Ties that Bind

“There you are! Fuckin’ hell this place is a damn labyrinth!”

Jiraiya scratches the side of his head in irritation, at his wits’ end after having to go on a hunt on top of everything else they’ve gotten up to today.

Orochimaru hums to acknowledge his presence, but doesn’t turn his head. He pretends to be far too engrossed in brushing his long, jet-black hair to pay his former teammate any mind.

He has a pair of loose, dark green silk pajama pants on. But nothing else.

He doesn’t seem to give a damn that he’s sat in front of Jiraiya with his new set of breasts on full display. 

Spluttering, Jiraiya takes several steps backward and throws a hand over his eyes. He smashes his back into the doorframe, rather than successfully making it out, bashing his head in the process.

“Fuck-”

“Are you for real right now?” 

“The fuck do you mean I’m for real?!”

“You’ve seen me undressed before.”

“Not like this though!”

Orochimaru laughs, a light, lilting, teasing sound that raises goosebumps along Jiraiya’s arms.

“You haven’t changed, have you?”

Jiraiya lowers his hand; Orochimaru gives him a dismissive wave of his hairbrush.

“I’m still the same person I always was. You don’t need to be bashful.”

“I just- I mean- you could have a little shame, you know!”

“It’s my bedroom, Jiraiya. You barged in without knocking. Now are you going to tell me why you were looking for me or are you just going to stand there like a moron?”

“I uh-”

Not ideal- Jiraiya’s mind seems to be drawing a total blank. Like his brain is a bathtub and this bastard just reached right in and pulled the plug out of the drain, sending all coherent thought spiralling out of existence.

Orochimaru waits patiently, leaning back on his hands and donning the barest hint of a smirk.

(No. Bad Jiraiya. No boner. Focus.)

“If I asked you a question can I trust you to be honest with me?” 

“Depends on the question.”

“Did you really need me here?” 

“Hm?”

“You could wrangle Naruto fine on your own, experience with Jinchuriki or not. Isn’t that right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So what’d you need me for?”

“I don’t recall actually saying I need you.”

“Why were you so damn insistent then?!” Jiraiya demands, stomping his foot in a thoroughly childish fashion.

“That’s easy- I wanted you here. And you see, I’ve become a little accustomed to getting what I want.”

Before he really registers what he’s doing, Jiraiya has his hands wrapped around Orochimaru’s skinny neck, pinning him down onto the bed with an aggravated snarl.

“You really fucking piss me off, you know that?! It wouldn’t kill ya to not be such an arrogant prick every once in a while, you know?!”

At first, he gets angrier when Orochimaru doesn’t respond. Then, with a surge of horror, he realizes that he can’t. He releases his grip, allowing his former teammate to grab his wrists and pry his hands off his throat.

“I prefer the term confident, thank you very much.”

Despite that declaration, there’s the slightest waver in his voice, and he’s turned a funny pink color (though that might just be from air deprivation).

“You know you could’ve just told me to fuck off,” he says. “Or walk away.”

“Like hell I’m letting you get away again.” Jiraiya replies, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

That gets Orochimaru to squirm suddenly, trying to get out from underneath him, and Jiraiya realizes what sort of position they’re in.

Specifically, that he’s got Orochimaru trapped in his own bed, half naked, with his tits hanging out and a more vulnerable look on his face than he’s seen in ages.

Suddenly, his throat feels quite dry.

Orochimaru looks genuinely confused. His mouth hangs half-open in a silent what are you doing? sort of expression. His lips look so soft, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet them, gold eyes locked on him intently.

They stay frozen like that for an eon. Neither of them says a word, despite having a million things they want to say.

Instead of saying anything, however, and deciding it can’t possibly make anything worse, Jiraiya leans down and kisses him.

Time stops cold. A voice that sounds alarmingly like Tsunade’s in the back of his head asks him what the actual fuck he thinks he’s doing. Orochimaru doesn’t try to fight him off, instead tensing up from shock. His breath tastes like matcha and his hair smells like sandalwood and jasmine. It’s intoxicating and makes him feel a little dizzy.

This is fucking crazy.

When he pulls his head away, Orochimaru lays as still and stiff as a corpse, apparently stunned.

“...what the hell was that about?” he hisses, at last.

“I don’t know,” Jiraiya replies, feeling like a moron.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?!” 

He should probably shove Jiraiya off. But he doesn’t. And Jiraiya should probably excuse himself at this point. Preferably while apologizing profusely and praying for mercy. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs a handful of silky black hair, so soft and so shiny and so beautiful, brings it up to his face, and takes a deep breath.

