Disclaimer: all credits belong to Masashi Kishimoto, the creator of Naruto.
Summary: for what reason does a raven capture a snake if not to devour it? an interlude between Uchiha Madara & Orochimaru tackling the rare pairing, which can be very sexy to experiment with in depth. this could possibly extent into a series of chapters but, at the moment, it remains a mere one-shot
Status: undecided whether to continue or not, edited
Accepts: reviews, flames, suggestions, and witty comments.
Pairing: Uchiha Madara/Orochimaru
Note: my deepest apologies if you suffer from any types of confusion
"You have to have patience if you want to achieve your goal."
+ Chemistry Cannot Explain +
(a/n: an appropriate title for this fanfic is hard to settle on.)
Beautiful gray clouds stretch across the late-afternoon sky. In the distance hues of orange and deep reds mingle together parading their vibrant colors one last time as the sun slowly sets behind the horizon. Just like everyday prior the vanishing dance ends quickly, seeping into an expanding blanket of ebony darkness, tinged with promising hints of mellow blues. Tinkling star children slowly glimmer, awakening from their appointed naps to be the beckons in the most frightening of nights.
Lingering in the distance are those depressing gray clouds, teasing the radiance of the stars with their concealing masks. Soon the enticement of the masquerade steals away the light of the shimmering dust clusters beyond in a section of the heavens. Little by little tiny droplets of fresh teardrops from the whimpering stars, blinded in darkness, escape into the quiet world below. Mere seconds drift into nothingness as the moisture cascades in strengthening intensity, thundering against the many rooftops of the numerous homes.
A lone droplet splashes into a young male teenager's open palm. Eyes shrouded in pure ebony gaze down towards the small teardrop in mild interest, as gentle movements of the exposed appendage cause the tiny moisture to circle about the center of his hand. Lips once stationed in a thin line slowly curve into a smirk as time goes by, and in graceful movements their owner turns around while crushing the teardrop in a tight fist, as cold eyes settle on a figure laying upon soft white sheets.
Venturing away from the windowpane, offering a pleasant view of the crying night sky above, the young male heads over to the bed positioned against the wall of the room. Crouching to the floor, the same careless hand used to squash the simple raindrop brushes chilling fingertips across tear stained ghostly pale cheeks. In reaction to his touch, the sleeping figure curls deeper into a protective ball while releasing a malaise whimper. Smirking lips widen in a satisfying grin, dark eyes devoid of even an ounce of worried compassion.
Outside the rain welcomes the flashing and drumming explosions of lightning and thunder. Heart pumping ballads, bound to ignite panic in those uneasy, fail to stir awareness in the crouched male's senses for he is far more attentive to the slumbering prisoner he has captured in his ensnare. Squandering much effort hardly became necessary to play upon the enticements needed to lead a proud serpent into the nest of a raven. And what a tantalizing catch to have reeled into his home.
Long black strands, lustrous and silken, enough to rival those of any respecting woman, pooled around a wonderfully sculpted face. Piercing amber eyes, carrying sadistic yet unwillingly seeded masochism, of serpentine fashion hide beneath closed eyelids. Traveling down, an effeminate slim and slender form lies underneath lightly ripped tan robes carrying hints of powered purples. However, there is amazing durability in the fragile body carrying so many feminine qualities, despite being so correctly male.
Predatory hues continue to bask in the attractive sight presented before them until resting on lips parted so invitingly. Unable to resist the young male leans forward to taste the sheer spice and unmistakable flavor purely of the male unconscious of his advance—or so he believes. As he presses harder into the kiss, seeking more of the arousing nectar kindling the fire inside him, a velvety tongue flicks forward then white fangs are nipping in answer to his demanding kiss.
Raven hues, glowing with a crimson sin of lust, watch as submissive amber eyes open to meet his gaze in acceptance to what he has in mind. In the past those same eyes would have glared at him in contempt, hoping to murder in their piercing fury. Many nights were spent tempering the angry passion into a frantic thirst for completion in his embrace, instead of strapping the stubborn youth down for a few hot and hard lessons. In the end, he got exactly the results he beckoned for and a partner ready to take everything he dared to give.
Seeing his little imprisoned toy now, no one would believe the youth used to think of himself as quite the schemer, always tempting lost souls into his lair to corrupt them into doing his bidding. His foolish serpent came so close to having everything he longed for until a miscalculated situation occurred. A raven rose from the grave and swooped in then decided to give him some [special] lessons in what characteristics a sinister villain must truly possess to remain on top.
So, who better to teach his reluctant pupil than him—Uchiha Madara? Despite the endless facades, the powerful leader heading a band of well picked bad-asses, located his target as if it were child's play and through intimidation registered into the same school. He gave no forewarning, expertly striking his prey on his own turf before sealing the deal by forcing submission in a sexual bondage not easy to simply walk away from unscathed. And his captive, Orochimaru, harbors serious wounds from their frequent sessions.
Occasionally, there are times when painful seduction goes perhaps too far and the damage in the aftermath becomes critical. In those times a reminder of the raw attraction, which undoubtedly lured him to the serpent, rises to the surface: the unwavering durability in handling various types of pain. Even now astonishment mixes with deep satisfaction by the amount of suffering Orochimaru can handle and continue to moan in such a frenzied passion. Then there are other times spent unable to even stand the sight of the pale serpent.
It never ceases to ignite annoyance when tears break pass the barriers, showing a gateway into emotions undesirable, after so many wonderful nights together. First, when the whimpering episodes began, assumptions concluded the roughness possibly torn something inside, however no blood mingled between their conjoined bodies to confirm this suggestion. Pausing reluctantly, questions arose from his displeased lips for the younger teenager. Eventually, regrets festered inside for ever asking.
