Bed of Ash-- SasuKabu, OroSasu
Title: Bed of Ash
Pairing: SasuKabu, OroSasu, implied OroKabu
Words: ~4,400
Genre: Dark, introspective, smutty.
Rating: R
Warnings: Psychological themes, if that qualifies.
Spoilers: Through chapter 310.
Summary: Sasuke and Sound-a series of vignettes spanning two and a half years.
Beta’d (about ¾ of it, anyway) by the esteemable bakkhos. Thank you very much! ♥
Other Notes: God, writing Sound is so freaking hard. This thing pounded my ass into the dirt. (And yes, I did like it, so I suppose I'm not complaining.)
Comments are love.
Crossposted.
--
“You cook?” Sasuke sneered from the doorway, arrogance masking his surprise at finding the silver-haired medic in the kitchen hovering over a series of various steaming pots and bottles. (Or at least, what he took to be the kitchen, though it had looked little different than Kabuto’s laboratories, right down to the microscopes and Bunsen burners occupying most of the counter space.) It’d been the scent of curry that had drawn the young Uchiha down the hallway, his stomach clenching almost painfully at the promise of food.
“Of course. Cooking is merely an extension of my work; there’s little difference between food preparation and biochemical experimentation.” Kabuto didn’t turn around immediately. He stirred the foremost pot with one hand and adjusted the heat under a beaker of some kind of simmering green-tinged liquid with the other, and then cocked a calm smile over his shoulder. “And Orochimaru-sama trusts me.”
Sasuke didn’t respond. If Kabuto was convinced that such menial work was a position of respect and honor, that was his own business; if Orochimaru trusted his slippery subordinate to prepare his food and not try to kill him with it, Sasuke cared only so far as to hope that his judgment was correct- the sannin’s death would be inconvenient for his education.
Kabuto ignored his lingering presence, indulgingly tolerating the stare that burned into his back as he moved from the curry to the vials of blood hung neatly in their rack awaiting testing and back again in a purposeful, gracefully timed rhythm.
The neck of the hot beaker was clamped skillfully with metal tongs and the pale chartreuse-colored fluid poured into a cobalt glazed teapot; blood was measured out and dripped onto glass slides with tiny plastic eyedroppers, spread and capped with delicate cover slips, and laid out in neatly labeled rows; tobeyaki tableware was set out on a sturdy bamboo tray, filled with ladlefuls of curry, and almost artistically garnished with pickles.
Kabuto paused to wash his hands, then picked up the tray- set for three, Sasuke’d noticed- and smiled at the younger nin still hovering suspiciously and hungrily in the doorway.
“Coming, Sasuke-kun?”
There was a lacquered bento box waiting by the side of his bed that evening, topped with a note that skipping meals was both a careless neglect of his own well-being and an inexcusable rudeness which would be overlooked just this once and no more.
Breakfast would be at eight sharp.
Sasuke glared sulkily across the polished wood table at Orochimaru with little effect; the sour stare and stony silence certainly didn’t dissuade the man from carrying on a conversation with (or without) Sasuke in between precise, almost delicate bites of his breakfast, and the younger nin seethed at first at both the list of what Orochimaru expected of him and each deliberately lengthy pause with which he was baited.
He shot a dark look Kabuto’s way when he placed matching dishes in front of him before vanishing off to the warren of his labs, but eventually hunger and basic logic forced him to pick up his chopsticks. He couldn’t not eat, and if the medic wanted an opportunity to experiment on him…well, Sasuke suspected that there would be plenty of other chances for him to do so, just as he’d had quite a few already.
Sasuke didn’t appreciate the pleased smile that curved Orochimaru’s lips when he finally took his first bite; he smiled too often, too artfully artlessly, distractingly, disconcertingly, and Sasuke’s eyes narrowed and he’d taken a deep sip of tea as though responding to an unspoken challenge.
He refused to acknowledge that food was actually surprisingly good.
“Why do you care?” Sasuke asked finally, coldly annoyed at the way Orochimaru had watched him, slitted eyes glittering. He shoved the nearly empty bowl away from him. He didn’t remember eating all of it.
“It’s hardly unusual for teachers to be concerned about the welfare of their dear students,” Orochimaru drawled, his mocking tone honeyed with indulgent amusement, but then leaned back in his seat, elbow on the chair arm and fingers curled at his lips. “You want power but yet you are careless, and your impatience is a weakness. It is in your best interest to learn to pace yourself, Sasuke-kun.”
Sasuke made little effort to keep the sullen hostility from his face.
“My best interest?”
That elicited a laugh from the older nin, and he pushed out of his seat with a sweeping gesture, indicating that Sasuke was to follow.
“Our best interests, then.”
--
“In ancient times, snakes were worshipped as bringers of rain and fertility, blessing and good health.”
Kabuto spoke casually, lightly, no particular emphasis on his words; his fingers were less callused than a shinobi’s should be, soft and smooth. His expressions were bafflingly opaque, like clear water clouded with matcha, more than what they seemed and yet nothing less; his smiles were like cryptic puzzles which held poisoned senbon needles within them.
“Serpents have been the allies and companions of gods and saints, guardians of wisdom and of creation itself.”
His family had been killed when he’d still been a child as well, but Sasuke doubted him when he’d calmly said that he sought his own revenge against Konoha and the people who’d murdered his parents and siblings, those who’d had deprived him of his own kin and then tried to replace what they had taken.
“Though the world’s moved on and humans no longer believe the same stories, the snakes have not forgotten the dignity and homage they were once paid.”
Kabuto reminded him that there was often more power in leverage than in blunt force.
--
Sasuke had anticipated hating Orochimaru’s lessons; he had expected to resent the double-edged comments he’d known he’d hear, sharp and sure as weapons, regarding his flaws and mistakes, the inevitable jibing comparisons to his brother. He already disliked the feel of the sannin’s tight focus on every detail of his movement and expression, though as he grudgingly acknowledged that such scrutiny was of course essential for analyzing his combat skills.
