender from the intense pain that seemed like only a distant memory. His own hands began to claw feverishly at the fabric of Kabuto’s shirt, not quite coordinated enough to find their own way into the medic’s garments. Unable to mask his frustration, the Sannin’s contribution became more frenzied, sucking, biting, ravishing the young man’s soft neck. Orochimaru breathed the medic’s name between incoherent moans, his strained voice set at an oddly high pitch. “Kabu…to… My Kabuto…”
To loose himself so deeply in the actions of another, to be so completely pleasured and ravished and dominated. In all his long years, it wasn’t something the Sannin had encountered before, not a situation he would ever have allowed to himself to be familiar with. To submit himself entirely to Kabuto’s will was humiliating, it undermined his power, even caused him to lose control over his own body. And he loved it.
// I have five RPs to reply to and no motivation whatsoever. I’m so sorry. I’ll get to them all when inspiration strikes, which will hopefully be soon. I’m sorry for keeping people waiting.//
Orochimaru used what little control he had left to gulp down the glorious liquid, feeling the pain dull slightly with each weak swallow. He let out a soft moan, unable to hide the intense wave of relief washing over him. Muscles relaxing completely, he tilted his head to rest against Kabuto’s arm. Lying deathly still, he didn’t have enough strength left for the fury that he knew Kabuto’s patronizing tone should bring. His mind felt almost hazy, unable to string together a coherent thought. Instead he felt a strange sense of gratitude towards his medic, an almost desperate longing for the man’s gentle touch. Had the Sannin been in his right mind, he would have disgusted himself with such a pitiful sensation, but in this dream-like state he had no sense of pride or dignity. He was consumed by an overwhelming exhaustion as the pain that had tormented his body for what seemed like an eternity slowly faded. No thoughts. No anger. Orochimaru was aware of only two things: His own shattered body, and the medic who supported him as he lay so brokenly in his arms. Still resting against Kabuto’s forearm, Orochimaru mustered enough strength to open his eyes, slowly, only slightly, gazing blankly at the young man from behind heavy lids.
Kabuto exhaled in relief as the Sannin’s pain seemed to ebb and subside into nothing, proving the medication’s effectiveness—not that he had doubted it. Once he had downed the entirety of the vial’s contents, the medic set the empty glass container on the desk and helped Orochimaru sit back in his chair, though he wondered if it might not be best to just get him into bed. The man was visibly exhausted in every sense, so much so that Kabuto knew he was the only one who would ever get to see such weakness. It was a knowledge that gave him a fleeting but heady sensation of power, of control, but he pushed it aside as he deliberated what to do with the older man. Perhaps he should just let him rest…
However, there was something that stopped Kabuto from taking this more sensible course of action, something he wasn’t proud of but couldn’t deny: there was a definite yearning in Orochimaru’s body language, and it excited him. The way that hazy gaze was drawn to him, the way he was leaning against his arm…these were rare displays of careless compliance, but the rarity was not so much disconcerting as it was exotic, strange and alluring and possibly never to be seen again, at least not for a while.
He didn’t know quite what he was doing when he leaned in and kissed Orochimaru, but he began to get a pretty good idea as he went along, supporting the back of the Sannin’s graceful neck with his hand and opening his mouth to slip his tongue past warm and compliant lips, gaining entrance with ease. He didn’t say a word, didn’t make any sound at all save for a soft groan from the back of his throat because Orochimaru tasted divine and Kabuto was quickly losing his grip on his surroundings. There was no rhyme or reason to this, not really, no excuse for his actions.
Except that he wanted it, and this was perhaps a shoddy excuse for an excuse, but basely, he disregarded that.
Orochimaru felt a wave of vertigo surge through him as he was lifted back to his chair, relying completely on Kabuto’s strength to maneuver him into a sitting position. By now, the Sannin had no awareness of what was going on around him, no recollection of the concious world. Watching the blur of his medic through tired, half closed eyes, he found his mind unable comprehend any sense of reality.
He let out a small gasp as Kabuto’s firm body suddenly collided with his own, feeling the man’s lips brush tantalizingly against his. Orochimaru leaned into the kiss, returning the action almost unconsciously. His movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, but even in his delusional state the Sannin managed to drape a limp arm around Kabuto’s neck. It took everything he had to weakly pull himself into the kiss, relying entirely on the young man’s strong body for support. It was a reaction performed only in body, his mind was elsewhere. Not on thoughts or happenings, but pure sensation. He knew only the warmth of Kabuto’s smooth skin, those soft, delectable lips as they entwined with his own, the firm hand that supported his now throbbing head. Orochimaru’s own contribution was surprisingly gentle, what would have been a raging passion replaced with only a wilful compliance. His lips stroked softly against Kabuto’s, opening and closing slightly, no force behind the action. He groaned quietly, almost pitifully as the seemingly endless kiss starved his lungs of oxygen. The Sannin didn’t have the strength, or even the will to pull away. After a long moment, with a pained gasp, he briefly parted his lips from Kabuto’s, taking frantic gulps of air before relaxing into the medic’s touch once more. He writhed weakly beneath the young man, creating a gentle friction between the two of them, concious part of is mind searching only for a position that might ease his exhaustion. He felt Kabuto’s tongue caressing down his parched throat, making a small gulping sound as his own tongue found it’s way past the medic’s open lips.
A rough, sensual moan ripped from deep in Orochimaru’s chest as he sunk his tongue deeper into the medic’s irresistible mouth. His hair clung to the back of his neck, skin moist and clammy, heartbeat growing progressively faster as he was consumed by a maddening, lustful pleasure. His reactions were weak, disjointed, fuelled by an almost primal desire for the man’s glorious touch.
