Puppet master
“I can’t believe you did that...”
Sasori narrows his eyes as he heavily crashes down on the bed, silently seething from pent-up anger.
His skin is still prickling from the undercurrent of irritation he feels, simultaneously mixed with something else, anticipation probably. Perhaps even excitement, even if Orochimaru is always unpredictable and Sasori can’t be sure what the outcome of his latest game is all about.
His companion is sitting in a chair opposite the bed, or lounging rather, in that way he has that is meant to show how casual and unaffected he is, like nothing can ever move him.
Like he’s only in this business for the hell of it, until something better comes along, because he’s good at what he does but can’t be bothered to show their line of work the proper respect it deserves.
Or more correctly, he can’t show his companions the respect they deserve. He apparently never was a team player after he stopped working with the other members of the legendary sannin.
Sasori doesn’t know if he was good at collaboration back then, he has never personally met Jiraiya or Tsunade, only heard about them through rumours, but he has a suspicion that Orochimaru might have been a selfish partner even while working with his so called friends.
Not that Sasori knows much about friendship and how that is supposed to work, he isn't particularly skilled on acting respectful and considerate just for the sake of it and he certainly isn’t good at working with others, but Orochimaru should be able to do better when you consider his origins, being a legend that even Sasori was well aware of before being forced to partner up with him.
Surely there is a modicum of protocol that demands that you stick to some of the rules at least, even when you’re bad at playing with others.
But just like Orochimaru went out of his way to embarrass him earlier, for some strange reason only he knows about, Sasori is very much aware that Orochimaru completely lacks the talent for solidarity that should come with being a person in his position. He does what he pleases in a larger capacity than everyone else in the entire group and Sasori has the great misfortune of being stuck with him, very much against his wishes.
And to make things worse, he still has no idea why Orchimaru does the things he does, especially that stunt he just pulled, because there was nothing to be gained from it except for embarrassing his partner.
Sasori was just talking to a woman standing in a corner selling dango, asking her for directions to the next village nearby, when all of a sudden out of nowhere, Orochimaru snaked up behind him in a most unexpected manner, hissing ridiculous phrases that indicated that Sasori was somehow being a philanderer who had whispered sweet nothings into his ear just the other night and that he now felt deeply betrayed seeing him doing the same to someone else.
The absurdity of the situation had rendered both Sasori and the woman speechless, giving Orochimaru the chance to further spin his tale by adding details to his performance, acting like a scorned lover until the woman put an end to it after snapping out of her surprise, instead turning angry for getting involved in their private affairs.
Glaring at them both, she had shooed them away from her stand and Sasori had been forced to pull Orochimaru away by the sleeve before they would cause an even bigger scene.
Out of sight from onlookers, back in their room, Orochimaru had already turned back to himself again and offered no explanation as to what that spectacle had been all about.
He is perfectly well aware that Sasori wasn’t trying to charm anyone, and also that he would never whisper anything in his partner’s ear, least of all words of endearment, but obviously that knowledge only extends to the two of them, and that woman probably thought they were having some sort of lover’s spat.
What he could possibly gain from putting on such a farce is beyond Sasori’s comprehension but Orochimaru has been getting on his nerves for some time now.
Despite that fact, even if he would rather cut out his own tongue than admit it out loud, there is something about the other man that manages to fascinate him more than anyone he has ever encountered.
He hates to admit it, even to himself, because the notion is ridiculous in its absurdity and yet it doesn’t change the fact that it is true.
It’s probably why he so openly acts like he detests Orochimaru so much, because if he says it often enough it might become true and his interest in the man might stop interfering with his mindset.
Considering that the Akatsuki more or less consists of formidable and highly skilled individuals, all of them one of a kind, beyond talented in what they do and the capacities they have, he should technically be intrigued by each and every one of them, but he isn’t.
Quite frankly he finds all of them annoying in varying degrees.
Many of them don’t get along very well and Sasori has never been much for forming bonds with others anyway and yet Orochimaru has managed to worm his way underneath his skin in such a manner that it feels like he's running like mercury through his system by now.
