Hello all, here is a new story from me, which I had meant to get out before the new year and was intended to be a one-shot, but I figured to just post it as a story. Orochimaru and Jiraiya are a lot younger, though ages will never be said, and Jiraiya, as you will find very obvious from the beginning, has a hand fetish, hence the name. So please enjoy.

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, sexual situations, boy/boy relationships, character death and probably much more. Don't complain about what you don't like.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, but I own my idea and any OCs that show up.

This story is dedicated to MoodKicker and I hope that you enjoy it very much. Thank you for asking me to write this, as I fear I never would have been able to without you giving me the idea to really get serious about it. Thank you again.

Hand Fetish: A Love Story

Torturous Illusions

Hands. Calloused; pale; cold; warm; powerful; wonderful hands. Hands that were touching him. Touching everywhere. Hands that were so soft; hands that touched him so gently; hands that teased him within an inch of his life. Hands that amazed. The hands upon his body warmed him from the inside out, making that one single pair of beautifully perfect hands seem like a hundred pairs all over his body—all over his heart. All over his soul. Oh how he adored those taunting hands.

And the fingers. Of course those fingers. So dextrous and slender, and scarred in a darker shade of pale white. Scars that had been caused by his own blade—scars that had brought about in him some sort of carnal lust when the cuts had first been made, dripping blood on the ground, leaving traces on his weapon. Lust much like he was feeling now as those dangerous and fragile fingers flittered across his body and underneath his clothing almost clumsily, as if they had never before seen each other in such a state of madness for the other. Those fingers were ones he loved almost as much as the hands they belonged to, and God, he loved those damn hands.

But there was no forgetting the lips. Pale pink, parted, moist, caressing, soft, hot, lovely lips that traveled his body slowly as each article of his clothing was shed by the one above him. Magnificently magical lips that made sure to stroke him just slightly—just rightly—just without causing him to feel too much of the pleasure he had been promised. But the lips didn't matter. Not as much as those hands. And God, how he loved those damn hands.

How he loved this damn man.

In an instant, Jiraiya awoke, being ripped from his dream, which he wished would never come to a stop. Being awake—being alive in reality again was a disappointment, such a horrible disappointment after that wonderful dream. He was alone now, awake and alone—awake and alone and cold, so much colder than he had ever been in his life. All he wanted was the heat that had been created in his fantasy, the heat that had vanished instantaneously when his eyes began to open. The cold only reminded him of what he couldn't have—reminded him of what he shouldn't have been dreaming about. Morals, though, were no longer an issue to him. All he had cared about for the longest time was having; holding; caressing; kissing the one man who seemed so far out of reach to him.

A single, abrupt blink of his eyes was finally what shook Jiraiya from his train of thought, at least for a moment, long enough for him to rise from his bed and stretch himself before he plopped back down gracelessly.

Grace. That was something that his beloved had in abundance.

A soft sigh drew his attention back behind him and he smiled when he saw his comrade lying in his bed, wrapped in his bed covers, completely drained from the night they had spent together. Jiraiya turned around on his bed carefully, in attempt to not wake the slumbering beauty from his peaceful sleep. Part of Jiraiya almost laughed as he imagined telling the other that he looked so...so...beautiful—so utterly breathtaking while he slept. After that thought he reached out to caress the pale cheek that was exposed to him, like most of his comrade's body was. All he wanted was one last touch before they had to part—one last whisper of their coupling.

But then...Jiraiya blinked again. And the fantasy was broken like an icicle hitting pavement, shattering into a million tiny pieces before his eyes, allowing reality to flow over him—drown him with realization.

He was alone. So very alone.

His open hand turned into a fist as his eyes closed while he stood again from his bed, this time filled with despair that he knew wouldn't wash away during his shower. But he made to leave the room anyway, wanting more than anything to get away from his deluded fantasies. Yet he made the mistake of turning his head as he turned the corner. Jiraiya stuttered in his steps for a short moment, swallowing his fluttering heart to put it back into place. With a shake of his head he finally left, trying to forget the beauty that he had imagined for a mere moment.

Yes, pure beauty—exquisite gorgeousness that stopped his heart so many times in a day he believed he should have died long ago.

Orochimaru was simply too beautiful.

XxXxXxXxX

Misery was not an emotion with which he was unaccustomed, but he had learned long ago to push it away and focus on the positive. Anger, on the other hand, was an emotion that he couldn't control, especially when it was Christmas Eve and he was being sent away on a mission. Homicidal rage was one of the particular things he was currently feeling for his sensei—the one who had sent him off on this, utterly ridiculous, mission.

