I don't know where this came from. It just showed up in my mind. :)
And for Bleach fans, just a heads-up, I'm trying to get working on some Bleach fics, so ummmm yeah.
Enjoy! Reviews always greatly appreciated.
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Kimimaro was never one to be especially chivalrous to me. He never tried to be sensitive or understanding or caring or loving. He never tried to be that perfectly groomed man that was there to hold my hand during chick flicks. That would have been ridiculous.
He was just... Kimimaro.
He, the twins, Jirobou, Kidoumaru, and I lived in an apartment provided by Orochimaru, before Kimimaro got sick and was moved to the hospital.
It was a small, pathetic little abode; two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a combination living room and kitchen. It was barely more than 500 square feet, which is smaller than some people's front yards.
Sakon and Ukon shared a room with Kidoumaru, and Kimimaro, Jirobou, and I took the other bedroom. Although the twins lurked in their room constantly, jacking off or making out or what, I'll never know or care enough to know, Jirobou was always restless in the apartment. Even on the days when Orochimaru didn't have any assignments or scheduled training for us, he would leave in the morning and only make it back in time for dinner.
It was understood among the five (if you were counting heads, four if you were counting bodies) of us that we were not to ask where he went.
If he went to church, that was his business. If he went to a whorehouse, that was his business. Above all else, it was his business and no one else's.
Ha, you know, it's kind of funny. Even though I've lived with these boys since I was four, when my father died in the line of duty while serving Orochimaru, and I was in a sense his replacement and Orochimaru's way of collecting soldiers that no one else would want, I don't know them.
Sure, I know how old they are; their blood types, hometowns, weakest and strongest jutsus, even a few scraps of their lives that they're confessed to me while intoxicated or near death, but beyond that, I don't know them.
I've been taught to trust them with my life; but I don't. I am firm in knowing that if it's convenient in the midst of battle, one of them will help me, but otherwise, I have no stronghold in those boys.
I don't even trust them enough to leave the bathroom door unlocked when I dress. I don't trust them enough for me to come from the shower in a towel and fish through my dresser for clothes; I fear them to an extent.
One night, Kidoumaru came home drunk. Extremely drunk.
He stumbled through the door, laughing and smelling vile and knocked over a lamp. The rest of the boys had gone to sleep an hour before; only I lay awake in the living room, watching television. Jirobou was snoring and I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep should I sit there and listen to him.
I really didn't want to get up; my body was sore from practice that day, which Kidoumaru had skipped for, apparently, drinking, but it was clear he was never going to make it to his bed.
Looping his arm over my shoulder, and spitting all sorts of profanities at him, I dragged him into his room as he laughed.
As we entered the room, I noticed the twins sleeping peacefully, entangled in bedsheets and each reaching for the other's pale body or face. There was a faint angelicism with the two white-haired boys, a sort of vague innocence they would never be able to achieve without the mask of the night. They always separated their bodies for the nighttime, saying it was hard for two heads to get comfortable with one pillow.
I got fairly close to the bed and tried to plop him onto it, but he was drunker than I thought. Slipping off the edge of the bed, and grabbing ahold of me as he went down, pulled me extremely close, and we hit the wood floor.
I felt myself shiver heavily as the December chill in the planks of the floor penetrated my clothes, and my recently changed surroundings began to take influence on me as I realized how very compromisingly close I was to Kidoumaru.
I was straddled over his waist, and could the buckle of his belt pressing into my lower abdomen. If I had considerable breasts, they would've been smashed into his chest; but instead my chest was bumped roughly with his. His hands instinctly followed habit, and were currently latched onto my hips and thighs. I felt a reaction immediately spring into action; immediately a firm swell of his body pressed into my lower body through our clothes. I unconscously let out a gasp of surprise, pleasure, and God knows what else.
