A/N: This has been written for Kinktober 2021 and today's prompts are Oviposition & Humiliation ✨ Due to the nature of this challenge, I've only done the most cursory of proofreads ✌️
Warnings/Content: Eggs?
All he feels is cold. He hasn't felt anything in some time, but now it surrounds him, fills his lungs and soaks down to the bone. There's something else-is he falling? He's not sure. His eyelids feel as though they're made of lead and it's only against the soft burn running over his arms, his chest, his legs that he's able to open them. A haze of orange fills his vision, there's something familiar there, in the shape, the movement. Some noise, too. How strange, he thinks. Everything has been quiet for so long. He'd thought that this was it, the end, the emptiness which waited for them all. He shouldn't be hearing anything at all.
That's right, isn't it? He shouldn't be here.
His gut churns abruptly, sinking heavy and hard and he feels his body for the first time in-he has no idea. He wrenches himself forward, away from that gentle heat, and empties his lungs onto the stone floor. The burn is back, against his neck, the only spot of comfort against the shivers which wrack his body, wringing him out until there's nothing left, just the cold. So pervasive it's almost become painful, now. Whether or not that's better than the numbness he'd had for so long, hard to say. When he finally gets hold of himself, fills his burning lungs with air for the first time in so long it might as well be the first, he finds clarity. His senses are returning to him.
"Jūgo." Even through the rasp, he can't help the warmth which accompanies the name.
"Kimimaro." His friend breathes, gently pulling him up with an arm over his shoulders, tucking him into the crook of his arm as though he's worried he'll fall if he doesn't. Kimimaro recognizes the burn, now. Jūgo has always run hot. "I thought you were dead. Orochimaru said-nevermind. It doesn't matter. You're here. I can't believe you're here."
Kimimaro lets himself be wrapped in a cloak that smells too-familiar and hauled up into his friend's arms, neither of them bothering with the pretence of him getting anywhere on his own two feet, right now. He suspects Jūgo must find comfort in having him alive and well in his arms, anyways. It's about all he can offer at the moment so he says nothing, simply allows himself to be carried and listens to the echo of sorrow Jūgo's voice has left in his mind as they leave behind the wreckage of the abandoned stasis chamber.
This place used to be habitable, he wonders what happened to it. Regardless, it's still not entirely useless, Jūgo manages to salvage what they need well enough. Between the not-quite-desolate pantry and his pack he manages a decent stew which he refuses to eat, and disappears. When he returns, the bowl has been emptied twice over and Jūgo has managed a warm bath for him, on a wooden stool by the tub he's even laid out some clothes he managed to dig up. He offers to help but Kimimaro refuses. He can feel his strength returning enough that he's confident he won't perish in the bath and insists that Jūgo take a moment to eat and clean himself up. Truthfully, he has no desire to be away from his friend, but there's such an intimacy to the way Jūgo cares, it can be overwhelming, sometimes, and however long it's been has been enough to wipe away his threshold for it.
The clothes left for him are soft, if slightly too large.
Long halls and cavernous rooms. Stone from floor to ceiling, all of it cold and covered in dust. There's something to the frigid air which makes his skin crawl. He quickens his steps through the hall and follows the only source of warmth he knows.
It's clear Jūgo hasn't spent his time alone doing anything Kimimaro hoped he might, but he can't begrudge it of him when he steps into one of the smaller rooms to find it already lit well enough that the air inside acts as a warm embrace. He's busy laying out a comforter over a bed he's clearly beaten the dust from. His chest throbs at the way Jūgo looks up at him, he wonders at how he was ever so content at the prospect of dying with this left behind.
"It's not much, but-"
"It's perfect. Please, don't worry. You've already done so much for me." Jūgo looks stricken, for a moment, but then he simply shrugs like he can't help it, smiles when he speaks.
"What else was I going to do? Come on." He gestures towards the bed. "There's only one, I'll take the floor. I'll be right here, though, if you need anything." Kimimaro allows himself to smile as he walks over to the bed to run the duvet through his fingers, glancing up at his friend.
"How long has it been?"
"You don't know?"
"I've been asleep. I think."
"How did you figure-"
"You've grown." He doesn't mean for his voice to come out the way it does, but the way it brings a little colour to his friend's face, he doesn't regret it.
"Five years. It's been five years." Strange, he thinks, so very strange. Jūgo thought he was dead, he had time, he mourned, he moved on. Why did he come for him? No matter how much he cared, what reason did he have if he thought him long dead already? Too many questions for tonight.
"How do I look? I haven't been able to see." Jūgo looks startled, he must have been expecting one of the questions still stuck in Kimimaro's mind. "Five years, haven't I grown, too? Perhaps not. I'm not sure what they did to me, really."