Really, the only thing that had kept him from acting upon that homicidal instinct had been the fact that he had been placed on this silly mission with Orochimaru.

Alone with Orochimaru.

Orochimaru.

And those hands. Those damn wonderful hands.

In a single moment of weakness caused by the thought of those hands, Jiraiya glanced out of the corner of his eye to sneak a quick peek at his comrade, but scowled almost instantly.

Well scratch that alone part. At least for now.

In almost the exact same second that he had moved his eyes, their charge did as well—toward him. And for a single, purely silent moment their gazes were locked and Jiraiya's hatred found itself turning on the young man they were escorting through the forest. And probably only because this guy had some unnatural fear of trees or something along those lines, at least that's what Jiraiya's mind had come up with as half of a reason to not kill their charge. Although that reason was becoming less and less understandable, not that it ever really had been.

It was becoming less unfathomable by the second because Jiraiya was almost certain that had he not been here at the present moment he would be at his home, perhaps in his bed, his imagination running wild with all of the free time. All of the possibilities that this holiday could bring him. Though that same imagination was now telling him that those possibilities weren't completely stricken, and across his field of vision, directly in front of them in fact, came a scene that could only be called explicit in the mildest of terms.

Arms and legs and lips entangled—entwined in passion. Fingers deftly untying the bow that was in no way keeping his Christmas present bound in any sort of wrapping. Moans filling the air, his own heated and reverberating off the invisible walls of the room no one could see; his lover's as quiet as the beat of a butterflies wings but as sweet as the voice that spoke his name. And finally, hands came together to join as one.

Oh God, those hands. The way they touched. The way they hesitated at exactly the wrong time—exactly the right time. It made his head spin—made him feel like those hands were actually on him; caressing him; loving him in the same manner that he loved the man they belonged to.

And then Jiraiya blinked. He hated that he had to. The scene was gone in the millisecond it had taken his body to preform the action and he was most unhappy once again. His rejected misery coming back to the surface, washing like a tide over the sand, letting him know he shouldn't be expecting too much. No kisses would be given to him; no tentative glances filled with an unknowing and perplexed passion would be found going in his direction. No hands touching him anywhere.

The back of his head was slapped suddenly in the most unemotional way that he could've ever imagined. But he took back that last thought as he looked over at Orochimaru, giving him a look that only asked in a half concerned manner why he had just been hit. Orochimaru, to Jiraiya's disappointment didn't answer him—didn't give his diseased and perverted mind the satisfaction of hearing his voice. Not that it mattered too terribly much, about the answer that was, as Jiraiya found out moments later that they were out of the forest. And that caused him to do a double take.

How long had he been lost in thought—lost in fantasy?

Suddenly he heard their nameless charge begin to chuckle with a nervous quality to his tone, not that Jiraiya particularly cared. Truthfully, the guy could have abruptly fallen to the ground in a cold dead heap and Jiraiya probably wouldn't have even noticed. He was too preoccupied by the remnants of the slap that still tingled on the back of his scalp. Which only ended up bringing about an entirely new train of thought.

Nude bodies writhing together in a passionate, lustful state, no longer taking care to quiet themselves for what ever neighbors may have been home or awake—or awakened by the sound of them. The bow that had been placed around his present so delicately had been taken off, nearly shredded to the point of nonexistence, and left alone on the floor that looked suspiciously like the dirt he was surrounded by across from the explicit display. Hips ground together and lips teased as fingers traveled the expanse of the body he had longed to touch and love and protect.

Those same fingers had decided to skip the grand tour of the others body and slip right up to his face, touching the pale skin that was just as cold as the rest of the willing porcelain-skinned body beneath him. His fingers danced for a moment across the faint flush that rested on his lover's cheeks and was quickly beginning to cover more of his body, heating it up in a way that he found most irresistible. Without missing another beat, his fingers moved slowly upward, beginning to shake with the pure excitement of the moment.

How he had longed for this—for this touch—for this man.

What he didn't exactly long for was another, harder slap to the back of his head. His dark eyes squinted out of pain and when he opened them again their moment together had disappeared once more. Jiraiya wasn't exactly unhappy any longer though. At least those hands had touched him again. And God, how he adored those damn hands.