It's hard to remember exactly what happened beyond that; the pressure of our bodies and how our hips were mashed together caused something I'd never guess would happen to me. In his drunken stupor he reached forward and grabbed the back of my head, pressing our lips together. Almost hungrily, he entered my mouth with his tongue, tasting and feeling and seeming as though he trying to force himself down my throat. His other hand latched itself onto my breast and felt for the nipple.
My body, sore from training, was burning now, making me twinge as a few muscles were pulled too tightly. Pleasure and pain tore through and mingled like lightning.
The heavy smell and taste of alcohol on him overwhelmed me, and for a moment I found myself searching for it in him, for that lingering taste of brandy, before his fingers slipped and pinched my nipple in a manner that was meant to be erotic but was instead just painful, and I realized what I was doing.
In shock and confusion I pulled back stared at him for a moment, still feeling that faint throb of him through my jeans, and felt disgust just wash over and consume me. Before I knew what happened, I slapped him, hard, and felt my nose wrinkle in hate. My nails, jagged and worn, ripped marks across his cheeks, although I failed to notice it until the next morning at breakfast.
Roaring from the room, my body no longer aroused, I heard the twins wake up and from the corner of my eye, saw them turn to Kidoumaru. I think perhaps they had been lying awake the whole time.
The events that immediately follow this aren't important... but I do remember the harshness that the twins and Jirobou unleashed on Kidoumaru in training the next day- in fact, the black eye he received a work of art. I guess word travels fast in a 500 square foot apartment.
Despite the fact that three of my comrades had apparently found a reason to try and "protect" me or get revenge for me, I still couldn't make myself trust them. I just... I just couldn't.
And everything went downhill from there.
Early one morning, as we were all rushing around the house trying to get ready for our daily training session with Kabuto, there was a loud clatter from the kitchen. I yelled out for whatever bastard had just shattered a plate to stop fucking around and just skip breakfast so we could get ready sooner.
Jirobou's voice came roaring to me.
"Tayuya!" he screamed in desperation to me, "Kimimaro collapsed!"
We rushed him to Kabuto's care, in Orochimaru's infirmary deep in his underground hideout. Admittedly, things didn't look good, but Kimimaro had never been healthy. He had never been strong.
Once he was safely in one of the chambers, undressed and carefully tucked into a crisp white bed, all sorts of tubes and wires and machine all around him, some even attached to him, Kabuto ordered that we return to the apartment, since the entire day had already been wasted on getting Kimimaro to the infirmary, and it was nighttime now; without light it would be difficult to train properly.
As he quickly checked Kimimaro's vitals, he spoke to no one in particular. Saying there was an error with the machines recently and how he was short on nurses today.
Dismissing the boys, he called me forward.
"Stay here and watch him until I get back. If this gets above 200, yell for me. The system mainframe isn't letting out alerts when the patient's readings spike to unhealthy levels." he spat out quickly, his voice patient and perturbed all at the same time. With that, he left, knowing that if I had time to argue with him, he'd never get me to do the job.
With an annoyed huff at being restrained here with Kimimaro, I grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over to his bedside. Moments after I sat down, his eyes opened slowly, and he glanced to me.
In those eyes I saw something I'd never seen before.
The small red veins in his eyes, now enlarged in his pain, made him seem so much older, so much more tired and overused. They watered slightly; undeniably, Kimimaro could not be crying, even I knew him better than that; and he gazed off hopelessly at the nearby wall, scratched and solid in it's concrete form.
My hands were rested on his bed, and sensing how afraid and how he suddenly realized that past this last bought of illness, he would probably not survive, I grabbed ahold of his hand and held it fiercely in my own.
Kimimaro, always calm, glanced towards me, his parted lips exposing the surprise behind his poker face.
"Shut up." I informed him quickly, unable to deny to myself that he was dying and that I knew once I left the infirmary, I'd never see him again.
I never knew him well. I never loved him or despised him or wished him well or bad.
I just knew that I was losing a boy I'd known all mylifeand one hell of a roommate.