It's both unpleasant and at the same time thrilling for a reason he has difficulty identifying the cause for. And the biggest issue is that Orochimaru seems fully aware of the situation and derives some wicked pleasure from watching Sasori struggle with how to cope with it.
In the beginning it was more like he wanted Sasori to feel uneasy and he achieved that by doing small, seemingly insignificant things that he knew would rattle the other man’s cage.
One of those things, along with never following orders, marching to the beat of his own drum and only looking out for himself, was to undress in front of Sasori, exposing naked glimpses of his body at unexpected moments, seemingly without thinking.
But Orochimaru’s brain never takes a break, it is always plotting something, so of course he knew what he was doing.
It was never made crudely, never exposing his genitals or anything like that, just a quick glimpse of a bare back, his torso, his long graceful neck, always fully aware what a tantalising sight he was exposing while his features never revealed so much as a knowing twitch.
Sasori got embarrassed in the beginning and turned his eyes away swiftly, getting angry for letting it affect him and even more angry when the memories kept lingering inside of him, creating a distraction when his mind should be occupied with more important matters.
After the initial embarrassment he tried to not let it show that it made an impact every time Orochimaru deigned to expose some skin, so he stubbornly didn’t turn away his gaze, but that only resulted in him hungrily staring instead.
Orochimaru’s physique, just as everything else about him, is balancing on the line of eerily beautiful but also fascinatingly disturbing.
His skin is so pale and his hair so black, but they are still within the normal range of unusual. People can look like that even if it isn’t very common.
The snakelike eyes, the coldness of his touch, the way he can elongate his limbs as well as his neck, resembling a reptile more than a human, that’s what is straight out unnerving and yet at the same time captivating in a way Sasori can’t properly explain.
He has never cared for animals and least of all snakes, so rationally he shouldn’t find it fascinating to watch the other man transform, move in that graceful way he does one moment before he regurgitates a weapon or a snake or even sometimes his own body through his mouth as if it is ordinary behaviour.
Nothing anyone does in their group of miscreants is considered even remotely normal and some of them are certainly stranger than others, but Orochimaru has that skill to captivate people around him, even when he does something deeply disturbing.
He has the talent to fascinate and mesmerize. Kakuzu once said that he had the gift of a serpent’s tongue to ensnare people into doing his bidding and that the old fool of a hokage from Konoha had been blinded by his favourite student’s charm to such an extent that he had been unable to punish him when the time to do so came.
So Sasori is well aware that he should thread carefully around his partner and yet, those stares keeps getting longer and longer, despite his resolve to not get affected by Orochimaru’s childish provocations.
Another thing he started doing after a while was to start talking about inappropriate topics, solely meant to jar his younger, more inexperienced companion.
Being older than Sasori and thereby more knowledgeable of the ways of the world, having worked as a honey trap spy for Konoha before departing from the village, Orochimaru certainly knew a thing or two about matters that has so far never been a part of Sasori’s life and that he never really contemplated until Orochimaru brought them up to the surface.
The subject of intimacy and love has never been something Sasori has put much time and effort into, he never misses it, doesn’t long for it and never envied those falling victim to what he mostly considers a weakness of the flesh as much as of the psyche.
But as Orochimaru keeps bringing the subject of lust to the surface, oh so carefully, but still loaded with suggestive innuendo in his voice, pretending to innocently enquire about Sasori’s preferences the way you would ask about someone’s favourite type of food, Sasori can’t help but get affected by the topic of conversation just as much as he is when witnessing Orochimaru’s exposed nakedness.
Once again, it is never done crudely, not even when recalling events when he was supposed to fool some hapless enemy into revealing secrets by enticing him sufficiently to spill his information.
Sasori’s wants to know more about how he managed to do that, but he is too proud to ask and Orchimaru only alludes to the circumstances, never speaking plainly or in specific detail about such missions.
The latest thing he has started doing is really beginning to mess with Sasori’s senses.