"You look like yourself. You've grown, but you're still you." The words sound as though they struggle to make it past his lips and he wonders how in control of the hand which reaches halfway out, as if he means to touch, Jūgo really is. Kimimaro has already lost too much time to have the patience for wondering. He takes his hand and guides it the rest of the way, allows calloused fingertips to run along the line of his cheek. "Beautiful." Jūgo breathes on a heavy exhale. "You're still beautiful."
"Come, now." Kimimaro steps closer, relishing the the way Jūgo's hands come around him, as though they've waited a lifetime to belong. "There's room enough for us both."
Heavy. It's all he can think when he wakes, aching with it. Some unbearable, cold weight at the centre of him, dragging him down, making his whole gut feel swollen and bruised. He still feels the sweet ache of Jūgo inside of him but it's a far cry from whatever is happening to his body, now. When he clutches at his stomach to ease the pain he's stunned still by what he finds. A distention, soft and uneven but undeniably present. He pushes it and something shifts inside him, the noise that slips from his mouth doesn't sound as though it should be his own.
"What's wrong?" Jūgo's voice is rough but alert. Kimimaro regrets the fear which underlines the question, but he'd regret losing this out of stubborn pride, more.
"I don't know. It's strange. There's something-Jūgo, I need-"
"What," Jūgo's hands are on him now, searching, frantic but thorough, for some sign of injury, "Anything, anything you need. Did I-was it-"
"No." Kimimaro cuts him off, harsher than he intends, "No. You didn't hurt me. This is something else."
His hands reach Kimimaro's abdomen and they both go still. Jūgo mutters something to himself, then, disappearing from the bed. A moment later the flames are lit and soft light fills the room. Kimimaro is afraid to look down at himself so he watches his friend's face, instead. He sees concern, a great deal of it as Jūgo comes to sit by him on the bed, but not panic. "Does this hurt?" He asks, spreading a large, warm hand over the swell, concerned eyes flitting between his face and his stomach. Kimimaro shakes his head.
"It helps, I think." Jūgo stares, intense. "You're warm." He allows himself to lean back against the pillows, encouraged by the relief. Jūgo doesn't move his hand away, shifting forward with him. "They must have done something to me. I don't know what it might be." Jūgo exhales heavily through his nose, clearly frustrated by his own lack of knowledge over what's happening, and in doing so he exerts the slightest pressure against his stomach-
"Are you okay?" The worry in Jūgo's voice is palpable, Kimimaro wants to answer, he does, but words elude him and instinct takes hold. He pushes forward into his hand, not sure what's driving him but willing to follow the impulse to find out. Something moves inside of him again, foreign and heavy, sending shivers up his spine. This time, Jūgo must feel it as well. "What was that?" Kimimaro shakes his head. He can feel something trying to push through him, pushing against him so slow it's agonizing.
Jūgo shifts closer, moves as though he wants to get a better look, pull away the blankets pooled over his lap. "No, no. It's nothing." Kimimaro has never been the type for self-consciousness, but the horrible, wet slide- the thought of Jūgo seeing him, seeing whatever is happening to his body, mortifies him.
"It's definitely not nothing."
"You should go, Jūgo, I'll be fine."
"I'm not leaving you."
"I probably just need to be sick." He insists, inflecting into his voice as much sense as he can manage. "Give me the night, I'll be fine in the morning."
The look Jūgo gives him is hard, stubborn. "What don't you want me to see?" It feels closer to a statement than a question.
"It's-"
"Don't say it's nothing, Kimimaro. Please, I've only just got you back. If you're not well I need to help." It's the look, the fear in his eyes, that Kimimaro gives in to, slowly relinquishing his tight hold over Jūgo's arm so he can pull the blankets back with the hand not already splayed over his stomach. Exposure makes his hair stand on end and when Jūgo spreads his thighs he reluctantly allows it, falling back into the pillows to hide his burning face. "Oh." Jūgo breathes. Is he looking at Kimimaro's half-hard cock or at whatever cold, slick thing is pressing him open from the inside. "That's-" Either whatever he'd meant to say dies on his lips or Kimimaro simply doesn't hear it past the rushing in his own mind when Jūgo brings fingers up to prod against the thing inside of him, he feels as close to hysterics as he's ever been.
It doesn't hurt, exactly, only seems to leave him raw and overwrought. Something about the pressure of it, the way the cold inside makes his heart beat faster. Whatever it is stretches him in earnest, now. It's large enough to burn with it, cold enough to soothe the muscle it tries. He feels the chill of the thick liquid which seems to bleed from it trickling down, smearing across his skin, and knows he must be a mess under his friend's gaze. He can see it reflected his eyes, there's been a change in them. "I think-if I just-" He presses down hard, steady, with his palm and a cry tears itself from Kimimaro's chest. Where has his control gone? The stretch becomes so much he thinks he might pass out and then sharp relief falls in its place, the pressure is gone. Jūgo is staring at whatever has slipped out from him and slithered, cold and wet, down his skin. He gathers enough courage to sit up far enough to chance a look.
