Crave his touch

He enters the dingy inn that looks more like a cheap bar than a place that serves food and offers shelter for the night, and immediately he catches sight of what he is looking for.

When he came to this village yesterday, he initially wasn’t sure exactly what to expect but his informants had told him that the Akatsuki had been spotted in the area and that was enough for him to travel here to check out the reliability of this information.

The Akatsuki are generally a group that you hear about but seldom have the misfortune to actually run into unless they are specifically targeting you.

In Jiraiya’s case their elusiveness works against his plan, which is to track Orochimaru’s movements and keep a watchful eye on his former teammate.

For the sake of Konoha, he tells himself, and he has almost managed to convince himself that this is the reason why he spends his time trying to chase someone who left him behind and betrayed not only his village, but the bond they shared as well.

When he first hears rumours about Orochimaru having joined the infamous organisation, he almost has trouble believing it until he realises that such a group of miscreants is exactly what Orochimaru would be drawn to.

Shrouded in mystery, their reputation casts a long dark shadow in their wake and the rumours of their formidable skills outranks powerful ninjas who far more deserves the recognition, especially considering that few people know what the members of the group even look like.

People who encounter them seldom survive to tell about it, but those who have seen them speak of a specific robe they all wear, their faces often shadowed by hats that help to keep their appearances hidden and they have rings that represents their membership in the organisation, but that’s about it when it comes to describing the group. Their brutality overshadows whatever detail in appearance people tend to remember.

Considering Orochimaru’s penchant for choosing his own wardrobe and having a very specific taste in what he likes to wear, it strikes Jiraiya as surprising that he would readily accept to dress himself like everyone else, even for the sake of announcing himself as member of an exclusive organisation.

But supposedly he is ok with it, if the benefits outrank the down sides.

Just to contradict that idea, Jiraiya catches sight of the person his mind has been stuck on for almost everyday for years now, decidedly not wearing the famous Akatsuki robe but instead quite demurely being dressed in something beige and black, anonymizing him far more than even the flak jacket used to accomplish when they were fighting together.

Orochimaru used to drape a cape across his shoulders, perhaps because he disliked the cold, especially in places like Ame where the rain was a constant nuisance, but more likely because he didn’t want to look like everyone else, the vain bastard...

He needed to distinguish himself somehow from the group, and the cape became the small detail that made him stand apart, at least a little bit.

Despite his plain clothes it is easy to recognise him now, even when he sits with his back against Jiraiya, facing the bar, nursing a glass with something green in it.

The black hair is just as long as it always was, cascading smoothly across his shoulders and back.

The hair is actually what catches Jiraiya’s attention first, being the detail he was first attracted to when he started to develop those kinds of feelings, constantly wishing to comb his fingers through it.

Many people have long hair, himself included, some even have a similar nuance of black, but no one has hair that looks exactly like Orochimaru’s, not even from behind and Jiraiya would recognise that stance from miles away, because he used to watch this man from a distance so many times that he has memorized every part of his body in extreme detail.

He is surprised to se him here though and it catches him off guard, because the person he was following earlier was not Orochimaru but someone much shorter, with red hair, dressed in a black robe with a pattern of red clouds, quickly disappearing around the corner of a building.

When asking one of the villagers willing to speak, he was informed that the stranger stayed at an inn less than five minutes away.

But that man is not to be seen when Jirayia enters and instead he is faced with the person he has been searching for all over, for month on end now, stunned to suddenly stumble upon him this easily and certainly not expecting it in a place like this.

And yet, here he is, and Jiraiya stares at him like an idiot, mouth hanging open in surprise until Orochimaru is the one to break the silence by addressing him, without turning around, probably having sensed his presence at the door.

Orochimaru was always skilled like that.

He doesn’t need to see with his own eyes to know when a person is standing in his presence. Jiraiya never once managed to sneak up on him, not even when they were children.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you joining me for a drink?”

Jiraiya tries to compose himself, figuring out what emotion he should be wearing on his features when facing the man who betrayed him, betrayed them all, and then ran to escape punishment.

Jiraiya tried pleading with him but to no avail, so that card is played already.

He should be angry, furious even, ready to take revenge, drag Orochimaru back to the village and throw him down at the feet of the hokage.

He doesn’t of course.

But he doesn’t allow sentiment to cloud his judgement either.

He doesn’t throw his arm around narrow shoulders to allow the sight of Orochimaru to run away with both hope and sensibility. He isn’t stupid even if people might argue that statement when it comes to his relationship with his former teammate.

But they were all perhaps a bit beguiled when it came to Orochimaru. Jiraiya and Sarutobi in particular.

They allowed him to flee, Sarutobi isn’t even actively chasing him and Jiraiya isn’t doing such a great job either, even if he has managed to track him down, however unexpectedly.

