Orochimaru stared at the small envelope lying conspicuously in the snow right in front of the entrance to his newest hideout, deep within the Land of Iron. The first time this kind of thing had happened, he'd suspected an exploding tag and had spent five minutes going through the complicated combination of jutsu to disarm the trap without destroying the envelope so he could examine it for clues.
A complete waste of time.
He knew better now; he knew exactly what this was and who had left it on his doorstep.
Ridiculous, he thought, even as his lip curled into something approximating a smile. He turned it into a sneer at the last second, and bent to pick up the offending item. He would dispose of it and move on. Unlike other people, he had a purpose in life. An ambition that went far beyond the pathetic, base little dreams of the pitiful fools he had so gladly left behind.
Tsunade sat in the grass, reclining against one of the wooden training posts and frowned at the loose pages in her hands. Next to her, Jiraiya stood, his face trained into a carefully neutral expression, but Orochimaru had known him long enough – regrettably – to be able to see the nervousness hidden behind the paper-thin façade. He suppressed a bored sigh, thinking about the many places he should be, the many things he could be doing instead of wasting his time with this. Still, he remained standing where he was, just a few feet away, not quite with them, but not far enough away. For now.
"Her milky thighs trembled like thick tree branches in a storm," Tsunade read, voice raised dramatically for his benefit. "Pearls of sweat beaded on her skin, making her look as fresh and untouched as a spring morning. The gentle slopes of her bosom quivered —" She paused, skimming the rest of the page silently. "Tremble, quiver, shiver… Is she supposed to be made out of jelly? Have you ever even seen a real woman, Jiraiya?"
Orochimaru smirked despite himself. Even from the distance he could tell that Jiraiya was blushing, and as always when he was cornered, Jiraiya sought refuge in brainless bluster.
"Hah, I've seen more than you think! This might surprise you, but other women actually have body fat. They're not all sinewy, muscled, flat-chested tomboys like certain— Argh!"
His words were cut off by Tsunade's hand closing around his throat. She'd risen in one quick, fluid motion, dropping the pages into the grass, and now she was holding Jiraiya effortlessly, her strong fingers digging into his jugular.
"Certain what?!" she hissed.
They all knew the answer to this question.
"Ugh!" Jiraiya's bulging eyes were seeking Orochimaru. "A little help here!" he gasped.
A shrug would have been more effort than this was worth. "This is beneath me," Orochimaru said, but somehow he was not leaving.
"Hey! You liked it! I know you did!"Jiraiya pointed at him accusingly. "Even you can't be that dead inside!"
"No one likes your creepy teenage fantasies, Jiraiya!" Tsunade let go of her squirming victim and turned away, brushing a few strands of blond hair out of her face, a gesture that signaled she was done with the topic.
Jiraiya, however, clearly wasn't.
"Oh please, men have been waiting for this kind of sensual romance novel for years!" he declared, unwisely, in Orochimaru's opinion, but then Jiraiya was nothing but unwise. "Who wouldn't rather spend their time with a sweet fictional beauty like Bunko-chan than—"
"Than what?!" She was at his throat again, within the space of those two words, ready to strangle the last breath out of him.
"Argh… harsh reality…" Jiraiya gasped.
"Tch, you'd have to be a fool to waste even a single ryo on this juvenile drivel." Orochimaru's throwaway comment was enough to dispel Tsunade's fury. Unceremoniously, she dropped Jiraiya into the grass, glaring down at him.
"Yeah, I'd bet a million that you won't even find a publisher for this sexist crap."
He'd opened the letter on autopilot as the memory replayed in his mind, and now he found himself skimming its contents. It was just as he'd thought.
Sensei,
Your words have opened my eyes. Before I read them, I walked around like a puppet jerking along on its strings. I never really saw what pleasures life could hold, what love could be! I wish there was a way for me to repay you for all you've done! I wish I could give you even just a fraction of what you've given me! The romance, the mystery! Every time I pick up one of your novels, I end up being completely drawn into the world you've created! I can't put it down until I've finished it, and then I'm always sad that it couldn't be longer, that it had to end and couldn't go on forever.
Please, whatever you do, please never stop writing!
Sincerely,
Your devoted fan
Fanmail. No doubt written by some imbecilic teenaged boy.
Anyway, Jiraiya had found him again. He always did eventually. At this point, it was no more than a minor irritation. They hadn't fought in years – though they both knew their fight would come. The last one, at some point, but not now, not yet.
This was just a reminder.
And maybe somewhere, miles and miles away, a broke and hung-over Tsunade was holding a letter like this one, remembering, too.
A lost bet.
Simpler times.
He dropped the letter into the snow and watched the ink bleed blue into white, certain that soon it would be buried under fresh layers of cold, innocent snow.