[NEW] Author's Note [05.15.21]: Revised the ending, added sex scene and coherent dialogue.
Forewarning: This chapter fluctuates between different timeframes. Chapter 1 was the future. The events in this chapter are scenes, thoughts, and memories from the past.
[NEW] Trigger Warning: Dubious/Non-Con Sex, Bloody Penetration (No Lube)
~This chapter is dedicated to all the Madara/Orochimaru fans that have been requesting more content with these two madmen, for quite a long time now. I have heard your voices!~
Chapter Two: Yenning for a Former Shadow
For years the Uchiha clan has safeguarded all documents and identification of Madara's existence. Only those stationed at the apex of the food-chain can even dream of glimpsing such classified information. To the public eye he is categorized as a dead-man and a shadow looming from the grave under various aliases. However, to the Supreme Clan Leaders presiding over the Five Great Countries, he is known by the nom de plume Tobi; a recycled name from a comparably deader man. For countless centuries he has been orchestrating strife and manipulating his Sworn Brothers from the sidelines. In the proceeding half-century, only a sole survivor of his remaining Sworn Brothers has seen his true face or witnessed the extent of his power. And that person is none other than: Senju Hashirama. [1]
Senju Hashirama is a hospitable and old-fashioned man. One who perceives the future through a paper-thin lens and believes in the virtue of human nature. Surprisingly, or not, he squanders his days seated at a Birchwood desk representing dual motifs honoring the Senju Clan of the past and the Konohagakure no Sato alliances of the future. [2]
Nowadays his whereabouts reside within a village of academy buildings on an university campus. An upscale university named, 'Mokuton', after the kekkei genkai technique founding its institution. His customary quarters stand at the outermost curve of a series of modest buildings overlooking the entrance onto the grounds. Generally speaking, the premises demonstrate a presentation of equality while suppressing its prestige with an air of simplicity. All preside from the same elevation, welcoming students from any echelon respectively. [3][4][5][6]
Mokuton University tolerates zero negligence in ensuring the success and dignity of its students. The university's reputation remains at 100% in its pledge that all who traverse through its gates leave as an honored graduate destined for excellence. Most clans covet its guidance...especially in correcting problematic youths otherwise doomed to bring shame to their families. Orochimaru, who was cast aside by society and left to rot in the slums, is one of those misguided juniors.
Hashirama closes the book he has been reading and stands, turning to a vast windowpane behind his desk. His arms cross at his backside and his dark gaze stares at the storm clouds outside. All around him are stacks of books lining the walls, some on shelves and others not. Books unable to fit in either location occupy the desks and chairs spaced around the room. Countless volumes lay open with highlighted paragraphs, while others remain sealed with floral bookmarks. Resting along the walls are numerous photographs and awards, some signed and others stamped, but only one has the privilege of filling space on his main desk.
As he basks in the somber vision of the weeping clouds permeating the heavens, a series of firm knocks sounds upon his door and draws his attention. He hesitates in answering as he tidies up the files and folders scattered upon his desk before offering a word of approval, "You may enter."
A group of white masked, black suited individuals stroll into his office. They cross their arms and stand in a line leading towards his desk. Their concealed faces stare forward and nowhere else, their bodies fitting into the décor like statues. Upon closer inspection, he notices animalistic symbols and designs painted on their masks and silver tipped weapons peeking from beneath the folds of their garb. After a moment, one more individual enters his quarters as a path is created to welcome this newcomer.
"Ah, Brother, you have come to visit...why didn't you notify me sooner?" Hashirama offers a gracious smile, tipping his head in greeting. When he raises his eyes again, a man is already standing in front of his desk. This man is adorned in a black three-piece suit with an orange collared shirt, an equally black tie, and an ebony overcoat thrown carelessly over his shoulders. A matching orange mask, depicting a hypnotic black swirl, rests over the man's features. Fluffy locks of wild jet black hair cascade down the man's spine to linger mere inches past his waist, while all else remains a mystery.
A gloved hand reaches out to him and, as expected, the man extends him no further regard than this. "What need is there for formalities between us, Brother?" The man's smooth voice projects through the slight muffling of the mask in a charming manner yet sets his nerves on fire.
"Ah, you are right," Hashirama nods and maneuvers around his desk to clasp the man's shoulders in a gentle squeeze. "It's been quite some time. Must you arrive like this...?" His gaze shifts for a moment to the moblike presence in his office then returns to the orange mask.
"Don't mind them. They are merely insurance. You see," the man brushes away the pressure on his shoulders and takes a single step back, "recently someone has attacked my facilities and caused me great concern."