It’s small gestures, sometimes just something that resembles jokes if not for the fact that the snake sannin never tells a joke.
Other times it’s more about small touches, a shoulder brushing past, a knee bumping against his and then that normally raspy voice suddenly turning smooth and inviting, like a silken caress with tips of ice shards curling around Sasori’s unexperienced body, a body he has done his very best to not put much importance into because it is weak and no use to him when the shell of his puppet armour is so much more superior.
His real body is of no significance to him, it shouldn’t matter because he has worked so hard towards indestructability by advancing his puppets and yet he can feel his humanity react to Orochimaru’s tricks and he silently curses himself for allowing it to affect him.
And now this latest stunt. What was that about?
He glares at his partner who is staring right back, that infuriating little smile that more resembles a sneer than anything benevolent playing on his lips, the dark hair flowing down his shoulders like it’s asking to be touched.
Sasori knows that Orochimaru is very proud of his hair and it is definitely beautiful, more stunning than anything Sasori has seen in the land he comes from.
His own tresses are red, like most people from Sunagakure, just like his own father when he was alive.
Orochimaru doesn’t look like he is the result of genetics, that he has roots in any of the five great shinobi nations but more likely as if he comes from a completely unknown place. Sasori can’t even imagine there being anyone else out there that looks like him.
As with everything, Orochimaru is entirely unique and one of a kind.
Sasori has secretly wondered if he could have one of his puppets acquire hair like that, and even more alluring is the idea to have Orochimaru himself made into a puppet, but he knows that if that should one day happen, now is not the right time.
He isn’t sure he would be able to take Orochimaru down anyway.
Maybe one day, in the future, but not now.
Their eyes continue to size each other up, Sasori’s mind buzzing with theories as to why his partner subjected him that unorthodox display with the woman earlier.
He is fully aware that Orochimaru was only playing one of his strange games, because the mere idea of him exhibiting signs of jealousy over Sasori speaking to someone else is ridiculous.
Sasori has never disclosed what gender he prefers and he isn’t sure about what Orochimaru prefers either but he assumes that they both care less about gender and more about the individual.
In fact, Orochimaru is clearly unbothered about what or who you are as long as you’re interesting enough and he himself swifts effortlessly between the sexes, one second resembling a female, another time a male.
But despite never talking about their predilections, Sasori is pretty sure that Orochimaru knows what his companion likes, perhaps even more than he knows himself.
And if there is anyone that might feel the sting of jealousy between the two of them, it’s Sasori and not Orochimaru, even if he tries his hardest to quell that weakness.
He has no reason to feel resentful and yet he can’t help but wonder what those people that has enjoyed the snake sannin’s charms were subjected to, an intensive burning desire for further knowledge sometimes flaring up inside of him.
At the same time, Orochimaru is very possessive and probably crazy enough to go overboard if someone he considers to be his would deign to throw glances in another direction.
Not that throwing glances at that woman was what Sasori was doing though.
He hardly remembers what she looked like, only that the sweet smell of the dango was lingering in the air between them and his wish to know the directions to their next destination was what prompted him to even address her in the first place.
There was nothing else, no wish for anything more and Orochimaru’s move came completely out of the blue.
Even if Sasori tends to make a fuss about showing his disapproval when his partner is acting difficult or unruly, he usually lets it go quickly enough, having realised a long time ago that nothing stokes his partner’s ego more than being rewarded with other people’s attention.
But this time around Sasori is sufficiently annoyed to not simply let it go without being offered an explanation and he corners Orochimaru with a withering glare and tightly pressed lips that clearly show that he isn’t pleased.
“Why did you do that? Why did you need to make a scene? We can’t stay here now that she remembers what we look like.”
Orochimaru simply shrugs, like he doesn’t care. He probably doesn’t, even if he in particular should be careful not to catch anyone’s attention. He is a wanted man after all.
“Why should we bother about what she thinks? We are obviously strangers in a small village, she is bound to remember us anyway, simply by seeing us pass by.”
