Glories

By Insomniac Owl

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Orochimaru prides himself on being quiet, secretive, and discreet - on being everything he needs to be. He knows, knows, that he shouldn’t look at Sasuke like this; he knows that it is wrong, as society has conditioned him to know, and he knows that if Sasuke were ever to say anything, Orochimaru would go to jail for a very long time.

Though Sasuke is only sixteen, he is graceful in a peculiar, womanish way. Pale skin, luxurious black hair, a beauty he inherited from his mother (a kind, though weak-willed woman who would die if she knew Orochimaru’s thoughts). Every movement seems effortless, infused with ease and a very deliberate appeal.

If asked what he feelings were, Orochimaru would reply simply and truthfully: lust. But oh, what a lust it is. He is obsessed, and he knows it. Sometimes he will sit on his porch and watch the boy pass from there, and just to make it seem like he isn’t watching Sasuke, he will sit for a few minutes after he has passed, though with his eyes closed so nothing will ruin the image of Sasuke’s face, turned in profile. Often Sasuke goes without noticing him, though on several occasions he has glanced up at the right moment, catching eyes through either windowpane or empty air.

Though the boy is very intelligent, Orochimaru doubts he suspects anything. He continues to walk past the house, face turned forward, oblivious, and Orochimaru contents himself with simple glances - long, admiring looks - knowing there will be nothing more. He could take the boy, of course, leading him into the house, coaxing him, talking to him to allay suspicion and then - but he will not. The sort of love he imagines with Sasuke is languorous (however lustful), with none of the violent action he knows would accompany rape. He imagines it to be comfortable and lovely; beautiful, sexy, and slow.

He knows very well how sick, how disgusting these thoughts would seem to someone else, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking them. It’s something he can’t (or doesn’t want) to control - he loves the way Sasuke’s eyes flick toward the house as if expecting something, how he raises a hand to shade his eyes. He loves the shade of Sasuke’s skin and the clothing he wears and the footsteps he leaves when it’s snowing. Put simply, Orochimaru loves everything about Sasuke there is to love, and everything about him there is to hate. He doesn’t want to stop that.

Today Sasuke is a late, and because he is used to the boy’s punctuality (2:56 every weekday afternoon), Orochimaru has begun to worry. Perhaps, he thinks, something has happened to him. All sorts of images run through his head as he drinks his tea; images that play out violently, leaving Sasuke broken and alone at the end of them. He becomes so agitated that he is forced to go back into the house, pacing the rooms restlessly and muttering to himself.

“Nothing’s happened,” he tells himself firmly. “He’s fine.” To be quite honest, he doesn’t know why he’s getting so worked up. Sasuke is a few minutes late - that’s all. Any moment he will come walking down the sidewalk, oblivious to the consternation he has caused, and Orochimaru will be more seized with lust than ever been before. Relief and desire will compound, and he will bite his lips hopelessly. These thoughts do not stop him pacing, however, or from glancing out the front window every time he passes it. He is unspeakably anxious, and is just about to grab his jacket and take a walk down to Sasuke’s school when the boy turns the corner.

Orochimaru hands seize a chair in the dining room, gripping it tightly as Sasuke comes closer to the house. As he knew he would be the boy is completely at ease, unaware Orochimaru was worried out of his mind for him. As he watches Sasuke approach the house, the boy’s fingers drumming against his thigh to a furious rhythm, Orochimaru is more pressed than ever to keep himself from descending the front steps, from pressing his mouth to Sasuke’s, from… and…. Sasuke passes, unaware, and Orochimaru’s body relaxes, concentrating on keeping the blurred picture of those fingers, those lips, those legs in his mind.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he turns from the screen door and moves toward the refrigerator, bare feet sliding across the tiles. He remembers quite suddenly that he forgot his tea on the porch, and moves toward the front door with the thought that he might catch a glimpse of Sasuke turning the corner down the street.

He pauses with one hand on the door, suddenly frozen in place. That lovely boy, all dark hair and darker eyes, stands not three feet away on the other side of the screen door, one hand shoved deep into his pocket. There is complete silence for a moment, during which Orochimaru shifts his hand against the door, wondering if he should push it open or leave it closed.

“I’ve seen you watching me,” Sasuke whispers.

Orochimaru’s heart freezes. “Is that so?” he asks, keeping his voice smooth, low and unaffected. Sasuke’s free hand rests casually on the railing, fingers still tapping away to whatever beat is in his head. There are no earphones today, Orochimaru notes, also taking in the layers of his hair, the way it feathers and gives way to skin.

Sasuke nods, eyes meeting Orochimaru’s resolutely. No trepidation, none at all.

“Yeah,” Sasuke says. “I have.”

It’s a challenge he can’t refuse.

finis