"Jiraiya," his name was suddenly called as he noticed Orochimaru pull his hand back again, with purpose to knock more sense into him. Before the elder could complete the motion though, Jiraiya ducked away, although he had almost stayed for the hell of it. He wanted those hands on him in any way he could get them. Orochimaru dropped his arm back to his side and looked at Jiraiya for a good long moment, causing him to cast his eyes away. He didn't want to know what lie beneath the surface of those pools of beautiful liquid gold—he didn't want misery to consume him once more if he found just one of the multitude of things he wouldn't like to see behind that mask.

Their awkward moment was broken when their charge came out of the inn they found themselves in front of, which Jiraiya didn't remember seeing before, nor did he remember walking to it. "I've checked with Mother," he began loudly as he continued walking their way, stopping after a few more strides in front of Orochimaru, "she says that there's a room, if you don't mind sharing. It's the last she has." It didn't take a genius to work out just what their charge was talking about, but it still didn't mean that Jiraiya understood it any better.

He wasn't the genius after all; that title was much better fitted to Orochimaru.

"That's fine," the response to the unnamed male was quick and calculated...and spoken with such a deep, beautiful voice, one which Jiraiya couldn't help but bathe himself in while he had the chance. His body shook almost imperceptibly as he clenched his fist, giving a half-hearted attempt at pushing the thought of hearing that same voice laced thick with desire, calling out his name in a whisper, and then a moan away.

Somewhere in the background he could hear their charge talking further with who he could only assume to be Orochimaru. Just hearing a whisper of that voice that didn't belong to his beloved caused him to drop his very short-lived fantasy just in time to notice he was being left behind as Orochimaru followed the other male into the inn.

It then really began to dawn on Jiraiya that they weren't heading back to the forest. They weren't going back home. But why? Why stay here when they could make it back by morning if they turned around now? "...Where're we going...?" his own voice was extremely quiet, a whisper was what he would actually classify it as, which was probably the reason he didn't receive an answer. Well it could have been that or just that neither of the males in front of him really wanted to bother with answering what seemed like such an obvious and stupid question.

For a few more moments he continued to stand there, his gaze wandering aimlessly for the first few seconds before they settled on looking at the hand that had given him a good couple of slaps. That hand was what kicked him into motion, leading him on blindly after Orochimaru.

Not that it mattered. Jiraiya would surely follow Orochimaru to the ends of the earth and back if it meant that those hands just might touch him again.

XxXxXxXxX

The room that they had acquired for the night was anything but spacious, which hadn't been told to them prior to their walking into it, for which they had then seen it for themselves. Only one bed laid against the left wall, in the far upper corner. That along with a very small table, which Jiraiya was sure he could've have even fit a proper plate on, and a single chair were the only other things that decorated the room. And neither of them had moved much since entering the tiny space.

Orochimaru not moving most likely because he didn't mind standing, and Jiraiya only because his mind was asking him just why in the world Orochimaru was willing to stay the night alone in this room with him. He crushed the small bit of hope that was beginning to well in his chest before he turned to the elder and simply asked him. "Why're we staying here? Wouldn't it have just been easier to go back to the village?"

Orochimaru's only reply was something Jiraiya should've seen coming, "That is an idiotic question." On par with his character, Orochimaru refused to elaborate on that statement further until asked, so Jiraiya obliged him. "How is it idiotic?" he sounded genuinely curious, which was something he had realized long ago wasn't hard to fake, "We could be back in the village by early morning if we weren't staying here tonight, Orochimaru." Jiraiya took a step forward as he spoke, with intent to go sit on the bed one of them would be occupying during the night.

At least that had been the plan. But the look that Jiraiya received as an effect of his words stopped him dead, making his heart flutter nervously in his throat just like it had that morning. This time though they were together—this was reality. Perhaps not the reality he wanted, but it was the one he had, and he couldn't trade it no matter how badly he wanted to. And this reality was quickly becoming more unfriendly towards him, he thought mindlessly when his ears began to ring, drowning out the words that were forming on Orochimaru's lips. Seconds later his vision blurred slightly as he imagined himself moving to the elder and taking those lips for his own—drowning out the sound of that beautiful voice that he couldn't hear.

Possessing the lips; loving the man; touching those damn wonderful hands.

Jiraiya swallowed his heart once again and cleared his throat as he blinked away the image in front of him, seeing Orochimaru's impassive face once more in mere seconds. "...Uh...what did you say?" he had never felt like a bigger idiot in front of his comrade. Orochimaru's narrowing eyes were lost on Jiraiya though as he turned his gaze away from the others in order to keep his thoughts away from the explicit. Finally he headed towards the bed as he was graced again with Orochimaru's voice.