Traces of surprise show on Hashirama's countenance as he reaches out again, this time to embrace the man in a hug. "Brother, I had no idea. Why have you not contacted me sooner. My men are always available to you."
By men, Hashirama means the group of individuals still serving him from the old days. In bygone years, his reputation was known far and wide as a 'God Among Men' in reference to his immense combat strength and unique talents in Ninjutsu. Most of the old days are mere memories to him, yet some of his trained students and loyalists have remained at his side. [7]
The orange-masked man hums in acknowledgement and endures his hugging, "Because I had to be sure of the evidence before I visited. Can you imagine what I found?"
Hashirama continues to hug and rub circles on his back as if ignorant of the increasing tension and discomfort in the body in his grasp. "The evidence? Tell me...who has wronged you, Brother."
Silence falls in the room and Hashirama waits in anticipation for an extended amount of time. Eventually, the form rumbles and shakes against him which causes him to pull away in uneasiness. Soon laughter, wild and unhinged, reverberates from beyond the orange mask as the man doubles over and then thrusts his head back in escalating madness. A gloved hand pulls at the suited man's unruly mane as his fit of laughter intensifies.
"Haha! Brother, oh Brother! Hahah!" The orange masked man chokes out, "Who has wronged me indeed! Who indeed!"
Hashirama releases his arms and listens in an enduring manner that only a childhood friend could manage. Throughout the years he has been witness to this behavior and grown accustomed to the point of anticipation. His brother would always make a mockery out of any situation first, before his hidden personality would surface to reveal his true intention.
The orange-masked man finally calms down to a few soft chuckles under his breath, then reaches into the pocket at his lapel and presents him with a collection of photographs bound by a paperclip. "One of your students has rather good tastes…and shows rather exemplary skills in breaching my security systems. A background check was initiated after examining footage and processing samples taken from the crime scene...do you know what I found strange?"
Hashirama smiles in spite of the current conversation and shakes his head, "Brother, we have known each other for a long time...what are you insinuating here?"
"Humor me, Brother. I am merely recalling the facts. Now then," The orange-masked man pushes the photos forward and forces Hashirama to take them. He is patient as the other flips through the footage, and only stops him when he arrives at a peculiar image. "Stop, that one is special."
As instructed, Hashirama ceases flipping through the photos and peers at the portrait. The image is of a pale-skinned young man using a nature transformation kekkei genkai combining Earth and Water Release. One strictly known by his Senju Clan and only accessible through a selective course at Mokuton University.
"Isn't this your clan's bread and butter? A technique few will ever manage to master? And yet," The orange mask shakes in a demonstration of disbelief, before the suited man mirrors his actions from earlier and squeezes his shoulders. "this child has school records only dating back to six months ago, but classes on this technique last for three years and have no accelerated courses. Isn't that strange, Brother?" [8]
"It is quite strange," Hashirama continues to cling to his smile and actually reaches out to pat the man's untamed mane. "If one of my students has trespassed and upset you, then I will exhaust any resources to correct this matter. Do not worry, I shall handle this matter personally."
"Is that all?" The orange-masked man huffs and slaps his hand away. "I do not accuse you, Brother, but this matter seems like it's already been personally handled by you."
"We are Sworn Brothers, why would I personally seek to harm you?" Hashirama sighs and feigns an appearance of deep insult and hurt as he lowers his gaze to the floor. "I have stayed by your side the longest...have I still not earned your trust?"
"...very well, I shall depart and drop this matter for today." The orange-masked man clicks his tongue in irritation then sweeps on his heels to exit through the door. His subordinates bow and follow after his lead.
After a tentative moment of silence and listening for the series of footfalls to descend stairs and slam doors, Hashirama pads over to the windowpane and glances outside. The group of visitors disappear into a limousine and drive off down the street. Only when the limousine vanishes from view can Hashirama breathe a long overdue sigh of relief and slump into his chair.
'Orochimaru...you damned traitor.'
Hashirama clenches his fists then uncoils his fingers one by one. His eyes turn to the picture frame on his desk for a brief interval then his hands busy themselves with the documents and folders in front of him. Reopening them and continuing his work from earlier.
Far-off from Mokuton University…
The orange mask wearing man lounges on the soft cushions within the rear of the limousine, a glass of crisp wine in one hand and the other peering at files in his grasp. He is in a sound-proof compartment and is alone except for the one seated across from him. Each turn of a page, he takes a sip and glances over the files toward his companion then continues on. After a couple rounds of this, he eventually speaks aloud, "Your benefactor would not even claim responsibility for you…"
Clothing shuffles as the seat across from his slightly squeaks, yet no words return to him in reply. He smiles and sips again, "Be still, you'll suffocate if you continue. Those bindings and that gag were specifically modeled for you...they won't come undone without assistance. If you're a good boy, I'll treat you well when we arrive home."