Sasuke had anticipated hating each moment he spent with Orochimaru, but he’d understood that it was necessary- both the training itself, and the cold loathing that accompanied it. He’d left Konoha to break all ties but those of hate, and he wanted to feel nothing more than that toward anyone ever again.
He’d hate it until he simply didn’t care at all anymore: the best possible outcome of all.
Orochimaru surprised him, and both the seemingly endless patience which the man had while demonstrating and explaining new jutsu to his young protégé and the cordial, good-humored mannerisms he displayed while Sasuke rolled in the dirt in agony so extreme he couldn’t even scream set the Uchiha’s teeth on edge and made him twice as wary as he’d been of Orochimaru when he’d first arrived in Sound.
“Sasuke-kun, I’m disappointed in you,” and Sasuke thought through the haze of pain that he almost sounded as though he’d meant it, and rage shot though his chest with suffocating heat. “You were less innovative than you’d been during our first fight.”
Sasuke’s response sliced through the space the sannin’s face had been occupying a half-second previous, and then he grimly forced himself back to his feet.
He would be no one’s disappointment.
--
Kabuto merely glanced up from his clipboard when Sasuke’d staggered into his lab, barely even raising a brow at the boy’s condition, unhurried by the amount of blood or the Uchiha’s crimson glare. He gestured toward a steel table and had jotted down a few more notes while he waited patiently for Sasuke to acknowledge the silent order, then resettled his glasses and dropped his clipboard off on the counter and turned to Sasuke with a small rueful smile.
Sasuke would have punched him if his wrist wasn’t broken.
Kabuto’s chakra-enhanced touches tingled like menthol on his skin, radiating soothing heat deep into his aching, battered body, and Sasuke closed his eyes and breathed easier as the band of agony wrapped around his chest loosened.
“Have you been sleeping well, Sasuke-kun?”
Sasuke sighed when the warmth spread out over his torso receded, but Kabuto’s hands lingered a moment more, pressing against his throbbing ribcage as though verifying his work from the outside. It took a few minutes before Sasuke- focused on the conflicting sensations welling up in response to the cool physician’s touch- registered the question.
“Fine.”
“Mm. Your appetite seems good. Has the food been to your liking?” Sasuke flinched from Kabuto when he reached for his face, but he didn’t radiate harmful intent as he caught the younger man’s chin, and Sasuke begrudgingly held still as Kabuto held his eyes open and flashed a pen light into them.
Sasuke shrugged.
The examination of the curse seal was cursory but still preformed; the seal vibrated like a struck bell when touched, and Sasuke couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his back.
“Bandage yourself up and take the next few days off to rest. I’ve patched up the mess you’d managed to make of your ribs, but they still need time to set and heal properly. Take it easy with your left hand.”
“Are we finished here?”
Kabuto stepped back with a mild smile, allowing Sasuke the room to slide off the examination table.
“Of course.”
--
Sasuke liked the smell of steel and ozone, fresh sweat and crisp sunlight-laced air; he enjoyed the sound that metal made when it cut through the air, sharp and clean. He could lose himself in the graceful motions of his morning training kata, dancing through timeless time when the world seemed new and pure, showered in brilliance which reflected off his sword in dazzling flashes; he was hyperaware of the smooth grip in his hand, the tang that that rooted the blade in the hilt, and the weapon became a part of him, as graceful and controlled as the rest.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to parry Orochimaru’s sudden blow; he’d gotten used to his teacher’s slinking silence and when his instincts prickled his skin, he obeyed his body’s urge to turn and raise his blade, unsurprised at the metallic clang and vibration of swords meeting.
Sasuke’s dark lashes lifted, and ringed red sharingan flicked first across the sannin’s face- Sasuke noted the silent praise in the pleased narrowing of his eyes and twitch at the corner of his lips; he’d been fast enough, the motion made to counter executed perfectly- and then dropped to study Orochimaru’s posture, to watch and record his every movement as they sparred.
The morning’s swordplay ended with Sasuke’s katana embedded deeply in a tree trunk and the disarmed Uchiha himself pinned bare inches from his own quivering blade, bound in the cold coils of a large serpent and dripping blood from the slash that crossed his cheek.
Another loss, another lesson.
Sasuke wouldn’t forget.
--
“What’s this?” Sasuke stared at the pungent brew placed in his hands suspiciously, mouth tensing as though he wanted to curl his lip at the smell of it.
“Poison.”
Kabuto chuckled at the sharp look his blunt answer received, but then he shrugged, clarifying, “In trace amounts. It might make you a little sick at first, but gradually you’ll build up immunity to it.”
Sasuke sniffed quietly at the smile on the med-nin’s face; he looked wearily amused, as though he expected to him to put up more resistance, and that was enough reassurance.
“Bottoms up,” Kabuto murmured as he reached for the cup before Sasuke dropped it in his struggles not to retch.
It tasted worse than it had smelled.
--
Orochimaru was ambitious, and had the cunning foresight necessary to develop plans which stretched far into the future, coupled with both the time and the patience to see them through to fruition; his actions outside of combat appeared to Sasuke unrushed, his decisions almost capricious- everything hinging on a moment’s humored whim, unplanned and unthought-out.
Sasuke watched as each seemingly casual choice slid pawns into wide, far-flung arrangements, their victories and defeats occurring on cue perfectly timed and executed.
“I know what people want,” Orochimaru said, smiling in his usual unpleasant manner as he steepled his hands together. “Everyone wants the same thing. Everyone has the same desire.
“Everyone wants power.”
He laughed softly at the look on his student’s face: Sasuke’s lips tightened and he involuntarily recoiled as though he’d been struck- the sannin had touched a nerve, and it had been obvious even before he’d spoken that he’d known the reaction his words would cause.