For all the scenarios he has imagined when finally standing face to face with one another again, he realises that none of those reactions seem appliable to reality.

He just feels lost.

So he just plants himself next to Orochimaru, close enough to reach out if he has to, but still with a little distance, deciding to focus on something else than the man sitting next to him.

He takes a look at the green liquid in Orochimaru’s glass, furrowing his brow.

“What are you drinking?”

“Nothing that would pique your tastebuds, Jiraiya. But feel free to order a drink of your choice, my treat.”

Jiraiya’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Really?”

Orochimaru offer him one of those dry raspy laughs he has, never one for loudly announcing his merriment the way Jiraiya does when he finds something amusing.

“Well, technically not my treat, but you won’t have to pay for it,” Orochimaru says as if that should explain it.

He always had a penchant for speaking in riddles, probably just to make others feel stupid and confused.

Or that is what Jiraiya always figured was the reason anyway. Maybe Orochimaru is so far above everyone else regarding intelligence that he doesn’t realise that others can’t follow his train of thought as easily as he sees it.

Jiraiya frowns, because offering complimentary drinks doesn’t really sound like something Orochimaru would do and for a moment he considers prodding deeper into the subject, but then decides against it.

He doesn’t really want to know.

He and Tsunade have both respectively dodged paying their bills at bars over the years, but it strikes him that he has no idea if Orochimaru ever has. He can hardly remember him visiting a bar, even when they were younger and going out for drinks was all Jiraiya wanted to do in his spare time.

Maybe that’s what makes these circumstances feel so odd. Orochimaru shouldn’t be sitting in a place like this and yet he does.

Jiraiya turns to the girl behind the counter to order a glass of sake, downs it one go and then asks for a refill while Orochimaru watches him from the corner of his eye, very visibly not touching his own drink, whatever that green stuff is.

The alcohol does nothing to quell the uneasiness Jiraiya feel right now, sitting so close to the man he thinks he still loves but simultaneously almost hates, who tore his heart brutally out of his chest and just stepped on it, like what they had never meant anything.

Not only the relationship but the friendship as well, everything they have been through, things that mattered to Jiraiya.

He always knew Orochimaru was a cold bastard but still, it hurt to have it confirmed, and now, as they are meeting once again he tries to search for the hatred that he has been allowing to fester inside himself, but he finds that it is difficult to locate any ire burning inside of him.

He isn’t sufficiently angry, currently he is still too surprised to be sitting here with the man he has been chasing for months.

He downs a third glass before Orochimaru sighs and finally turns to face him.

“I know I said it was complimentary... but maybe some restraint is still to be desired.”

Jiraiya huffs and meets those golden eyes that he used to allow himself to be hypnotized by. He probably was hypnotized all along, too much under a spell to see what kind of person Orochimaru was.

Is.

He wants to slam his fist into that pale face that smirks at him from behind errant tresses of black hair.

But simultaneously he wants to reach out and caress that very same cheek, angry with himself because he is weak like that. It would be a mockery of everything that existed between them to so easily submiss to emotions as soon as he looks into those eyes, when Orochimaru so clearly has shown that he isn’t as respectful of their past as Jiraiya is.

He clenches his fist and as if sensing the threat, Orochimaru’s smirk fades away and for a second his eyes look cold.

Then pale fingers rise and reach out to stroke Jiraiya’s jaw, not fondly exactly, but intimately enough for Jiraiya to feel his limbs melt momentarily from the touch, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Orochimaru.

He can pretend that those fingers belong to someone else, not a treacherous traitor, succumbing to the sensation of human touch to his skin, something he does experience but never like this.

The women he sleeps with are never allowed to touch his face, they don’t kiss his lips, it is always only about the sexual acts, he never asks for more and never gives it himself either.

So this is rare and he savours it, despite knowing who the person who is touching him is.

He feels himself shudder as he opens his eyes and finds Orochimaru’s face closer now, mere inches away from his.

As always he doesn’t give away any scent and as a kid Jiraiya found that unnerving, because every person has that specific way they smell like that is uniquely theirs, but like a spectre Orochimaru has never given off so much as a waft of anything.

The familiarity of that realisation makes Jiraiya’s chest clench and the urge to slap Orochimaru away returns for a second, mixed with the desire to close the distance even further and just go for the mouth, press their lips together and embrace the opportunity.

Maybe that will make Orochimaru remember what they used to have.

That Jiraiya wasn’t worthy of the dismissal he got.

But, as usual, Orochimaru is one step ahead of him, as he tends to be. That’s why he was dubbed a genius by Sarutobi, his intelligence always outweighed everyone else’s.

He is the one to lean in closer, Jiraiya almost absurdly expecting that kiss he wants to become real.

But instead Orochimaru settles for whispering in his ear:

“I’ve been informed that you have been trying to find me. Well, here I am.”