After uttering these words the man places the files and wine off to the side and reaches up to the orange mask on his face. For a moment his fingers trail over the familiar black accents then stop as he chuckles to himself, removing the mask to join the other items at his side. "Since we still have some time...let's go over what happened that night, shall we?" He smirks and moves over to the bound figure across from him. His hands caress alabaster skin and thread through silken locks of charcoal hair, as he stares into glowering golden eyes.
"Orochimaru, has it been worth it?" His breath whispers over the shell of his captive's ear, "Think about it..."
(Flashback)
Orochimaru stood facing a man wielding a bizarre and massive weapon, cursing and hissing bloody murder from clenched teeth. Everything had been progressing smoothly until this man had intervened. The mission was simple: infiltrate the top-secret facilities and gather intelligence on some dead man's corpse.
According to his Clan Leader, they needed a DNA sample from the corpse to research some type of counter weapon. He didn't have high enough clearance to inquire on what this 'weapon' would be utilized for but apparently the Great Countries were clamoring for it from the shadows. His role was simply to finish the mission and safeguard his current living situation. If he couldn't deliver on his promises then Clan Leader would probably regret giving him a chance. He couldn't afford to go back to the old days…
Hacking through the initial defenses had posed no challenge to him. He was a genius after all, and could adapt on the fly. The only obstacles that had hindered him were the security guards and a peculiar AI system that seemed to control the innermost chamber on the basement levels. The AI combated every single one of his commands and was invulnerable to viruses. Strangely, the AI remained docile throughout all his attempts as if confident in his failure and that was his first clue to be extremely cautious. The second clue came after he crawled through the air ventilation and jumped down to dispatch two lingering guards. These security guards were unlike the ones protecting the entrance or higher floors. They dressed in black suits, wore strange masks, and carried unique weapons that burned when he tried to touch them.
After silencing two from their ranks, the rest attacked him left and right around every corner. He hadn't made a stray noise, triggered a surveillance camera, or passed through any hidden traps yet they came for him relentlessly. He had dashed through hallways and otherworldly chambers housing weird experiments and body bags, overridden doors and sealed off most of their advance, until he found himself in a monumental room that far exceeded the scaling of what the facility looked like from outside.
The temperature of the room wrapped his body in a chilling cold and, upon closer inspection, seemed to have covered most of the equipment inside with a thin layer of frost. Enormous tubes and wiring snaked across the floor towards a capsule stationed in the center of the room. Computers and science equipment were encased in side compartments off to the sides, sealed away from the frigid temperature. As he advanced further into the room, a robotic voice piped up with an announcement.
Five minutes remaining…
Orochimaru listened vaguely as he maneuvered over the wires and tubes to stand in front of the capsule. The capsule had a window opening to peer inside, and so he wiped the frost away with his sleeve and angled himself to peek. Frost covered, youthful features stared back at him. Strange red eyes gleamed back at him, and he shuddered while wondering to himself why they remained opened instead of closed. These red eyes, however, were strange and depicted black pupils set in a spiral while the corners seeped frozen rivers of blood.
"Seen enough?" A voice sounded from behind him immediately as the echo of clapping hands reached his ears.
Five minutes has expired. The Master has arrived.
Orochimaru spun around with a hiss, pressing his back against the capsule as the robotic announcement overlapped with another. This is how he found himself facing the strange man and his bizarre weapon.
"You destroyed my virus." Orochimaru said matter-of-factly, as his eyes shifted over to the door but never fully left the man across from him.
"I destroyed the door." The man replied with a gesture of his hand towards said door which indeed was crumbled to pieces along with the wall it was attached to.
"How did I not…" Orochimaru was speechless.
"To tell you that, I'd have to reveal the secret of this room. However, you are trespassing and that information is classified." The man smiled at him, and Orochimaru swore the room became even colder as his mind raced to come up with a plan.
"Which clan sent you?" The man continued as he slowly advanced towards him.
Orochimaru kept his mouth sealed shut and prepared himself for the confrontation.
"Ah, such loyalty...what price are you willing to pay for it though?" The man's weapon had risen to point straight at him, "Those on the receiving end of my Gunbai and Kama are usually sealed upstairs in bags. Care to join them?" [9][10]
Orochimaru shuddered while thinking back to those countless rooms filled with body bags that he had passed through to get to this room. He couldn't afford to become one of them, he still had things to achieve…
"I won't be joining them…" Orochimaru retorted and transformed into a fighting stance.
