The first equinox of the year, slowly begins to fade away into the hues of sunset. The sun, having shared exactly half a day with the night, retreats to its cave as the moon slowly rises in its place. The cool winds of the mid-Autumn sing with the silvery grasses of the planes as the clouds lull in the sky. Birds loudly retire to the trees, and the night-dwellers creep from their domains.
Looking up at the retreating sun, Haru closes the sketch book resting in her lap. Staring at the cover, she runs her fingers along the cool plastic. She clutches the book to her chest before getting to her feet and heading through the fields towards the realm where for some time now, she has called 'home'.
Pressing her palm against the meticulously carved stone, she concentrates her energy into the stone as it slides inwards. The rocks around it quietly groan as they slide aside, revealing a dark archway. Ducking her head, Haru wanders in and takes a torch from its hoist in the wall, holding it in front of her to light the path.
The extensive corridors would easily confuse and unwanted intruders, but Haru has been here long enough to memorise the routes; and those of the other provinces of her Lord. But just because she knows her way about, it does not mean that her journey is not a short one. It is at least twenty minutes before she reaches the room that harbors her quarters.
Haru silently pushes the door open and swings it shut behind her.
Holding the torch to a dead candle, the thread catches alight and aluminates the room. She proceeds to light the other scented candles in her room. Quickly, the space fills with the aromatic scents of lavender and eucalyptus.
Under the frame of her bed is where Haru conceals her sketchbooks. Over the years, she has developed quite the collection under there. Getting on her knees, she slides her book from today atop the small, recently made pile.
There is a soft tap at her door. Quickly, Haru drops the duvet back over the side, covering under her bed and she hurries to answer it. She only opens the door just a crack and pokes her eye through the gap.
"We were wondering where you'd gotten to," states the tired voice of Kabuto. "Please, step out here."
Haru sighs with irritation and does as she's been asked. Folding her arms, she cocks her hip to the side. "What can I help you with?"
"Lord Orochimaru is growing tired of your leaving without notice," he explains, poking his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "I am simply offering you a warning, to be more considerate of your actions in future; and act of good will, if you'd like to think it as."
"Right, well you can leave now." Haru steps back into her room and slams the door shut behind herself. She presses her spine against the wood and listens for the footsteps of Kabuto leaving. She hears a chuckling sound fade along with the sound of his paces.
With a sigh, Haru steps away from her door and heads towards her bed, but changes her mind and heads out of her room and into the corridor. Closing the door, she looks to her left, then her right before heading along the East-end.
Haru's hot breath hitches in her throat as she senses a presence at her heels. Quickly, she swings around on the balls of her feet to see who is there. No one.
She feels the presence behind her again, so she snaps her head around to see.
A pale white hand lashes out at her, clutching at her throat, painfully shoving her against the rugged wall. The shock and impact agonizingly forces the air from her lungs.
She stays frozen, daring not breathe in. Her eyes strain to focus on the man in front of her as he steps closer; the light catching his handsome, long features.
"O… Orochimaru" she stutters hoarsely as the tight grip on her neck loosens; his thumb stroking the delicate flesh of her neck. She swallows deeply.
"Breathe," he beckons, "we both know that you have no need to fear me." He slides his hand from its grasp of her neck. A smirking grin is plastered across his face.
Taking a much needed gasp of air, Haru keeps her eyes on the snake-man. She can feel her heart thumping in her chest, from the sight of the striking creature. His masculine features glowing in the orange of the weak fires held to the walls; the depth of his voice when he speaks; the menacing way his teeth glint when he smirks.
Haru takes a short moment to recompose herself. "May I help you with something, Lord Orochimaru?" she asks loyally.
"You are a woman, are you not?" Orochimaru grins, seizing her wrist in his left hand and forcing her back. Haru gasps and steps back, colliding with the wall. "Women are excellent for comforting men."
Unsure of what exactly the man meant, Haru's mind is abuzz for some time before she feels hot breath on her face then coldness on her lips. She bats her eyelids for a moment, before succumbing to the kiss of the snake.
His mouth contorts to a vicious smirk as he forces the young woman against the wall, pressing his own figure against hers. She does not fight him, and allows her body to be shaped to interlink with his.
A shiver crawls up her spine as his long tongue is forced between her lips and into her mouth. A small moan escapes her maw as she cocks her jaw open.
With a vicious smirk across his face, Orochimaru feverishly kisses at her lips whilst sliding his tongue around the cavities of her mouth. He bends her wrist to enforce that any oppression of him will not be tolerated, but they both know that needn't be an issue.
"Mm, please, could we do this elsewhere?" Haru asks between the hot kisses. She swallows the saliva in her mouth and stares into his golden eyes timidly. The grip held on her wrist tenses before yanking on her limb.
"Come." He beckons as he walks along, with her in tow.
The two minute walk is a silent one that seemed to stretch for hours. Haru keeps her gaze focused on the snake-man's agile stride. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest with anxiety and excitement. Oh, how long she has hoped for affection to be shown to her from this one man.
"Be mindful of my documents," Orochimaru hisses as he holds the wooden door open for her to walk through, after releasing her hand. His steely eyes slide along, watching every move Haru makes as she enters his chamber.
The overwhelming blackness of the room is held at bay by the few candles lit across the sparse quarters. To one side of the room sits a large wooden desk; scrolls and assorted papers scattered across it with writing and etchings coloured into the faded parchment.
Haru turns to the man as he makes his way over to her after closing the door and flipping the latch. The leer on his face was intimidating, but not to her; she'd grown to appreciate and esteem the sly grin. She watches as he brushes his long black fringe back, and holding his hand to the crook in her neck.
"Now," he chuckles quietly, "I want for you to comfort me, for I am in low spirits this dull evening."
Haru feels her skin heat up and her pulse race. She shows no restraint as she puts her hands to his shaped cheeks and hauls him into a deep kiss. Taking a deep breath in, she slides her arms from his face, to down his chest and around his torso. He simply smirks into the expression of fondness and places his hands upon her slender hips.
Allowing herself to let go of her rationale, Haru kisses the man forcefully, pushing herself against him. He is forced to take a step back, but gladly does so, resting his back against the wood of the door.
Orochimaru chuckles into the kiss as he runs his hands up under her shirt, holding his cold hands on the flesh just under the bindings of her chest. He feels her shiver and slips his mouth away from hers, making his way to the crook where her jaw meets her neck. There, he nips at the tender tissue, earning a groan of affection.
Haru shows no oppression as she is strained back, and turned before vehemently shoved against the timbre access. She digs her fingers into the canvas of Orochimaru's tunic as he heatedly kisses, licks and bites his way down her neck and along her defined collar bones. She clenches her teeth together and rolls her head back.
"This will be an interesting evening," Orochimaru chuckles as he peers up at her; his long tongue massaging the flesh of her lapel.