“To protect their family or clan. To prove their worth and be honored. To destroy their enemies…” His pale hand drifted through Sasuke’s too-long hair to run down the smooth curve of his cheek and rest there. “There are many reasons. All valid, and all…valuable. Isn’t that right, Sasuke-kun?”
Sasuke’s eyes narrowed aggressively; he resented the unexpected contact and the way that it made him feel: it made his stomach tense up and his seal throb with an ache that ran down deep into his belly. He resented it, but he didn’t dare pull away; it would only encourage Orochimaru further if he did.
“You’re no different.” Sasuke cocked his head deliberately into the broad palm still flush against his face, his words edged like a blade. “So what’s your excuse for all this?”
Orochimaru’s fingers curled in the roots of his hair, blunt nails scraping at his scalp, and his bloodless lips parted, showing the white gleam of his teeth.
“Excuse?” he repeated, the traces of laughter threaded through his tone slipping loose like stray ribbons. “I need no excuse. The small-minded hoi polloi have limited sight and seek power merely as a way to achieve some petty end, a tool to be used carelessly.”
Sasuke’s lip curled at the implied insult, and his own fingernails bit semicircles into the flesh of his hands as he steadied himself.
“But for those with vision… Well.” Orochimaru laughed. His caresses stopped for a moment, and the pads of his fingers traced down Sasuke’s face to his jaw; he lifted the younger nin’s chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze directly. “Power is its own validation. It is not the means to an end; it is the end itself.”
Sasuke nodded slowly.
“You have that vision, Sasuke-kun. I knew when we first fought that you had it- your eyes see what others’ cannot.”
Orochimaru had said once that Sasuke showed the potential to surpass Itachi, but Sasuke’d forgotten the compliment in the wake of the disaster that chuunin exam had become and Orochimaru never repeated that particular observation.
It wouldn’t do to give Sasuke the impression that he could do things on his own.
Itachi was still more powerful than Orochimaru.
--
When Sasuke dreamed, everything was washed in shades of blue.
Like the sky, like the deep, endless ocean.
He thought that seeing the world in red would drive him mad; he was grateful for the cool hues in which his subconscious mind painted.
Memories of old, familiar faces and voices were faded and far away. Through the years their beseeching calls dimmed down into quiet static, meaningless sound which was irrelevant to him, easily ignored.
He felt no loss, no regret, only a dim sense of satisfaction in having done the right thing.
--
Sasuke had believed that Kabuto had been jealous of him when he’d first arrived in Sound, but he hadn’t been there long before he realized he was more than a little jealous of the older nin himself: Kabuto, for all of his obedience to Orochimaru’s whims and wishes, had a calmly dignified sense of self; he was exactly where and what he wanted to be, and had more than enough freedom within a delicate framework for his own purpose and power and pleasure.
He hated the way that the medic touched him- the way that his fingers were indifferent to the flesh under them as they traced smooth lines of well-formed muscles and pressed in systematically to check internal rhythms. He fumed helplessly, knowing that every instinctive, uncontrollable biological reaction was sensed and noted, his attention drawn to the faint knowing smile Kabuto wore by the way he resettled his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
Kabuto’s thumb dragged across Sasuke’s lower lip as he cocked his head back slightly to measure his pulse; the throb in Sasuke’s throat was strong and slightly elevated, and Sasuke tried to focus on the metronomic drip of a leaky faucet he could hear in the background.
He could not afford to be distracted.
Sasuke would cut out all that was unnecessary to destroying his brother and burn it all down until there was nothing left but a bed of ash.
Kabuto didn’t ask why.
Perhaps he didn’t ever have to. Perhaps he already understood the motivations and desires of those he closely associated with well enough to predict the actions which would precipitate from them.
Perhaps his fingers were skillfully occupied with more strings than his previous master’s had ever been.
Kabuto gave him tea and poison in succession, brewing and serving them both in identical fashion. Kabuto was more familiar with Sasuke’s body than Sasuke himself was; his hands had both injured him and healed him and he acted as though there was no distinction between the two.
Kabuto wouldn’t ask foolish questions like why.
Sasuke didn’t speak afterward; he merely closed his eyes and silently cursed himself. He felt cold when it was over, small and young and foolish, and his illusions of control slipped away like wind through netting.
He shifted restlessly, and Kabuto’s smooth hands drifted up his bare back as though attempting to ease some of his unease. The metal edge of his glasses pressed uncomfortably into Sasuke’s cheek, but he hadn’t been allowed to remove them and, impatiently, he hadn’t cared enough to force the issue when they’d begun.
Kabuto’d only laughed when Sasuke’s thwarted fingers had aggressively latched onto his hitai-ate instead, tugging it free hard enough to tear the fabric around the bolts and then flinging the engraved metal piece across the room with unnecessary force. He’d let the Uchiha shove and bite, inelegant and ungraceful and flushing with mingled embarrassment and anger as he’d fumbled to undress the older nin despite- or because of- the way that Kabuto arched under him to untangle his clothes from his limbs.
Sasuke’d buried his face against the vulnerable softness of Kabuto’s throat and sucked until he’d pulled a trembling, unsteady gasp from him instead of laughter; he’d bitten the curve of his trapezius until his pale hair was sticky and dark with blood.
It hadn’t been what he’d wanted. He was disappointed and unrelieved; he drew away into himself, unsurprised by his own discontent.
The itch tickled just under his skin, inflamed by the unsatisfying, tantalizing friction.
He would scratch at it until he ripped himself open; he’d be unmindful of the increasing pain caused by his desperate attempt at satiation. Deadening one’s own physical and emotional needs was never comfortable, but Sasuke didn’t care…perversely, he savored the sensations- the pain and bitterness, the frustration and disgust. Dying almost made him feel alive.
Sasuke grabbed Kabuto’s wrists, pinned his hands down against the mattress, and pushed his knee up hard between his thighs, a small grim smile gracing his features at the way Kabuto’s dark eyes widened with momentary surprise.