The man laughed good-naturedly, assuming a relaxed fighting stance, "Forgive me if I don't visit your parents' graves with condolences…"
Orochimaru immediately tensed, "How do you know…"
"I'm a man of many talents. There are few who escape my eyes...still eager to fight?" The man gestured again, welcoming him to attack first if he so desired.
"Just who are you?!" Orochimaru snapped and kicked off into the air to attack. As he moved his hands created a series of ninjutsu seals to call forth a horde of slithering snakes in midair. They soared through the air towards his foe as he snatched up two hidden kunai from beneath the folds of his clothing.
"Land a scratch and maybe I'll tell you." The man proposed as he eyed the snake summoning in a bored manner and swung his Gunbai to dispatch the snakes in a single attack.
Orochimaru smirked and adjusted the seal he'd made, causing the snakes to explode into a cloud of smoke. He snuck through the smoke but yelped when something sank into his leg. He glanced down to see the tip of a sickle embedded in his flesh.
"Don't run away, we've only just begun."
Something weighed down on the sickle and dragged him to slam against the floor. Orochimaru glanced up to a smirking face, yet didn't relent even for a second. He jerked the tip of the sickle out of his leg, and backflipped a few paces away. His footing swayed on the landing but he didn't give into the stinging discomfort as he quickly worked his hands into a new set of seals. Since running away was impossible, he'd have to bank on his Clan Leader's special technique. He was forbidden from using it, but he refused to die or be captured here.
Having made up his mind, Orochimaru spun around on his heels and slammed his hands onto the ground. Blood seeped from his open palms onto the ground and painted the ground in characters that spread along the floor towards the capsule in the room. The ground rumbled violently, causing equipment and other utensils to fall or shatter onto the floor. Deep cracks appeared in the flooring until roots broke through from underneath and snaked around the capsule, squeezing and binding it before severing it into pieces. The glass window on the front shattered and the form inside tumbled out in a lifeless heap.
"If I land a hit on him, does it still count?" Orochimaru asked and glanced over his shoulder. A fist instantly collided with his face and knocked him to the ground. Powerful hands seized his throat, choking him without restraint.
"Uchiha Madara," The man revealed from clenched teeth, "Remember it, because we'll be getting along from now on. You're going to wish you had died here today...instead of touching him."
Then Orochimaru's world became consumed in darkness. He found himself bound to Madara the next time he opened his eyes.
Beyond the numerous pitfalls and red-herrings within the facility's system laid a holy grail of knowledge for subjugating the entire world, however, such intelligence was being auctioned under a philanthropist disguise. Through private auctions the information was sold to the highest bidder then monitored for results from the sidelines. Or, when extra leverage was necessary, the information was utilized for blackmail and insurance. Even so, the true purpose for his facilities were for discovering and exploring the research samples which documented eternal life and sustainable youth.
Such futuristic notions of endless survival were not fictionalized narratives to him. The quintessence of his very existence was the results of being scientifically deceased. Terms like 'dead-man' or being called a 'shadow of his former self' were attributed to the entire generation he'd been presumed dead. Clan Leaders and those higher up on the food-chain never noticed, because another temporarily took his place and wore the orange mask. Eventually, his devoted underlings perfected the research he had started and revived him into a manufactured body; one far more imperishable and dexterous, with capabilities that exceeded those of his previous body.
This manufactured body had no other differences from a normal human build. This form endured wounding and bled, required sustenance, and harbored the same range of emotional proficiency. However—he could no longer die the same way. The rite of passage into the next world was vastly different for him now, yet that was certainly an insignificant technicality to consider when he had no intention of leaving this world ever again.
In the years succeeding his resurgence the research and experimentation continued with renewed enthusiasm and, eventually, a refined solution for preserving living subjects and terminating the body's natural degeneration process became an obtainable reality. Once the project had been completed, all those involved and knowledgeable—except for him—were eliminated and erased from history; any data or necessary research sealed away in a fortified chamber empowered by an AI. And yet…
...an absolute child infringed upon years of planning and severed the intensive care unit keeping his secondary body alive!
Anger, indisputable and profound, burned throughout Madara's whole existence at the blatant shame and embarrassment. Even so, when he searched those surveillance tapes and observed what transpired...an alarming response overcame him. Witnessing that lithe form in motion, bending and twisting to ambush his security guards, while never stumbling or missing a beat for calculating the next mighty stroke to puncture or sever their necks made him honestly—hard. The sheer elegance and dexterity of such a remarkable creature sent him over the edge before he even realized what had happened.
From there he informed his AI of his impending arrival and tempered his stroke during their confrontation to reconsider where this fascination had come from. Because of his blunder the damage had resulted in quite the loss, yet he had gained something far more interesting than a lifeless relic from his former life. Now he found himself meticulously preparing for the subjugation of, not the world, but this animalistic prodigy; who required reeducation and private assistance in cleansing the filthy residue left by his Sworn Brother's guidance.