"That's-"
"Yes."
"Has this-" Jūgo is choked by his own words. "Has this ever happened before?"
"No," Kimimaro breathes, heavy. "It has not." That horrible, laden chill creeps back to him amidst their silent regard. "Jūgo." He pleads, reaching out for his friend's shoulder, Jūgo's eyes snap to his. "Please, I can't stand it. They're so cold. It's like I can't feel anything else." Jūgo takes a heavy breath and seems to shake the haze from his eyes.
"I've got you." He promises.
He shifts them so Kimimaro is halfway tucked into his chest, like he had been when he'd first been found. Jūgo supports him with his arm and a knee propped up behind him, cradles him there.
"This might hurt." He warns, Kimimaro braces. He loathes the sounds he makes when Jūgo presses down, would never allow them around anyone else. Loathes the way his hand goes tight against his friend's skin, the other nearly ripping a hole in the thin sheets beneath them. He feels the slippery, frigid weight of each one as it slides down across his skin upon exiting his body. It's working. It's working, but it's-
"It's not enough." He pants. Shame and humiliation burn at his chest and turn bitter and desperate on his tongue. "I need-" The words resist, any shred of pride which remains within him claws desperately at his throat to trap them inside. Anything, Jūgo promises, I'll do anything, just tell me what you need.
"You. I need you." He can feel that Jūgo is already hard against his hip, has been for a while. "Drive away the cold, please. I can't stand it."
"Yes." Jūgo swears, overcome. "Yes, anything."
He shifts them down onto their sides and Kimimaro adores the warmth of him all along his back. He keeps one hand wrapped heavy and warm around Kimimaro's waist from underneath, hand still blanketing the alien distention of his abdomen. The other, he uses to hold his leg up against his ribs. Jūgo presses forward and for some reason Kimimaro can hardly think past his mouth over his neck, soothing, worshipful words whispered against his skin which give him something to hold on to against the bizarre shifting inside of him. Jūgo finds a rhythm, slow and intense, and Kimimaro can't do much beyond try to hold on. Every thrust, every pull, everything inside of him reels, pushing and stretching, slowly giving way to the frictious heat Jūgo builds inside of him. Kimimaro breathes easier, pants through frantic feeling relief as the warmth begins to spread through him, soothing at muscles sore with exertion and disuse from the inside out. All manner of ridiculous things threaten to spill from his lips but he swallows them all in favour of his friend's name. Jūgo, repeated like a mantra.
"I've got you." His friend swears, again, into the skin of his neck.
"Knew you'd take care of me." Kimimaro breathes. "Always have." Jūgo groans in aggrieved protest against him, Kimimaro hears the words he wants to say, it's the other way around, he'd always insist, whenever Kimimaro tried to thank him for his friendship, you make me safe.
Words are lost on both of them, soon enough. Kimimaro feels tension twisting him up and holding him tight all over as Jūgo pushes him further towards the edge. When he comes he heaves himself forward with force that surprises them both, pulling off of Jūgo and letting the hard clench of his body push everything out as he braces himself against the bed, wondering if the noise which escapes him sounds as wounded as it feels, trying to think of anything but how he must look. He hardly allows himself the space to catch his breath before turning to Jūgo and pushing him back to take him inside again. He feels the low groan which reverberates through Jūgo's chest travel up through his bones and echoes it.
"Are you okay?"
"Mmhm." It's uncomfortable to have Jūgo inside of him now that he's finished, but he wants desperately to chase away any lingering cold. Push any thoughts of what's happened from his mind, by pain or pleasure, whatever means necessary. The feeling of Jūgo swollen hot against his insides brings him all he needs. When he finishes, Kimimaro savours the spread of wet warmth within him, allowing himself to be pulled down to lie over Jūgo's chest as he slips from him, the cold of earlier only a memory.
They don't stay like that as long as he'd like, Jūgo gets up to find something to clean them both off and Kimimaro takes the opportunity to strip the bed, disposing of the things which had fallen from his body, not willing to allow Jūgo the chance to do it himself. Together, they find new coverings for the bed and finish the last of the stew. When they finally crawl back into bed Jūgo holds him close against the warmth of his skin and Kimimaro finally feels as though the cold which had felt so impossibly deep when he'd first woken has been chased from his bones.
A/N: I've switched back to writing in the morning and it shows! I know this isn't a big ship, but it's one of my favourites and I was super excited to try a weird prompt for them and have some fun with it! Hopefully, there's at least a little audience for this? Enjoy!
Feel free to say hello in the comments or on tumblr at BitchBot3000 (my fic blog) or GaySasukke (my questionable Naruto sideblog) ✌️