He would fight the fire of temptation and lust by letting it rage until it burnt itself out; he would glut himself to the point of sickened contempt and then throw it all aside when he was through.
Sasuke would let Kabuto think he’d successfully manipulated him into acting as he’d wanted, but he’d seen the hook buried in the bait and had taken it deliberately. This was his own choice.
They were spinning in mad, senseless circles, and there was no winning this game no matter how it was played out.
--
In the end, Sasuke understood, it didn’t matter if he added one more sin to the already endless litany for which he would never repent. He’d sold his flesh to the devil rather than his soul, but he was condemned nonetheless, and it was pointless to be concerned about so trivial a weakness as physical desire, especially when he could see so plainly what Orochimaru would do to and with his body when he at last possessed it completely.
Now or later, it was all inevitable; Sasuke’s only choice in the matter was how he chose to accept it.
His body was his weapon, and he would learn how to use it in every way that he could; he would shrink from nothing; he wasn’t afraid, and if he abhorred the primal rush of lust, his hatred was to his advantage until he learned apathy for the act-he would be more capable of maintaining his own cold distance in the most heated situation.
Sasuke’s body was his weapon, and weapons had no need for worthless, useless things like emotions. He would let himself be used until he was numb and uncaring, indifferent to every touch whether it was intended to cause pleasure or pain, unmoved by either sensation.
In the end, there was only one thing that mattered, and that was death.
Sasuke would finish what Itachi had started.
--
“Sasuke-kun, you are still impatient.”
Sasuke opened one dark eye to fixate balefully on Orochimaru, ripples of infuriation at the interruption of his meditation disrupting what little focus he’d managed to achieve.
The faintly disapproving note in the sannin’s tone was not lost on his student.
“Trouble concentrating? Distracted? You don’t even know why, do you?”
Sasuke jerked his flushing face away, barely biting back an annoyed snarl. He’d anticipated a reprimand for his actions, but Orochimaru didn’t seem angry; he acted as though he was baffled by a sudden display of stubborn stupidity from his otherwise intelligent protégé, his words spitefully condescending.
Sasuke would have preferred the scolding.
Orochimaru sighed loudly, sounding frustrated and more than a little impatient with the Uchiha’s sullenness himself. “Well, it makes no difference,” he said finally. “It might be easier to teach you this now, anyway.”
The whisper of silk sliding against itself as Orochimaru untied his obi seemed very loud in the tense silence. Sasuke’s ears burned from the sound of it, and half disbelieving he watched from the corner of his eyes as Orochimaru sank down gracefully to the floor and shrugged out of the loose spill of his kimono.
“Come.”
“There’s a serpent that lies within your body- here.” Sasuke didn’t squirm against the fingers that stroked over sensitive, seldom-touched skin in unceasing spirals. “Coiled in on itself, it sleeps…dormant energy. Untapped.”
There was wet heat against his ear, warm breath and the throaty grate of Orochimaru’s words.
“When it’s awakened, it moves up the spine, spilling through the chakra system like a torrent.”
“Power…”
“Mm…do you feel it?”
Sasuke’s breath hitched in his throat and his brow furrowed. “Nnn…” His tongue flicked across his parted lips, and then he groaned suddenly, the sound helplessly drawn from his throat in ecstasy of the rush pouring through him. “Yes.”
Orochimaru smirked and pressed his thumb up against the hui yin point, and Sasuke hissed as the feeling was cut off, writhing against his mentor in shameless frustration and longing.
“Damn it! I want…!” Sasuke’s eyes flashed a furious red. He’d been so close. It was almost enough. Finally, he understood why he’d been so unstated before; he knew what he’d been truly wanting.
“Want what, Sasuke-kun?” The tip of Orochimaru’s tongue dragged across his shoulder to trace the triplicate embryonic curls of his curse seal.
“More…”
Orochimaru laughed and pushed the boy down to the floor. “So impatient…”
The lesson was continued at his leisure, not Sasuke’s.
--
The first time Sasuke had sparred with Kabuto, he’d lost badly and had to spend the remainder of his afternoon being bandaged up by the man who’d cut him down, in too much pain to be angry or rebellious about the situation.
The first time he’d won against him, a not quite a year later, Orochimaru’d nearly had to intervene to keep the Uchiha from permanently damaging his subordinate; Sasuke’d gained in strength but still lost to his temper, especially when he let the seal sink its dark claws into his skin.
Releasing the seal was no longer necessary for victory. Sasuke fought with unerring, eerie silence, swift as a striking snake, and the match was over almost too quickly.
Sasuke rubbed at his injured bicep absently and stared down at Kabuto for a moment, his head held arrogantly high and face blank as he watched the older nin’s expression contort with a moment’s unchecked bloodlust before settling into a calm, wary watchfulness.
“Get up,” he said. “You aren’t wounded that badly.”
“This is a spar, Sasuke-kun, not an actual fight. I think…”
Kabuto was cut off by his need to dodge the line of fire that blazed across the field.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Sasuke didn’t raise his voice as he leapt through the wall of flame, a handful of kunai gleaming in the light before they thudded into the ground, barely missing.
“I gave you an order.”
--
Icy rain tore the dying leaves from the skeletal branches of melancholy trees and lashed at the building. The world outside was smudged in wet monochromatic grays that leeched the color even from the autumnal foliage, and Sasuke often fell into meditative trances as he stared through the pane of thin glass at the dark, dismal scene, his mind lulled by the steady beat of rain on the window.
The chill promise of winter in the air smelled metallic, like blood, and Sasuke dreamed with his eyes open.
The scarlet whirls of his sharingan didn’t make the memories any sharper; they didn’t allow him to see past thirteen year old Itachi’s smiles and wistful, contemplative silences to the murderer within nor could they change the outcome of the brothers’ last tragic battle.
Sasuke didn’t feel the cold that seeped in through the wooden pane. The embers of his hatred radiated heat enough to keep him warm, even banked down under a bed of ash.