Beyond mere carnal knowledge, Madara envisioned thoroughly disciplining the maiden body and imprinting a dependency beyond that of even his most steadfast disciple. Over time, he would tear apart and reconstruct...reformatting each section of body and mind into a priceless specimen of utmost perfection!
(End Flashback & Etc.)
Three months later...
In spite of his starting impulse to manipulate and possess Orochimaru, Madara only detained him for a short period of time before heeding his Sworn Brother and returning him to the Senju Clan. Because of Hashirama's interference he had to progress his agenda at a slower pace and become a more consistent visitor at the university. Sometimes an unwilling benefactor to convince his Sworn Brother of his pure intentions.
He played their games and suppressed his murderous intent behind an orange mask. Hashirama truly believed he would simply forget the actions of his student but he was merely biding his time and waiting to kill two birds with one stone. And so, for months he introduced Orochimaru to the man of the orange mask and pursued him as any other man would.
Madara introduced him to a wealth of knowledge and scientific analysis to which Orochimaru seemed the most obsessed. He didn't ever question why this interested him, or why he would occasionally stumble over phrases hinting at topics he seemed unwilling to express. He simply provided what was necessary, and watched those golden serpentine hues radiate like the sun.
Sometimes he would encourage him to close his books and seek entertainment at a dinner or a show. Orochimaru's beautiful lips would always purse and refuse his offerings. Even so, he would entice him further and escort him somewhere Hashirama and his subordinates could not follow. Things continued like this for months, as he played the hospitable companion. Until one day, his impatience and muffled resentment resurfaced.
Hashirama had finally made his move and whispered his true identity to Orochimaru. He found out on a morning when he visited the rooftop of one of the adjacent buildings stationed near Hashirama's main office; which had served as their meeting location for quite some time. Orochimaru had stared into the orange mask and smacked it away from his face. Heated pools of golden malice had glared at his uncovered features and demanded answers.
Such a naïve boy he was...and Madara reaped the rewards. He offered him an explanation at the cost of indulging a friend one last time. And thus the trap was set.
Each calculated step, from the rooftop of their meeting to this precise room, harbors monotony and unfulfillment for Madara. The frivolous chatter and easygoing dance of Orochimaru's youthful spirit invading his daily lifestyle is far from what he envisions and desires. Their casual exchanges and simplicity tempt him into reconsidering the path he has chosen, and the punishment he has in mind for his naïve companion.
Even so, the moments of clarity are truly fleeting as Hashirama's interference forces his hand and directs him back to his original agenda. Madara endures Orochimaru's accusations and spins the web of deceitful behavior as he persuades Orochimaru to continue their conversation elsewhere. And strangely, the boy agrees.
True to his established role in this current society, Madara slips into the businessman persona he has upheld for generations. His gentlemanly flare is comparable to the methodical gestures he evokes to escort those enchantingly swaying hips into the intimacy of his luxurious condo.
Brandishing a trademark smile, Madara provides the complementary service of a gracious host. He wines and dines Orochimaru in the den of his private quarters as the seeds of his plan bear fruit. Orochimaru remains wary in his presence, denying the alcohol and extended reminders of the peaceful friendship they used to have.
This unmistakable caution entices Madara further, almost shattering the restraints of his composure and intricate charade. He suppresses the sadistic smirk prickling at the corners of his mouth as he leads the young boy to an exclusive room at the far end of his condo. The room is one he has furnished and designed in advance, a place he has craved to bring Orochimaru to for quite some time. It's craftsmanship is unparalleled and ideal for discipline or intimate re-indoctrination.
Coloration seeps into his blackened hues as his excitement draws a smile onto his face. Orochimaru's unaware form is mere strides ahead of him. The boy is enthusiastic, slithering in front of him with such confidence and trust in his deception, even as he barges into new territory. If only Orochimaru put more consideration into realizing who this place belongs to, instead of honoring broken bonds.
In the precise moment those slender curves swayed across the threshold, Madara's farce comes to an end and the door leading to his special room slams shut. He locks the only escape and pauses graciously to allow his captive an opportunity to bask in the X-rated gear and equipment that only superior money can buy.
Orochimaru is visibly trembling, he is unsure whether this is from sudden fright or unsuppressed anger. Eventually those serpentine hues spun around in a frantic haze from one device to the next, dread seeping into their normally unwavering depths. Soon their unsettled movements cease and transfix upon him in a murderous gleam, the sharpness of Orochimaru's words fueling the sweetness of his victory. "This isn't what you promised! Why have you brought me here?"
