The Art of Being Used
DISCLAIMER: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended and no funds have been acquired for this work. This is an adult themed story and may contain some of the following: violence, swearing, and strong sexual, and/or adult situations.
SUMMARY: Kabuto Yakushi was comfortable being used. However, what's a spy to do when he finds himself longing to be more than a tool to Orochimaru: a master he knows he must betray?
PROLOGUE: The First Time We Met
Kabuto Yakushi was accustomed to being used as a tool and he in turn manipulated those using him. His "masters" used him to further their little schemes and Kabuto used those same people to advance his own goals; all the while mentally smirking at his superiority.
Then one day something changed. Sasori decided to "bequeath" him to one of his colleagues. Kabuto agreed readily enough. He had heard some very intriguing things about the rogue Sannin from Konoha. He was certain said shinobi would be very useful in helping his own plans along. Moreover, it would provide a much needed respite from Sasori and the Akatsuki. From the tales Kabuto heard about the legendary Sannin, being in his company should prove to be...interesting.
The day Sasori introduced him to the Sannin turned out to be inauspicious. Quite dreary in fact. The sky was gunmetal grey, fog had reduced Kabuto's visibility to nil, it was wet, the ground squished under his feet, and his breath made little white puffs every time he exhaled.
Heeding Sasori's little nudges, Kabuto obediently turned towards the newest member of Akatsuki. The fog made seeing difficult and he noticed nothing extraordinary about the man. After all, he was wearing the standard Akatsuki cloak and it covered virtually everything. Raising his gaze, however, he encountered the most remarkable pair of eyes he had ever seen.
Golden eyes and slit pupils framed by purple markings stared back at him. A little nonplussed, Kabuto mentally shook himself and offered a polite smile, the fake expression perfected by years of practice. Berating himself for being foolish, he decided that this man was no different from any of the others he had served throughout his life.
It never ceases to amaze him years later how wrong he was in his assessment. Had Kabuto known that becoming this man's subordinate would change his life irrevocably, he would have stayed in bed on that dreary day.
Now, when Kabuto looks into the piercing gold eyes of the Sannin, a queer ache throbs in his chest that no amount of regenerative healing will cure. He looks at the man he serves and is no longer content with being a mere tool. He wants more and for a spy that is a deadly prospect.