--
Pairing: SasuKabu, OroSasu, implied OroKabu
Words: ~4,400
Genre: Dark, introspective, smutty.
Rating: R
Warnings: Psychological themes, if that qualifies.
Spoilers: Through chapter 310.
Summary: Sasuke and Sound-a series of vignettes spanning two and a half years.
Beta’d (about ¾ of it, anyway) by the esteemable bakkhos. Thank you very much! ♥
Other Notes: God, writing Sound is so freaking hard. This thing pounded my ass into the dirt. (And yes, I did like it, so I suppose I'm not complaining.)
Comments are love.
Crossposted.
--
“You cook?” Sasuke sneered from the doorway, arrogance masking his surprise at finding the silver-haired medic in the kitchen hovering over a series of various steaming pots and bottles. (Or at least, what he took to be the kitchen, though it had looked little different than Kabuto’s laboratories, right down to the microscopes and Bunsen burners occupying most of the counter space.) It’d been the scent of curry that had drawn the young Uchiha down the hallway, his stomach clenching almost painfully at the promise of food.
“Of course. Cooking is merely an extension of my work; there’s little difference between food preparation and biochemical experimentation.” Kabuto didn’t turn around immediately. He stirred the foremost pot with one hand and adjusted the heat under a beaker of some kind of simmering green-tinged liquid with the other, and then cocked a calm smile over his shoulder. “And Orochimaru-sama trusts me.”
Sasuke didn’t respond. If Kabuto was convinced that such menial work was a position of respect and honor, that was his own business; if Orochimaru trusted his slippery subordinate to prepare his food and not try to kill him with it, Sasuke cared only so far as to hope that his judgment was correct- the sannin’s death would be inconvenient for his education.
Kabuto ignored his lingering presence, indulgingly tolerating the stare that burned into his back as he moved from the curry to the vials of blood hung neatly in their rack awaiting testing and back again in a purposeful, gracefully timed rhythm.
The neck of the hot beaker was clamped skillfully with metal tongs and the pale chartreuse-colored fluid poured into a cobalt glazed teapot; blood was measured out and dripped onto glass slides with tiny plastic eyedroppers, spread and capped with delicate cover slips, and laid out in neatly labeled rows; tobeyaki tableware was set out on a sturdy bamboo tray, filled with ladlefuls of curry, and almost artistically garnished with pickles.
Kabuto paused to wash his hands, then picked up the tray- set for three, Sasuke’d noticed- and smiled at the younger nin still hovering suspiciously and hungrily in the doorway.
“Coming, Sasuke-kun?”
There was a lacquered bento box waiting by the side of his bed that evening, topped with a note that skipping meals was both a careless neglect of his own well-being and an inexcusable rudeness which would be overlooked just this once and no more.
Breakfast would be at eight sharp.
Sasuke glared sulkily across the polished wood table at Orochimaru with little effect; the sour stare and stony silence certainly didn’t dissuade the man from carrying on a conversation with (or without) Sasuke in between precise, almost delicate bites of his breakfast, and the younger nin seethed at first at both the list of what Orochimaru expected of him and each deliberately lengthy pause with which he was baited.
He shot a dark look Kabuto’s way when he placed matching dishes in front of him before vanishing off to the warren of his labs, but eventually hunger and basic logic forced him to pick up his chopsticks. He couldn’t not eat, and if the medic wanted an opportunity to experiment on him…well, Sasuke suspected that there would be plenty of other chances for him to do so, just as he’d had quite a few already.
Sasuke didn’t appreciate the pleased smile that curved Orochimaru’s lips when he finally took his first bite; he smiled too often, too artfully artlessly, distractingly, disconcertingly, and Sasuke’s eyes narrowed and he’d taken a deep sip of tea as though responding to an unspoken challenge.
He refused to acknowledge that food was actually surprisingly good.
“Why do you care?” Sasuke asked finally, coldly annoyed at the way Orochimaru had watched him, slitted eyes glittering. He shoved the nearly empty bowl away from him. He didn’t remember eating all of it.
“It’s hardly unusual for teachers to be concerned about the welfare of their dear students,” Orochimaru drawled, his mocking tone honeyed with indulgent amusement, but then leaned back in his seat, elbow on the chair arm and fingers curled at his lips. “You want power but yet you are careless, and your impatience is a weakness. It is in your best interest to learn to pace yourself, Sasuke-kun.”
Sasuke made little effort to keep the sullen hostility from his face.
“My best interest?”
That elicited a laugh from the older nin, and he pushed out of his seat with a sweeping gesture, indicating that Sasuke was to follow.
“Our best interests, then.”
--
“In ancient times, snakes were worshipped as bringers of rain and fertility, blessing and good health.”
Kabuto spoke casually, lightly, no particular emphasis on his words; his fingers were less callused than a shinobi’s should be, soft and smooth. His expressions were bafflingly opaque, like clear water clouded with matcha, more than what they seemed and yet nothing less; his smiles were like cryptic puzzles which held poisoned senbon needles within them.
“Serpents have been the allies and companions of gods and saints, guardians of wisdom and of creation itself.”
His family had been killed when he’d still been a child as well, but Sasuke doubted him when he’d calmly said that he sought his own revenge against Konoha and the people who’d murdered his parents and siblings, those who’d had deprived him of his own kin and then tried to replace what they had taken.
“Though the world’s moved on and humans no longer believe the same stories, the snakes have not forgotten the dignity and homage they were once paid.”
Kabuto reminded him that there was often more power in leverage than in blunt force.
--
Sasuke had anticipated hating Orochimaru’s lessons; he had expected to resent the double-edged comments he’d known he’d hear, sharp and sure as weapons, regarding his flaws and mistakes, the inevitable jibing comparisons to his brother. He already disliked the feel of the sannin’s tight focus on every detail of his movement and expression, though as he grudgingly acknowledged that such scrutiny was of course essential for analyzing his combat skills.