'Such a smart boy but—not quite smart enough,' Madara mockingly thinks. An amused smirk graces his features, as he ventures over to stand inches from Orochimaru. He restrains the boy's chin in a steady grip, leaning down to breathe directly beside his ear, "There are limits to this kind of behavior...don't you understand the position you're in? I've finally captured the little bird that hides beneath my Sworn Brother's wing."
His free hand maneuvers up delicate thighs to snake around unguarded hips, reveling in the clear panic and pompous impudence challenging his shameless advances. Orochimaru hisses in outrage and endeavors to catch him off-guard with a determined push out of his ensnare. A carelessly raised hand sweeps in to strike him across the face, yet the impact never connects as he effortlessly catches Orochimaru's wrist. He bends over casually to rack his tongue along the naked texture, while basking in the golden eyes filled with such chaotic emotions and equally reckless disposition.
"You promised me answers! You've lied to me again. What are your true intentions?" Orochimaru huffs indignantly, holding onto his pride even when things are no longer in his favor. He tries to escape Madara's proximity but he is resigned to stay where he is.
Such fruitless struggles charm Madara further, compelling him to utilize his unoccupied hand to snake around those defiant hips once more and yank them flush up against him. He has allowed this exquisite creature to escape him for months, but now he will not oblige such blatant rejection any longer.
Madara, "I want you. Since that day, this has all been an elaborate scheme to bring you here. I want you to join me, to train by my side, and become more than you are now. Your potential is squandered at Hashirama's side! His outdated and half-baked techniques will only take you so far. I know what you desire...I can give it to you."
The sweetened proposition weighs heavily in the atmosphere between them. He is determined to offer his prey one more chance to abandon this semblance of innocence and confront him seriously. He acknowledges that there is a whole nother layer to Orochimaru, aside from the snakeskin he wears, and anticipates the elusive behavior he must endure to unearth what lies beneath. His only concern is whether his patience will outlast Orochimaru's stubbornness.
A startled cry rings out into the tense atmosphere as pale limbs crash onto scarlet sheets. The mattress creaks under the weight of Madara's imposing body as he pins Orochimaru onto a secluded bed.
Outrage courses through Orochimaru's veins, igniting flames of opposition into his auric hues, as he latches onto Madara's broad shoulders. The ferocity of his actions causes his elongated nails to nearly break skin and tear through muscle.
Mocking laughter echoes in Orochimaru's ears, mixing with the distinct hammering of his heartbeat as his senses overload in wordless protest. His mind and body resisting even as hints of pleasure tickle along the edges of his self-restraint.
On the other hand, Madara's shrouded hues are captivated and monopolized by the deepest abyss of desire. Hunger traces the corners of his vision, embers of lust seeking liberation from the blackened void, as he ruthlessly binds Orochimaru's wrists in a single hold. His other hand reaches out to pet Orochimaru's cheek in a manner almost affectionate if not for the possessive smirk painting his features.
Madara laments his impatience, mourning the loss of their carefree days even as he celebrates his triumphant success, "Oh, my dear boy...what would I have done if you had vanished beyond my reach? We could have continued our games and sponsored our profitable relationship till old age like husbands and wives do, yet you simply couldn't ignore Hashirama's influence, could you? If you had chosen me, if you had accepted my guidance, do you think I would be this unreasonable towards you?"
Orochimaru struggles beneath the pressure of Madara's body, snapping out curses even as the fight gradually drains away and leaves him huffing on fumes. He leans away from every caress, from every unexpected brush of Madara's exploring hand, as the offending sensation invades his most sensitive areas.
Serpentine eyes, extraordinary and animalistic in their golden radiance, hypnotize Madara in an instance. Their natural glow, flickering with venom and resentment, spurring him onward and fueling his obsession. In their depths, he can still see the eternal flame of the pretentious spirit in Orochimaru; the selfsame presence that fascinated and enticed him from the monitor in his corporate office. This is the heavenly specimen he has sought to unravel for so long.
"Hashirama's influence? I am loyal only to myself. But you...you wouldn't stop getting in my way. What guidance? You are all the same! I have no interest in your desires, there is no profit in your lies. I only wanted your resources and knowledge...not this!" Orochimaru hisses his frustrations, as his body arches away from the hand massaging his chest.
Madara smiles without insult at his words, his skilled fingers toying with an erect bud peeking through the thin fabric of Orochimaru's clothing. He teases and circles the nipple at his mercy in an almost absent-minded fashion, while his mind formulates his next words. "Equivalent exchange is not a bargain without losses from both sides. For you to demand so much from me without paying a price...isn't that no more than a desperate fool's errand?"