He smells the same as he did in their youth. Familiar, comforting, intoxicating. It stirs up ancient memories he thought he’d banished from his mind.

It’s strange to do, maybe. But it isn’t like things can get any stranger right now.

His heart makes a valiant effort to burst out of his sternum. His hands start to wander. He wonders whether Orochimaru might bite him (or stab him), but even as he lays the palm of his hand flat against his sternum, right between his breasts, he doesn’t move an inch.

(Jiraiya’s heart isn’t the only one racing.)

Orochimaru tilts his head, and Jiraiya can see the gears turning in his head as he ponders his options in this situation. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths, and Jiraiya stares at that rather than looking his teammate in the face.

Delicate white hands reach up, wiry arms wrapping around Jiraiya’s neck. Jiraiya freezes, wondering if this is how he’s gonna die.

“Are you going to commit to this bad idea or what?” he asks, instead of throttling him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you want to fuck me, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Rolling his eyes, Orochimaru reaches out and grabs Jiraiya’s erection through his pants. Jiraiya lets out an undignified yelp at the bold action.

“I’m not opposed to it. If you want it, you only need to say so.”

He does want it. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more in his life. Despite the sheer batshit insanity of the entire situation, the opportunity has presented itself practically gift-wrapped.

Saying it still sounds weird though.

(Maybe because he’d never considered himself to be the kind of person who’d ever have sex with another guy. But he’s got a woman’s body right now so it’s alright, right?

Right?) 

Instead of that, he decides he’d like to kiss him again. So he does.

This time, Orochimaru grabs the back of his head and kisses him back, quick to put his clever tongue to work.

(Has he ever been kissed this way before? He’s pretty sure he’s only written it.)

They don’t break apart again until they’re desperate for air, pulling back with heavy gasps as they digest what they’re getting into.

They’re really gonna do this. 

-Why does it feel like it’s been a long time coming?

He barely registers Orochimaru pulling his shirt off; the cool air in the bedroom hits his overheated skin so abruptly he’s mildly surprised it doesn’t hiss from the sudden temperature change.

Greedy hands run over his chest, mapping the outlines of muscles and scars with thin, nimble fingers. His eyes follow along the path he traces, like he’s trying to commit it all to his obnoxiously sharp memory.

To reciprocate, Jiraiya grabs the waistband of his pants and pulls them down, exposing a pair of deceptively thin, paper-pale legs, and a thatch of dark hair tucked between.

He looks so vulnerable. Irresistible. He wants more, wants to devour all of him.

Jiraiya leans down, cautiously, and presses his mouth against a small, soft breast, ghosting his tongue against a pert, plum-colored nipple. That elicits a shaky sigh from his erstwhile lover, who works fingers into his wild white hair to urge him to be more bold.

He bites down lightly on the sensitive flesh, drawing out a sharp gasp. His hand wanders down, reaching up between his legs, fingers slipping into the warm, wet flesh between his thighs.

(if he’d written this scenario into one of his books, he doesn’t think anyone would believe it.)

“Heh. Guess I’m not the only one excited, eh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Orochimaru huffs, though his breath is heavy and his face is turning redder by the second as his composure crumbles.

Jiraiya glares at him.

“Maybe you should try shutting up every once in a while,” he growls, biting his breast considerably harder this time, fucking him harder with his fingers and causing Orochimaru to howl from the sudden assault.

“You really piss me off, you know that?” Jiraiya growls. 

“Well how do you think I feel?!” Orochimaru snaps back. “All the times back then I needed you- it took until fucking now for you to finally be here-”

(Why does he sound hurt? )

“Idiot-”

Despite being so angry, he still grabs Jiraiya and holds him close like he’s scared the man will leave him.

His legs jerk involuntarily when Jiraiya starts working him over with his fingers again, stretching out his tense, quivering insides with deliberate, insistent motions.

This new body of his is remarkably sensitive- he wonders if its previous owner had ever done anything like this before. He takes great pleasure in leaving marks all over that flawless white skin, watching the marks turn from red to blue and purple in no time at all.

It must hurt. But judging by the sounds Orochimaru makes (and the way his nails gouge bloody wounds out of his back and shoulders), his old teammate doesn’t mind that one bit.

He wants it. He wants to fuck him. He wants to mark him up more. He wants to put his dick in the wet cunt wrapped around his fingers. It’s a little annoying to have to take a hand away to undo his pants to free himself, but it will be well worth it in a moment.