Sasuke had anticipated hating each moment he spent with Orochimaru, but he’d understood that it was necessary- both the training itself, and the cold loathing that accompanied it. He’d left Konoha to break all ties but those of hate, and he wanted to feel nothing more than that toward anyone ever again.
He’d hate it until he simply didn’t care at all anymore: the best possible outcome of all.
Orochimaru surprised him, and both the seemingly endless patience which the man had while demonstrating and explaining new jutsu to his young protégé and the cordial, good-humored mannerisms he displayed while Sasuke rolled in the dirt in agony so extreme he couldn’t even scream set the Uchiha’s teeth on edge and made him twice as wary as he’d been of Orochimaru when he’d first arrived in Sound.
“Sasuke-kun, I’m disappointed in you,” and Sasuke thought through the haze of pain that he almost sounded as though he’d meant it, and rage shot though his chest with suffocating heat. “You were less innovative than you’d been during our first fight.”
Sasuke’s response sliced through the space the sannin’s face had been occupying a half-second previous, and then he grimly forced himself back to his feet.
He would be no one’s disappointment.
--
Kabuto merely glanced up from his clipboard when Sasuke’d staggered into his lab, barely even raising a brow at the boy’s condition, unhurried by the amount of blood or the Uchiha’s crimson glare. He gestured toward a steel table and had jotted down a few more notes while he waited patiently for Sasuke to acknowledge the silent order, then resettled his glasses and dropped his clipboard off on the counter and turned to Sasuke with a small rueful smile.
Sasuke would have punched him if his wrist wasn’t broken.
Kabuto’s chakra-enhanced touches tingled like menthol on his skin, radiating soothing heat deep into his aching, battered body, and Sasuke closed his eyes and breathed easier as the band of agony wrapped around his chest loosened.
“Have you been sleeping well, Sasuke-kun?”
Sasuke sighed when the warmth spread out over his torso receded, but Kabuto’s hands lingered a moment more, pressing against his throbbing ribcage as though verifying his work from the outside. It took a few minutes before Sasuke- focused on the conflicting sensations welling up in response to the cool physician’s touch- registered the question.
“Fine.”
“Mm. Your appetite seems good. Has the food been to your liking?” Sasuke flinched from Kabuto when he reached for his face, but he didn’t radiate harmful intent as he caught the younger man’s chin, and Sasuke begrudgingly held still as Kabuto held his eyes open and flashed a pen light into them.
Sasuke shrugged.
The examination of the curse seal was cursory but still preformed; the seal vibrated like a struck bell when touched, and Sasuke couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his back.
“Bandage yourself up and take the next few days off to rest. I’ve patched up the mess you’d managed to make of your ribs, but they still need time to set and heal properly. Take it easy with your left hand.”
“Are we finished here?”
Kabuto stepped back with a mild smile, allowing Sasuke the room to slide off the examination table.
“Of course.”
--
Sasuke liked the smell of steel and ozone, fresh sweat and crisp sunlight-laced air; he enjoyed the sound that metal made when it cut through the air, sharp and clean. He could lose himself in the graceful motions of his morning training kata, dancing through timeless time when the world seemed new and pure, showered in brilliance which reflected off his sword in dazzling flashes; he was hyperaware of the smooth grip in his hand, the tang that that rooted the blade in the hilt, and the weapon became a part of him, as graceful and controlled as the rest.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to parry Orochimaru’s sudden blow; he’d gotten used to his teacher’s slinking silence and when his instincts prickled his skin, he obeyed his body’s urge to turn and raise his blade, unsurprised at the metallic clang and vibration of swords meeting.
Sasuke’s dark lashes lifted, and ringed red sharingan flicked first across the sannin’s face- Sasuke noted the silent praise in the pleased narrowing of his eyes and twitch at the corner of his lips; he’d been fast enough, the motion made to counter executed perfectly- and then dropped to study Orochimaru’s posture, to watch and record his every movement as they sparred.
The morning’s swordplay ended with Sasuke’s katana embedded deeply in a tree trunk and the disarmed Uchiha himself pinned bare inches from his own quivering blade, bound in the cold coils of a large serpent and dripping blood from the slash that crossed his cheek.
Another loss, another lesson.
Sasuke wouldn’t forget.
--
“What’s this?” Sasuke stared at the pungent brew placed in his hands suspiciously, mouth tensing as though he wanted to curl his lip at the smell of it.
“Poison.”
Kabuto chuckled at the sharp look his blunt answer received, but then he shrugged, clarifying, “In trace amounts. It might make you a little sick at first, but gradually you’ll build up immunity to it.”
Sasuke sniffed quietly at the smile on the med-nin’s face; he looked wearily amused, as though he expected to him to put up more resistance, and that was enough reassurance.
“Bottoms up,” Kabuto murmured as he reached for the cup before Sasuke dropped it in his struggles not to retch.
It tasted worse than it had smelled.
--
Orochimaru was ambitious, and had the cunning foresight necessary to develop plans which stretched far into the future, coupled with both the time and the patience to see them through to fruition; his actions outside of combat appeared to Sasuke unrushed, his decisions almost capricious- everything hinging on a moment’s humored whim, unplanned and unthought-out.
Sasuke watched as each seemingly casual choice slid pawns into wide, far-flung arrangements, their victories and defeats occurring on cue perfectly timed and executed.
“I know what people want,” Orochimaru said, smiling in his usual unpleasant manner as he steepled his hands together. “Everyone wants the same thing. Everyone has the same desire.
“Everyone wants power.”
He laughed softly at the look on his student’s face: Sasuke’s lips tightened and he involuntarily recoiled as though he’d been struck- the sannin had touched a nerve, and it had been obvious even before he’d spoken that he’d known the reaction his words would cause.