Satisfaction manifests in a well-pleased smile as Madara commends his own sagely advice. His attention then lowers to the hardened nipple suffering his absent-minded worship. Wafer-thin fabric is torn aside without restraint as Madara seals his mouth over the bud. Doting licks and savage nips stimulate an unending cycle of pleasure and torture as Orochimaru cries out in anguish, wiggling and thrashing in a fruitless attempt to escape.
"G-Get off, Madara! I won't...I won't be your woman for the night! I fulfilled my role all this time...a-anywhere you asked me to go, I followed. I've paid my debts by indulging your s-selfishness." Orochimaru gasps, his voice strained and cracking in his desperation to remain calm and unresponsive.
A sudden unforgiving nip sends Orochimaru screaming as his spine arches upward, surrendering him completely into Madara's embrace. He chokes on a traitorous moan, beads of moisture collecting along his forehead and in the corners of his eyes. The tortured bud is finally released as Madara leans back a few inches to marvel at his handiwork, before he shifts a smirk toward Orochimaru as he replies, "Remember my warning, your life's debt cannot be paid with cheap advances. What do you think was in that canister you destroyed? Your life is what you owe me in exchange for the one you've taken! Honestly child, what good is all your intelligence if you're still such a fool?"
Unbridled hatred ignites in Orochimaru's glaring eyes. He has endured many trials and tribulations since birth, he has fought tooth and nail for the scraps he's been given, but even till this day there is one thing he absolutely cannot stand: idiocy. The folly of his parents led to their demise and his abandonment as a child, the idiocy of mankind is the slums and starvation that has squandered his aptitude for success, and the futility of knowledge is what becomes buried by those stupid enough to die.
"I am not a fool, Madara!" Orochimaru snaps his white fangs, breaking free of the pressure binding him to attack full force. "You cannot afford me! I owe you nothing!"
Madara allows Orochimaru to free his wrists and catches him around the waist as their bodies roll around on the sheets. He humors the struggles, invites the sting of claws, and laughs as Orochimaru bites him in animalistic fury. When he is satisfied, Madara is licking his lips in concealed arousal as he allows Orochimaru to mount him.
Orochimaru glistens above him with burning eyes and disheveled clothing barely safeguarding anything from his predatory gaze. His milky skin is flawless except for the reddening marks and indentations left by his teeth and wandering mouth. Madara smiles, lowering his arms to squeeze those perfectly sculpted thighs and the plump ass dodging his advances.
"Then consider this instead...the goods you offer me now will become the resources you receive in return. Knowledge, power, a wealth of opportunities, and much more in exchange for feeding my desires, isn't that a fair bargain? If it's still not enough…" Madara lays his cards on the table, while shamelessly forcing Orochimaru to behave as he tears the remainder of his clothing to tatters with sheer might alone. "...I know how to grant your wish. I've completed the research and can ensure your immortality."
Shock filters into Orochimaru's expression as he suffers the onslaught of words and actions in unison. Even if the strength of Madara's hold wasn't as impenetrable as steel, he still would not think to provoke him anymore. Immortality is the driving force that commands his whole existence. Without the fear of death to hinder his agenda, he can finally achieve all he has ever yearned for. Sacrificing one of his ultimate goals for the sake of saving face? Hah! Only a fool would miss the opportunity.
"What proof do you have? Is this another one of your clever lies?" Orochimaru is elated but still cautious. His features remain rather neutral despite the quivering of his body and the flush of his skin. He hasn't forgotten his anger either, which glimmers in his eyes even now.
Madara touches his hand, drawing the appendage to the crouch of his pants. He squeezes Orochimaru's hand, instructing him without words as those pale fingers unfasten his pants, maneuvering with him to pull them down his legs. He snatches Orochimaru back on top of him as soon as the task is complete.
The pillar of his desire rubs between the folds of Orochimaru's firm butt-cheeks as he massages the round mounds in the palms of hands. He smiles with a sense of achievement, grinding rhythmically in anticipation of finally obtaining his prize.
"The proof is this dead-man that's about to fuck you. Check my pulse, isn't the rhythm abnormal? That's because it doesn't beat from the heart." Madara is crude and forward, already manipulating Orochimaru's body to appease him as he pauses mid-grind to position the head of his erection at the puckered entrance. "Since you won't be dying anytime soon, you won't need preparation either."
Any form of protest dies on Orochimaru lips as his insides are brutally torn apart as Madara nearly spears him in half with a single thrust. Burning, suffocating, overwhelming agony rips a series of screams from Orochimaru's throat until he is nothing more than a whimpering bundle clawing at Madara's chest. Tears cascade from the corners of his eyes in a path similar to the scarlet beads trailing from his entrance. He flounders for breath, for an escape from the pain causing his body to quiver and shake uncontrollably, but Madara's grip is tight like iron on his thighs and waist.