(He wants it so bad. They both want it so badly. It’s unbearable.)

It feels surreal, being in this position. His erection rests heavy against Orochimaru’s thigh; Orochimaru cranes his neck upward, looking a little intimidated by it.

(maybe he’s more well endowed than he gave himself credit for?)

He takes himself in his hand and lines up his impatient erection with Orochimaru’s wet cunt.

“Hey slow down a littl-”

-Too late for any silly ideas like that.

Orochimaru bites a hole through his lip and lets loose a string of colorful curses. His hands twist up in the bedding, jaw tight, eyes screwed shut in pain.

“Fuck-” he gasps. “That hurts!”

It feels like someone has shoved a red-hot piece of metal inside him, stretching him far too far, far too quickly. It feels like he might tear in two from it.

Jiraiya keeps still as long as he can stand it, while he adjusts to the sudden intrusion.

It’s unbearable. Orochimaru feels so good inside, so warm and tight, and his body is so soft and he smells so good and he’s just so goddamn beautiful.

Shaking, Orochimaru reaches toward him again, grabbing either side of his head.

“Do you want to stop?” Jiraiya asks.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Orochimaru hisses back.

Well, good. Because at this point Jiraiya doesn’t think he can stop any more than he can will his own heart to stop beating.

They wait like that for ages. Until he can’t bear being still anymore. Carefully, he pulls out until just the head remains inside. He pushes back in slowly, a little hypnotized by the way Orochimaru’s body swallows him up, and the soft, needy sounds that escape him.

“Not so haughty anymore, huh?” he asks, with as smug a smirk as he can manage as he continues this slow back and forth.

Orochimaru can’t even argue. He has a desperate look on his face, voice heavy with mingled pain and longing as he moans. All in all, he looks quite pathetic. But that’s a good look for him.

“I’ll wipe that fucking smug look off your face for good.”

Jiraiya uses his thighs for leverage, abandoning the pretense of gentleness and losing himself in the feeling. Yowling like a cat in heat, Orochimaru arches his back and claws at Jiraiya until he’s sure he’s more bloodied flesh than untouched skin.

“Fuck, so good-” Jiraiya groans, grabbing a fistful of Orochimaru’s hair to drag his head in closer. “I think I could fuck you a thousand times, if you always feel this good.”

It seems like Orochimaru is, for once, at a loss for words. All he can manage is an incoherent string of babbling, occasionally mingled with something understandable like don’t stop and more.

He’s more than happy to oblige, of course. He would fuck him forever, if he could.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end. 

“I’m cl-”

-He doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

Sharp fangs sink deep into his shoulder, returning the favor for the bites left across Orochimaru’s skin. The rhythmic, almost violent contractions of Orochimaru’s orgasm push Jiraiya over the edge, riding out his own release with a low, almost feral sort of sound.

Locked together like that, it starts to dawn on each of them the absolute batshit insanity of what they’ve just done.

“Shit-”

Orochimaru whines when Jiraiya pulls out of him to survey the damage.

His cunt gapes open obscenely, rapidly bruising and leaking cum and streaks of blood from the rough handling.

It’s far from the only part of him that’s bruised. His thighs, his wrists, the two or three deep bites on his left breast-

Well. It’s quite a sight. 

Orochimaru reaches up, blearily wiping away a trail of drool from the corner of his mouth. His breath is thin and rattles in his chest, and he stares in Jiraiya’s general direction without really seeing him.

“Hey…you okay?”

A solitary nod.

His back burns like he’s been mauled by a feral cat, now that he doesn’t have a good distraction. If it looks anything like his arms look, they’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do.

“...Did I hurt you?” 

Another nod.

Shit.

Lazily, gingerly, Orochimaru rolls onto his side, swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and sits upright.

“I’m sorr-”

Orochimaru holds up a hand, signaling for him to be silent. He stands up, cringing as he does, not paying any mind to the aftermath of their trist dripping lewdly down his leg, and goes into the bathroom adjoining the bedroom, casting Jiraiya an are you coming? Look over his shoulder.

The shower starts running. After staying on the bed for a few more moments, Jiraiya wills himself to move again.

They wash up and dress each other’s injuries, neither of them saying another word. It feels like it would be wrong somehow, inappropriate.

Funny how that feels too intimate, considering what they just did.

He must be some kind of super pervert, for thinking Orochimaru looks quite good bandaged up. But that's something to unpack later.

(One of many.)