“To protect their family or clan. To prove their worth and be honored. To destroy their enemies…” His pale hand drifted through Sasuke’s too-long hair to run down the smooth curve of his cheek and rest there. “There are many reasons. All valid, and all…valuable. Isn’t that right, Sasuke-kun?”
Sasuke’s eyes narrowed aggressively; he resented the unexpected contact and the way that it made him feel: it made his stomach tense up and his seal throb with an ache that ran down deep into his belly. He resented it, but he didn’t dare pull away; it would only encourage Orochimaru further if he did.
“You’re no different.” Sasuke cocked his head deliberately into the broad palm still flush against his face, his words edged like a blade. “So what’s your excuse for all this?”
Orochimaru’s fingers curled in the roots of his hair, blunt nails scraping at his scalp, and his bloodless lips parted, showing the white gleam of his teeth.
“Excuse?” he repeated, the traces of laughter threaded through his tone slipping loose like stray ribbons. “I need no excuse. The small-minded hoi polloi have limited sight and seek power merely as a way to achieve some petty end, a tool to be used carelessly.”
Sasuke’s lip curled at the implied insult, and his own fingernails bit semicircles into the flesh of his hands as he steadied himself.
“But for those with vision… Well.” Orochimaru laughed. His caresses stopped for a moment, and the pads of his fingers traced down Sasuke’s face to his jaw; he lifted the younger nin’s chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze directly. “Power is its own validation. It is not the means to an end; it is the end itself.”
Sasuke nodded slowly.
“You have that vision, Sasuke-kun. I knew when we first fought that you had it- your eyes see what others’ cannot.”
Orochimaru had said once that Sasuke showed the potential to surpass Itachi, but Sasuke’d forgotten the compliment in the wake of the disaster that chuunin exam had become and Orochimaru never repeated that particular observation.
It wouldn’t do to give Sasuke the impression that he could do things on his own.
Itachi was still more powerful than Orochimaru.
--
When Sasuke dreamed, everything was washed in shades of blue.
Like the sky, like the deep, endless ocean.
He thought that seeing the world in red would drive him mad; he was grateful for the cool hues in which his subconscious mind painted.
Memories of old, familiar faces and voices were faded and far away. Through the years their beseeching calls dimmed down into quiet static, meaningless sound which was irrelevant to him, easily ignored.
He felt no loss, no regret, only a dim sense of satisfaction in having done the right thing.
--
Sasuke had believed that Kabuto had been jealous of him when he’d first arrived in Sound, but he hadn’t been there long before he realized he was more than a little jealous of the older nin himself: Kabuto, for all of his obedience to Orochimaru’s whims and wishes, had a calmly dignified sense of self; he was exactly where and what he wanted to be, and had more than enough freedom within a delicate framework for his own purpose and power and pleasure.
He hated the way that the medic touched him- the way that his fingers were indifferent to the flesh under them as they traced smooth lines of well-formed muscles and pressed in systematically to check internal rhythms. He fumed helplessly, knowing that every instinctive, uncontrollable biological reaction was sensed and noted, his attention drawn to the faint knowing smile Kabuto wore by the way he resettled his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
Kabuto’s thumb dragged across Sasuke’s lower lip as he cocked his head back slightly to measure his pulse; the throb in Sasuke’s throat was strong and slightly elevated, and Sasuke tried to focus on the metronomic drip of a leaky faucet he could hear in the background.
He could not afford to be distracted.
Sasuke would cut out all that was unnecessary to destroying his brother and burn it all down until there was nothing left but a bed of ash.
Kabuto didn’t ask why.
Perhaps he didn’t ever have to. Perhaps he already understood the motivations and desires of those he closely associated with well enough to predict the actions which would precipitate from them.
Perhaps his fingers were skillfully occupied with more strings than his previous master’s had ever been.
Kabuto gave him tea and poison in succession, brewing and serving them both in identical fashion. Kabuto was more familiar with Sasuke’s body than Sasuke himself was; his hands had both injured him and healed him and he acted as though there was no distinction between the two.
Kabuto wouldn’t ask foolish questions like why.
Sasuke didn’t speak afterward; he merely closed his eyes and silently cursed himself. He felt cold when it was over, small and young and foolish, and his illusions of control slipped away like wind through netting.
He shifted restlessly, and Kabuto’s smooth hands drifted up his bare back as though attempting to ease some of his unease. The metal edge of his glasses pressed uncomfortably into Sasuke’s cheek, but he hadn’t been allowed to remove them and, impatiently, he hadn’t cared enough to force the issue when they’d begun.
Kabuto’d only laughed when Sasuke’s thwarted fingers had aggressively latched onto his hitai-ate instead, tugging it free hard enough to tear the fabric around the bolts and then flinging the engraved metal piece across the room with unnecessary force. He’d let the Uchiha shove and bite, inelegant and ungraceful and flushing with mingled embarrassment and anger as he’d fumbled to undress the older nin despite- or because of- the way that Kabuto arched under him to untangle his clothes from his limbs.
Sasuke’d buried his face against the vulnerable softness of Kabuto’s throat and sucked until he’d pulled a trembling, unsteady gasp from him instead of laughter; he’d bitten the curve of his trapezius until his pale hair was sticky and dark with blood.
It hadn’t been what he’d wanted. He was disappointed and unrelieved; he drew away into himself, unsurprised by his own discontent.
The itch tickled just under his skin, inflamed by the unsatisfying, tantalizing friction.
He would scratch at it until he ripped himself open; he’d be unmindful of the increasing pain caused by his desperate attempt at satiation. Deadening one’s own physical and emotional needs was never comfortable, but Sasuke didn’t care…perversely, he savored the sensations- the pain and bitterness, the frustration and disgust. Dying almost made him feel alive.
Sasuke grabbed Kabuto’s wrists, pinned his hands down against the mattress, and pushed his knee up hard between his thighs, a small grim smile gracing his features at the way Kabuto’s dark eyes widened with momentary surprise.
