Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, and others, not me.
Rating: PG-13, for implied m/m sex.
Even though he was all the way on the other side of the bed, Orochimaru still stole heat like a snake sunning on a rock. Next to him, Kabuto felt cold to the very marrow. He pulled the covers closer around himself and wished he could get farther away, even though he was already pressed against the far wall.
He never stayed close to him afterwards, because he didn't think of him as both a father and a lover. He never fantasized about Orochimaru's mouth or his hair, never thought about the way it fell across them both as they moved together, sticking to sweat-sheened skin, trapping him.
Just thinking about it now made him feel so claustrophobic that he pushed the covers off and started to sit up. He had only managed to prop himself up on one elbow when a hand settled heavily on his hip. He looked over his shoulder; the older man's eyes were still closed, but the message was clear. It was not a tender gesture, but one of ownership. Orochimaru had said, "I have you" and that was true.
He had gone willingly, he reminded himself as he lay back down. He had gladly followed Orochimaru, seduced by promises of growing much stronger than he would be allowed to in Konoha, and later, when he was older, by skilled white fingers. And now....now, he was happy, except for these late night regrets. The bandages around Orochimaru's arm slid against his skin--they were loose, he'd have to change them again in the morning--reminding him that he had another chain, because his master was now also his patient. The wounds were too much for his skill, though, he had to admit that. There wasn't much more he could do than to smooth foul-smelling salve onto them and change the bandages when they became saturated with blood.
Futility. He was too familiar with it these days, but he also knew power and a sense of belonging. Right now, it would lull him to sleep if he closed his eyes, and so he did.
Rating: PG-13, for implied m/m sex.
Even though he was all the way on the other side of the bed, Orochimaru still stole heat like a snake sunning on a rock. Next to him, Kabuto felt cold to the very marrow. He pulled the covers closer around himself and wished he could get farther away, even though he was already pressed against the far wall.
He never stayed close to him afterwards, because he didn't think of him as both a father and a lover. He never fantasized about Orochimaru's mouth or his hair, never thought about the way it fell across them both as they moved together, sticking to sweat-sheened skin, trapping him.
Just thinking about it now made him feel so claustrophobic that he pushed the covers off and started to sit up. He had only managed to prop himself up on one elbow when a hand settled heavily on his hip. He looked over his shoulder; the older man's eyes were still closed, but the message was clear. It was not a tender gesture, but one of ownership. Orochimaru had said, "I have you" and that was true.
He had gone willingly, he reminded himself as he lay back down. He had gladly followed Orochimaru, seduced by promises of growing much stronger than he would be allowed to in Konoha, and later, when he was older, by skilled white fingers. And now....now, he was happy, except for these late night regrets. The bandages around Orochimaru's arm slid against his skin--they were loose, he'd have to change them again in the morning--reminding him that he had another chain, because his master was now also his patient. The wounds were too much for his skill, though, he had to admit that. There wasn't much more he could do than to smooth foul-smelling salve onto them and change the bandages when they became saturated with blood.
Futility. He was too familiar with it these days, but he also knew power and a sense of belonging. Right now, it would lull him to sleep if he closed his eyes, and so he did.