"It is idiotic to run ourselves to the point of near exhaustion just to make it back before morning," Jiraiya didn't know if Orochimaru had noticed it, but the perverse meaning that could be read from those words was utterly obvious, at least to him. But then again things like that were exactly what he wanted to hear. "If we leave here early enough in the morning we'll be back by mid-afternoon at the latest," Orochimaru continued on without pause. Jiraiya opened his mouth to protest but was quickly stopped as some wire in his brain connected with the rest of the circuit.

He'd be alone with Orochimaru for the night.

Just the thought of that was enough to sell him on this situation. He'd rather be spending the night with the man that dominated his every dream, even if he couldn't be touched, rather than lying in bed and touching himself as his lonely obsessive thoughts clouded out the rest of the world. Even if in the second choice he could have Orochimaru anyway he wanted him—touching him; kissing him; worshiping him; loving him.

Jiraiya closed his eyes for a moment as he stopped in front of the bed, treasuring for a moment the thought of those hands on him—the thought of those words he had long wanted to hear leaving the other males mouth. His chest began to ache, almost as much as his sudden erection did. These thoughts were getting him nowhere he finally concluded—no closer to the man across their tiny room; no closer to the hands he loved; no closer to the words he wanted to see mouthed out on those lips in passion.

A moan just nearly crept from his lips with that final thought and he opened his eyes in just enough time to catch it and turned to sit down, placing the small pack he had brought with him across his lap in the most inconspicuous way he could imagine. Thankfully, Orochimaru had seemed not to notice any of it, or had at least pretended not to, as his comrade was now seated at the nearly imaginary table, laying his hand upon it as he looked out of the window just above the bed.

For a moment, Jiraiya let his attention wander to it as well, just until he heard the light tapping sounds from a few feet away. When his gaze was again upon Orochimaru he smiled lightly, noticing how absentmindedly the pale fingers of his beloved's hand patted on the table, nearly like they were caressing its surface. Oh God, how he wanted those fingers to caress him—how he wanted to touch that gorgeous hand, nearly as much as he wanted to touch the gorgeous man it belonged to. How would it feel, he wondered, to have his fingers trace every inch of pale skin on that hand? How could it feel? Like he was handling glass? Like he was petting some incredibly smooth surface?

The possibilities were endless. Oh, how would that hand feel on his body? How many times had he wondered that at night alone?

"Orochimaru..." the snake lover's name came out in a tone so close to a lustful groan that Jiraiya's heart skipped a beat in fright when he noticed the fingers stop their meaningless drumming. He wondered if Orochimaru had noticed that tone in his voice. Jiraiya wondered just why he had said the man's name, and couldn't think of a single reason why...except for that he wanted to ask to touch that hand. His eyes traveled up to meet the stunning gold ones opposite him and he shook his head at the questioning expression.

He couldn't simply ask for something like that; although his mind seemed to disagree with him, and Jiraiya was speaking before he even recognized what he was saying.

"...Do you know what I'd like for Christmas, Orochimaru?" The slight questioning look vanished instantly as Orochimaru let his eyes move back to the window, though his fingers didn't continue their clicking on the tabletop. "No, nor do I care," Jiraiya smiled absently as he turned his head to the floor, trying to make out some sort of pattern to the decorations on the hardwood floor beneath them. And against his better judgment, Jiraiya told his comrade anyway. "...This may sound silly...but I have this..." he paused as he looked for the word, "...fascination, I guess is the best way to put it...about your hands." Orochimaru's gaze was again on him, burning into the side of his cheek like a fiery hot brand on his skin—although this felt wonderful.

"I understand that it's kinda...weird...but for Christmas...I'd just like to...examine your hands—or just one..." No more words were exchanged past those. And none needed to be, Jiraiya could understand when he had just completely ruined a wonderful friendship, and probably the closest thing to a romantic relationship that he had ever had. So he was okay with this silence; God knows that he liked it more than any of the many scenarios running rampant in his mind.

So the silence was okay—was accepted wholeheartedly.

He knew now that he would be the one sleeping on the floor tonight. That didn't bother him either.

TBC...

A/N: I hope that you've enjoyed chapter one. I would very much like for you to review, it makes me happy and makes me write more. :) And belated Happy New Year to everyone. Thank you all for all your support over the years. :)

SandXDemonX13

TTYFTDS