Orochimaru hisses and tries to relax his inner muscles to accommodate the massive girth pressing into him. He whimpers pitifully as Madara continues to push in even further and curses the man in choked sobs. Suddenly he isn't sure if selling his body for immortality is truly worth the price. If this is what he must endure from now on…
"You…" Orochimaru glares at the smiling face watching him intently. "...are you satisfied?"
Madara reaches up, rubbing some of Orochimaru's tears away, "It's too late to hate me...besides, I'll be taking good care of you from now on. If it hurts, simply ask me to make it better for you."
Orochimaru curses his name and flashes his fangs in momentary outrage. However, a jerk of Madara's hips causes him to simmer down immediately with a blackened expression. He swallows the cry of pain stuck in his throat and lifts his head high in a show of dignity. He is willing to beg this man but not bow to him. "...please."
Madara's expression alights with eagerness and longing as Orochimaru's honeyed plea quickens his pulse. Yet it's not enough, he still craves more and decides to tease him some more, "You're not very clear. What do you want from me? Say it so I understand."
Orochimaru resists the urge to strike him. He leans forward, biting back the pain, as he licks the corner of Madara's mouth before offering him a kiss, "Please make me feel good."
Madara chuckles and captures his lips in a needy kiss, his hands sweep up Orochimaru's thighs to grasp his waist tightly before he pulls out halfway and thrusts fully inside. He devours Orochimaru's shouts and pleas for mercy in frenzied kisses as he pounds into him relentlessly.
Blood and other bodily fluids moisten the ferocity of their copulation. Eventually Madara takes pity on the poor virgin suffering his onslaught and switches the angle of his thrusts to connect with a bundle of nerves that makes the animal awaken on top of him.
Orochimaru clings to Madara like a second skin, allowing his insides to be churned into a mess as he seeks out the distraction of Madara's kisses. The pain is closer to a dull ache and not as unbearable as in the beginning. When Madara suddenly adjusts and plunges into him the sensation changes into something that makes his toes curl and his voice ring out with a desperate moan.
The slapping flesh, echoes of their papapa, permeate the atmosphere around them as their moans and groans heighten in wanton lust. Desire calls for new positions as Madara pins Orochimaru beneath him and snatches up his thighs.
Orochimaru is reduced to a begging and whimpering beauty in Madara's embrace as his lips and pale skin become littered with bites and kisses. He purrs and hisses with each new mark, completely too far gone to complain or refute Madara's possessive intentions.
In time, the insufferable heat builds to the point of no return and Orochimaru screams his release into the shelter of Madara's neck. His passage clings like a vice to Madara's pumping erection and drives him over the edge after a few more thrusts, milking him for all he's worth.
.[End Chapter 2].
Author's Note: Confession, I haven't written many papapa/sex scenes. So, consider this somewhat a work in progress. I may adjust the intimacy in this chapter again if I feel inclined to. (Sorry not sorry, if you missed the warning. There will be multiple dubious/non-con sex scenes in this story, or simply bloody sex.)
...
Terminology: (Be encouraged to correct me if I make a mistake when using references.)
[1]. Nom de plume: a pen name.
[2]. Konohagakure no Sato (木ノ葉隠れの里) "Village Hidden in the Leaves" or "Hidden Leaf Village", literally meaning: Village Hidden by Tree Leaves
[3]. Mokuton: (木遁) Wood Release; Wood Style
[4]. Kekkei Genkai: (血継限界, literally meaning: Bloodline Limit) is an anomaly of the DNA that allows the wielder to use unique techniques. A kekkei genkai's name describes both the anomaly and the resulting technique. Most kekkei genkai are passed down between generations of a clan, an exception being Hashirama Senju's Wood Release. Likewise, most individuals only inherit one kekkei genkai...
[5]. "Presiding from the same elevation" - Generally, something positioned at a greater height is viewed as more important, more powerful, or more wealthy. The meaning here is that the campus buildings all share equal status, even to the one where Hashirama presides.
[6]. Echelon: a level or rank in an organization, a profession, or society.
[7]. Ninjutsu: (忍術) Ninja Art, literally meaning: Ninja Techniques
[8]. Bread and Butter: Livelihood.
[9]. Gunbai: (軍配) literally meaning: army arrangement or Gunbai Uchiwa (軍配団扇) literally meaning: army arrangement fan, is a non-folding fan, carved from a unique spirit tree from which only ritualistic instruments are made.
[10]. Kama: is a Japanese sickle used as a weapon. It has a short handle and a pointed beak with a sharp cutting edge that inflicts damage.