Choking out the words, on a rainy night so similar to this one, Orochimaru cried out: "Why must you do this to me on this night?" Anguish trapped behind immense vexation laced the words. Locked in confusion as to what could be so important, the raven found himself unable to reply with any inclination as to understanding the serpent's plight. And, thanks to being ignorant at the time, on that date from then on stubbornly the serpent would refuse to stare with those fantastically expressive eyes into raven hues until the next morning. Strangely, those nights were loathed the most despite the lack of actual compassion.
"What was so different about that night?" Madara inquires suddenly, breaking away from the kiss once binding them in a searing hot embrace. The answering bewilderment, understandable because of the abrupt desire to talk after withdrawal from indulging in personal thoughts unbeknown to his partner, keeps him patient though the craving to know the reason remains firm by the intensity of ebony hues tinted with scarlet.
The clock on the distant wall ticks by loudly, teasing the quietly waiting man determined to hold onto control despite growing irritated with the vagueness in the pale serpent's expressive eyes. Suddenly a kindling of fire weaves understanding into those unsure amber hues before the light fades into chilling blankness. Unexplained inquiries such as these burst from his mouth quite often, but only around Orochimaru, and the other simply gained a knack for aligning the pieces correctly. However, this festers more stubbornness to grate on nerves slowly breaking even now. "None of your business," comes as the sharply tipped response, as pale hands found entangled in his hair yank the strands painfully before moving to push defiantly at his chest.
In that moment, a frigid air blows through the window into the room. Apparently, lessons still need to be taught if Orochimaru thinks for one millisecond resisting will go unpunished. Or perhaps on this calm occasion the gentle laxness presented a suggestion that the nearly perfect captive could bluntly defy him without consequence. Far from the case. Irritation burns through as dark hues narrow into a shade of complete crimson at the daring glare clearly testing his shattering patience.
Swiftly, rivaling the speed eyes can blink, porcelain hands able to exude immense strength latched around the pale throat. Shocked grasps ring immediately into the strange air, slowly losing the previous calm, as a pained expression marred—no—heightened the magnificent beauty of his scarred partner. The rising struggle, the quivers of denied excitement, and the hazy acceptance of death melding together so perfectly made him want to do more. In this fitting cage of a room, displaying an escape for peace alongside malicious tools for constant sadistic exploits, shows a personal gateway into the nature of his psyche.
There are so many thrills in harming such a jaded creature surging with sharp fighting spirit in accompany to the purest yet simply corrupted seduction of a body, of a heart so determined to suffer if only to make the agony worth the anticipated ending. Beyond the animalistic desire to harm, to squeeze the sheer life from the lungs pleading for mercy, the raven knows control expertly harnessed cannot last forever, which is why he spends extensive hours gorging in every moment. Soon his serpent will slither away, abhorred his existence, and forget these times.
Growling a low warning, a sensation builds deeper inside him—urging him to halt more air from those weeping lungs. If marks can be branded into his delicious slave, then perhaps memories may last forever. Every bruise, every hoarse cry, paints a trail of images leading back to these luscious instances. Even if skin is shed for a future different from this cloak of the present, echoes of his commanding voice will never cease or lose volume. It is not love, but thirst for possession of every fiber compiling his ravenous partner who resists breakage and submission. No one else will snatch away such pride and power, remake shame into unconstrained pleasure, or create an insane dependency the serpent cannot possibly live without.
One day the shackles shall melt into oblivion, offering the chance for Orochimaru to slither somewhere hidden from his obsessive reach, and another may seek to challenge marks of his indoctrination. Maybe a secretive youth, nearly a child despite the age, with a picture of simplicity to guard mystery behind the eyes. Or perhaps an intellectual mind, silver hair like a bad omen except tied up to display loyalty in how easily a kunai could strike the exposed flesh. Unpredictable and deceptive, always leaving questions unanswered and conflicts of the heart shielded behind a fortress of hesitant desire. A hidden underground lair, distinguished yet unfamiliar, embodying days free of his corruption where roles could be challenged and fear only presented itself in the quivering hues of potential pawns not the reflection in the mirror.
A splash of water drips onto his backhand, tearing him from his musing, and for a split second he suddenly finds himself reliving that moment leaning on the cool window sill. Under the gray light, watching frightened stars rain their nourishing moisture, the young male can see himself once more smirking while crushing the captured droplet in his palm. Just like that, Orochimaru too would have to be destroyed so carelessly for the times they shared now would eventually disappear. Nothing would ever allow him to imprison a serpent without suffering its biting betrayal; some creatures ultimately have to be released.
Eventually, when a pet is unloved a price must be paid by releasing the leash keeping the pet tied to the owner. If this is not done potential death will be sought out and the beauty shall be lost forever. Soon those bonds would be broken, but for now—raven hues lower to the stained cheeks trailing salty crystal tears onto his hand. "You are my business, as much as you are my possession, and I suggest you remember that. However, I would thoroughly enjoy training you further if you insist on defying me. Your screams are quite—cute." A sweetly unsettling smile crawls onto his features, jumbling up the reading of his current mood, as he lifts his sights again to crying amber hues.
Tears rarely seen normally bother him, yet gazing at them now amuse him. Numerous thoughts kept and caged demonic curses could be resting on the tip of the serpent's tongue, refusing to be freed. He can merely ponder the prospects, while daring Orochimaru in the heat of his unwavering stare. Willingness to answer is actually something he hoped against, because a sick pleasure for witnessing those pained expressions in another tangle of his sinister web meant a greater feast to behold. Why sully the possibilities when he could have the lies leading to sinful experimentation? The stimulating weapons nestled inside his room aren't for showcasing, but hardcore untamed passion.
"I belong to no one!"
(to be continued?)
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