“Yeah, but now we’re more than just two strangers. We’re the ones who made a spectacle in front of her dango stand.”
Orochimaru’s eyes narrow slightly but it’s difficult to tell if there is mirth or annoyance in them.
He doesn’t show it often, Sasori has only borne witness to it twice, but the man has quite the fiery temper if sufficiently provoked. And it is always initiated by a cold sort of calmness that makes the turn of his mood all the more unexpected.
“Well, you were the one who started talking to her.”
Sasori can’t help but growl in frustration, annoyed that Orochimaru once more has managed to get a reaction out of him.
“To ask for directions!” he snarls and rises from the bed to step up to the chair where Orochimaru is sitting as if positioned on a throne. His legs are slightly apart, his hands on each armrest and his back positioned firmly against the hard wooden surface behind. He has stopped lounging now.
He looks like a young daimyo with the world cowering at his feet. Like a king of snakes, the purple clan marks in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin, his reptilian eyes glimmering as he watches his companion’s movements, breaching his personal space.
Sasori wishes to strike him across the cheek, to see him bleed, make that hair fly through the air like a black fan, but before he’s even properly formulated that thought inside his head, Orochimaru’s hand shoots out and takes a firm grab of his robe, pulling him down so he ends up on his knees in front of him.
Then the same hand lands on Sasori’s shoulder, a hand that is surprisingly heavy despite the delicate build, a hand that is used to being obeyed and in control, pressing him down.
That is the mystery of assessing Orochimaru who sometimes looks so frail, almost womanlike, androgynous, slight and as if burdened by the darkness within him.
But then, close up, he is actually strong and commanding, solid and powerful, not only through his intellect but physically as well. That hand could probably crush bone if applying the sufficient pressure and it currently feels like a vice around Sasori’s shoulder.
“There is no need to ask for directions, Sasori. Not when you are with me.”
Sasori contemplates wrenching himself out of the firm grip but for some reason he doesn’t, he just looks up into the pale face and the glimmering eyes that stares so intensely into his own that it feels like he is being hypnotized.
The words get stuck in his mouth, the rebuke ready to spill from his lips doesn’t come. Because of course a reprimand was being formulated inside his head the second he was forced down on his knees.
He is his own master after all, no one is supposed to tell him what to do, no has done so in years.
Not since...
He waves her face away; she is a part of a world he no longer belongs to.
He supposes he has her to thank for his interest in puppetry but there is no point dwelling on the past. He is walking a different path now and never will it lead back to her.
He feels cold fingers grip his jaw and his attention is snapped back to the present, surprised that he managed to travel back down memory lane for a second when those golden eyes are staring so intently at him.
“Why are you so intent on struggling against the inevitable, Sasori-kun?”
Sasori-kun?!
He feels his hackles rise at the implication that he is somehow just a young subordinate to the man in front of him, inferior in status, a follower instead of an equal.
But before his anger manages to break out in the form of words, one of the fingers gripping his jaw presses softly against his lips, preventing them from parting to make a sound.
Instead his lips tingle, as if the skin of the long, pale finger pressing against his mouth is coated in some allergenic that causes this reaction, along with his throat turning dry and tight.
Orochimaru’s face comes closer, it is mere inches away from him now, the warmth of his breath ghosting against Sasori’s skin, causing goosebumps to break out across his arms, luckily hidden from prying eyes beneath his sleeves, but he feels it happening and knows why it happens as well, just as he knows why his mouth goes dry and his heart constricts inside his chest.
This is human weakness; it’s why it is so much better to break away from his old body and let a new one take its place.
A puppet would never react like he does right now, because a puppet doesn’t feel anything, it only does what the puppet master tells it to do, according to how the strings are being pulled.
But he isn’t quite there yet and for a second he wonders who the puppet master in this room really is.
Is it him or the man in front of him that seemingly plays him every way he wants to.
As Orochimaru’s lips part and the glistening of white fangs flash by before his tongue emerges, elongated and salivating, eager to devour, Sasori has the distinct feeling that it isn’t him who is pulling the strings anymore.