Jiraiya blinks. He has been searching for him, that’s true. He just didn’t realise Orochimaru was aware of it.

“So you are,” he says hoarsely, feeling stupid for not knowing what to do now that he has accomplished what he has been trying to do for months.

“And what exactly is the reason for your hunt, Jiraiya? To drag me back to Konoha? Hand me over to our old sensei? Because, for your information, he was the one who allowed me to run in the first place.”

“I know,” Jiraiya says quietly, not leaning away from Orochimaru’s lips that tickles his ears as he whispers into them.

“And I believe we had our own showdown as well, did we not? You know my standpoint and I know yours. I’m not coming with you, if that is what you think. I have other plans.”

“With the Akatsuki...?” Jiraiya asks, even when he knows the answer already.

“Mm. Yes, among others.”

Jiraiya sighs and prepares for the resistance he expects to be faced with. It is clear Orochimaru hasn’t changed his mind, and that was almost expected even if he had secretly hoped for a different outcome.

But Jiraiya hasn’t come all this way to not succeed in his task and mentally prepares for it now.

They have fought before of course, but not really, not the way he imagines they will do this time and Orochimaru is a formidable opponent, always was, cunning and fast, skilled to the extreme and it will take everything Jiraiya has to beat him.

Jiraiya scans their surroundings, wondering if he should try to take the fight outside, if Orochimaru would agree to it, when he suddenly freezes as the feeling of cold soft lips nibble at his earlobe and he feels something dangerous unfurl in his stomach at the sensation.

Dangerous because it weakens him and has caught him completely off guard.

Before he manages to snap back into control, Orochimaru has leaned away from him, raise his glass to his mouth to take a deep gulp of the green liquid, before he returns into Jiraiya’s personal space and kisses him.

It takes a second for him to realise that Orochimaru has spit the content of his glass into Jiraiya’s mouth, so unexpectedly and in such an amount that he can do nothing but swallow it in surprise unless he wants to choke on it.

He tries to splutter afterwards but to no effect as he feels the liquid run down his oesophagus, the taste just as undisguisable as the lack of Orochimaru’s smell.

How can liquid not taste anything he ponders while the more logical part of his brain panics about the risk that it is poison that he has swallowed.

Despite being called the snake sannin, partly on account of his summoning, partly because he resembles one, Orochimaru doesn’t rely on poisons much, not that Jiraiya can recall anyway.

But who knows if he might have started since joining the Akatsuki, Jiraiya obviously has no clue, and has not known Orochimaru properly for years now, or he wouldn’t have been so shocked over the news about his secret experiments.

Orochimaru puts a shushing finger against his lips and then smirks in that way that always infuriates Jiraiya to no end.

Smug bastard he thinks when he starts to feel a warmth spread through his chest, the same way alcohol has a tendency to loosen his limbs and give him a comforting warmness.

Maybe it is the combination of sake and whatever that green drink was, that is causing this reaction?

He really has no time to ponder the question properly before Orochimaru rises from his chair and starts to move towards a staircase that leads to the second floor.

He turns his head, as if silently beckoning Jiraiya to follow him, causing him to stumble off his barstool and follow up the stairs, if perhaps a bit unsteadily.

“What was that you just gave me?” he croaks, feeling his vision starting to turn blurry.

He can still see Orochimaru in front of him but the hallway they walk through seems a bit distorted and sends a wave of nausea through his system, something he is quick to trample down.

“Was it poison?” he hisses, a note of panic in his voice and he can hear Orochimaru quietly chuckle over his distress.

“No,” is the only reply he receives.

That does not comfort him one bit.

They soon end up in front of a door that Orochimaru silently opens and then enters, leading them both into a room that doesn’t consist of much more than a bed and a wardrobe.

Stumbling into the room, Jiraiya crashes down onto the bed, face first, whimpering.

He isn’t in pain, the sensation is actually quite nice, but he is decidedly unable to focus now and feels out of his comfort zone. Out of control.

“Poor Jiraiya,” Orochimaru taunts in a silken voice as he sits down next to him and wipes away hair from his sweat-soaked forehead. Jiraiya hadn’t even realised that he was sweating until he feels Orochimaru’s fingers push away white strands from sticky, damp skin.

It feels like he is burning up from the inside, but not in an unpleasant way, at least not yet.

“What did you do to me?” he whispers hoarsely.

“I figured you needed a rest from your ardent pursuit.”

“So it’s a sleeping drought?”

His words are starting to sound muffled, he really has to struggle to remain coherent.

Golden eyes hover above his face, sharp teeth visible through a condescending smirk.

“Not in the traditional sense. But it is meant for your body to relax, that is correct. You seem so very high-strung, Jiraiya. So stressed out.”