He would fight the fire of temptation and lust by letting it rage until it burnt itself out; he would glut himself to the point of sickened contempt and then throw it all aside when he was through.
Sasuke would let Kabuto think he’d successfully manipulated him into acting as he’d wanted, but he’d seen the hook buried in the bait and had taken it deliberately. This was his own choice.
They were spinning in mad, senseless circles, and there was no winning this game no matter how it was played out.
--
In the end, Sasuke understood, it didn’t matter if he added one more sin to the already endless litany for which he would never repent. He’d sold his flesh to the devil rather than his soul, but he was condemned nonetheless, and it was pointless to be concerned about so trivial a weakness as physical desire, especially when he could see so plainly what Orochimaru would do to and with his body when he at last possessed it completely.
Now or later, it was all inevitable; Sasuke’s only choice in the matter was how he chose to accept it.
His body was his weapon, and he would learn how to use it in every way that he could; he would shrink from nothing; he wasn’t afraid, and if he abhorred the primal rush of lust, his hatred was to his advantage until he learned apathy for the act-he would be more capable of maintaining his own cold distance in the most heated situation.
Sasuke’s body was his weapon, and weapons had no need for worthless, useless things like emotions. He would let himself be used until he was numb and uncaring, indifferent to every touch whether it was intended to cause pleasure or pain, unmoved by either sensation.
In the end, there was only one thing that mattered, and that was death.
Sasuke would finish what Itachi had started.
--
“Sasuke-kun, you are still impatient.”
Sasuke opened one dark eye to fixate balefully on Orochimaru, ripples of infuriation at the interruption of his meditation disrupting what little focus he’d managed to achieve.
The faintly disapproving note in the sannin’s tone was not lost on his student.
“Trouble concentrating? Distracted? You don’t even know why, do you?”
Sasuke jerked his flushing face away, barely biting back an annoyed snarl. He’d anticipated a reprimand for his actions, but Orochimaru didn’t seem angry; he acted as though he was baffled by a sudden display of stubborn stupidity from his otherwise intelligent protégé, his words spitefully condescending.
Sasuke would have preferred the scolding.
Orochimaru sighed loudly, sounding frustrated and more than a little impatient with the Uchiha’s sullenness himself. “Well, it makes no difference,” he said finally. “It might be easier to teach you this now, anyway.”
The whisper of silk sliding against itself as Orochimaru untied his obi seemed very loud in the tense silence. Sasuke’s ears burned from the sound of it, and half disbelieving he watched from the corner of his eyes as Orochimaru sank down gracefully to the floor and shrugged out of the loose spill of his kimono.
“Come.”
“There’s a serpent that lies within your body- here.” Sasuke didn’t squirm against the fingers that stroked over sensitive, seldom-touched skin in unceasing spirals. “Coiled in on itself, it sleeps…dormant energy. Untapped.”
There was wet heat against his ear, warm breath and the throaty grate of Orochimaru’s words.
“When it’s awakened, it moves up the spine, spilling through the chakra system like a torrent.”
“Power…”
“Mm…do you feel it?”
Sasuke’s breath hitched in his throat and his brow furrowed. “Nnn…” His tongue flicked across his parted lips, and then he groaned suddenly, the sound helplessly drawn from his throat in ecstasy of the rush pouring through him. “Yes.”
Orochimaru smirked and pressed his thumb up against the hui yin point, and Sasuke hissed as the feeling was cut off, writhing against his mentor in shameless frustration and longing.
“Damn it! I want…!” Sasuke’s eyes flashed a furious red. He’d been so close. It was almost enough. Finally, he understood why he’d been so unstated before; he knew what he’d been truly wanting.
“Want what, Sasuke-kun?” The tip of Orochimaru’s tongue dragged across his shoulder to trace the triplicate embryonic curls of his curse seal.
“More…”
Orochimaru laughed and pushed the boy down to the floor. “So impatient…”
The lesson was continued at his leisure, not Sasuke’s.
--
The first time Sasuke had sparred with Kabuto, he’d lost badly and had to spend the remainder of his afternoon being bandaged up by the man who’d cut him down, in too much pain to be angry or rebellious about the situation.
The first time he’d won against him, a not quite a year later, Orochimaru’d nearly had to intervene to keep the Uchiha from permanently damaging his subordinate; Sasuke’d gained in strength but still lost to his temper, especially when he let the seal sink its dark claws into his skin.
Releasing the seal was no longer necessary for victory. Sasuke fought with unerring, eerie silence, swift as a striking snake, and the match was over almost too quickly.
Sasuke rubbed at his injured bicep absently and stared down at Kabuto for a moment, his head held arrogantly high and face blank as he watched the older nin’s expression contort with a moment’s unchecked bloodlust before settling into a calm, wary watchfulness.
“Get up,” he said. “You aren’t wounded that badly.”
“This is a spar, Sasuke-kun, not an actual fight. I think…”
Kabuto was cut off by his need to dodge the line of fire that blazed across the field.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Sasuke didn’t raise his voice as he leapt through the wall of flame, a handful of kunai gleaming in the light before they thudded into the ground, barely missing.
“I gave you an order.”
--
Icy rain tore the dying leaves from the skeletal branches of melancholy trees and lashed at the building. The world outside was smudged in wet monochromatic grays that leeched the color even from the autumnal foliage, and Sasuke often fell into meditative trances as he stared through the pane of thin glass at the dark, dismal scene, his mind lulled by the steady beat of rain on the window.
The chill promise of winter in the air smelled metallic, like blood, and Sasuke dreamed with his eyes open.
The scarlet whirls of his sharingan didn’t make the memories any sharper; they didn’t allow him to see past thirteen year old Itachi’s smiles and wistful, contemplative silences to the murderer within nor could they change the outcome of the brothers’ last tragic battle.
Sasuke didn’t feel the cold that seeped in through the wooden pane. The embers of his hatred radiated heat enough to keep him warm, even banked down under a bed of ash.
--