“Well, I have been chasing your ass all over the five great nations for months...”Jiraiya manages to growl, a surge of anger for a second sparking his system with energy. But Orochimaru seems unbothered by his outburst.

“Yes, and on who’s accord I wonder...?” he asks in a silken tone.

“My own. No one sent me.”

If this surprises Orochimaru he doesn’t allow it to manifest upon his features, he just stares at Jiraiya in that eerie way he has when he is intrigued by something but not sufficiently to get that enticing glimmer in his golden eyes.

Then he leans closer again, his fingers moving away from the sweaty forehead down to his throat and Jiraiya feels his pulse start to quicken in pace, partly scared but mostly just aroused.

He wills himself to not fall asleep, not yet, please not yet.

The last thing he feels is cold, slim fingers splaying out across his chest, stroking his heated skin, the feeling so good it sends pulsations of pleasure though his body in waves.

Then he succumbs to darkness, a heavy sleep forcing his eyelids shut, Orochimaru’s soft laugh the last thing he hears, guiding him from consciousness into blissful oblivion.

“Where have you been? I thought we were supposed to meet up?”

Sasori stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, clearly annoyed about being made to wait for someone who never bothered to show up.

He scans his companion’s appearance and the frown grows even deeper.

“And why are you wearing that? Where’s your robe?”

Orochimaru doesn’t bother to reply, he simply stretches out on the bed.

The sheets still smell like Jiraiya and he wonders what his former team mate will think when he wakes up from his slumbering state and finds Orochimaru gone.

It won’t be until two days from now, plenty of time to put enough distance between them. The place where Orochimaru has discarded Jiraiya’s sleeping form will ensure that no one will happen upon him before he wakes up of his own accord.

Jiraiya won’t find him again, not unless Orochimaru permits it and he won’t.

He has no use of Jiraiya trailing his footsteps, especially not now when Sasori has started to prove himself more interesting than what Orochimaru initially thought.

They share a similar dream of reaching immortality, they just go about achieving that in a different way.

Where Sasori works on improving his creepy puppets, incorporating them with his own flesh to accomplish this task, Orochimaru is not prepared to ruin his appearance for the sake of having a life that stretches eternally.

He doesn’t really care about gender; he is a male now but could very easily see himself in the shape of something else if that is the price to pay.

But something he does care about is not looking old, a factor he doesn’t have to worry about yet but is very much aware is a side effect of growing older.

Just think about Danzo and Hiruzen. They looked worn, beyond their age, and he refuses to fall into the same category as those two old codgers.

Technically he doesn’t mind aging, it’s nothing but a number anyway, time passing by. And time generally means more experience.

But the idea of getting old, turning weak and useless is abhorring to him and not something he can easily accept.

Besides, aging means that time is running out to accomplish everything he wants to achieve.

It’s simply not an option.

So immortality, among other things, is what he strives for, and Sasori seems to be thinking along the same lines, except that he plans to achieve it by using his stupid puppets.

However strong those puppets will be one day, they won’t be unbreakable forever, and then what?

No, it’s better to rely on science instead.

Orochimaru has plenty of ideas on how to reach his goal and even if he was sorry to leave his lab behind, he has other secret locations that contain experiments that can lead him to the desired result he craves. He just needs the chance to visit them and doing so under the guise of belonging to the Akatsuki is perfect.

Besides, for now, as a part of a pleasant distraction, Sasori is quite interesting, even if the young man is still somewhat suspicious of him.

Orochimaru hasn’t managed to wrap him around his fingers just yet, but he can tell that Sasori’s interest is piqued, however reluctantly and against his better judgement.

Luckily, Orochimaru has time, Sasori is not essential to any of his plans anyway and can be a nice side project.

Because having someone to rely on in this group of odd misfits would be nice.

And he does actually miss having an audience.

Orochimaru doesn’t really like solitude, not for a longer period of time, so turning his current companion more devoted and trustworthy would be a nice development, and if Orochimaru can make Sasori’s devotion grow, he will do it.

So instead of being his usual haughty self, in that way he knows annoys the other man, he makes sure to slide out of the bed with a fluid motion and then walk over to the wardrobe where his Akatsuki robe is hanging.

He lets the clothes he is currently wearing drop to the floor, as if he doesn’t care about exposing his nakedness and he hears Sasori move from the door, probably disturbed and unsure of where to look.

He doesn’t like Orochimaru’s blatant displays, but he will learn to.

They always do, eventually.

Quietly he changes into the clothes he normally wears these days and then turns around to face his companion who looks flushed and almost angry, very pointedly staring at the floor now.

“Shall we get going?” Orochimaru says with a smile that exposes his glistening fangs, and without waiting for a reply, he walks past Sasori’s frozen frame and out through the door, knowing full well that his companion will snap out of his motionlessness soon enough and run with eagerness to catch up with him.