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Mercurial by NayanRoo

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Chapter notes: Proof that classical music and smut go together well.



Also, that bottom!Orochimaru is hot. >:
Jiraiya lay in bed, half-awake and dreaming. He’d just gotten home from a mission that day, and it’d gone well enough, but he knew he wasn’t performing to standard lately.

Whose fault is that? He thought in his dream.

The moonlight filtered in through his barely-open eyelids, filtering through lashes as white as the rest of his hair (and the carpet matched the drapes, thank you very much) and glittering along them like the mercury that Sarutobi-sensei had shown them all when they were genin.

Don’t touch this if you see it spilled, you three, he’d warned them, looking at each of the young shinobi in turn. Tsunade with her bobbing ponytail and her flat chest; Jiraiya with his valiant attempt at paying attention; and Orochimaru, ten years old and serious as an adult twice his age. Of course, Jiraiya had recklessly waved the glass container around and nearly broken it, and it had been the taciturn snake-child that had saved them from seeing the results of mercury poisoning. When the three of them went out for drinks now, they always recalled it and laughed.

Orochimaru rarely laughed with them anymore.

But that was another story.

Jiraiya felt a slow flame light in his belly as he thought about his mysterious teammate, convinced that the dark-haired shinobi was already halfway down the highway to insanity and was picking up the pace. That didn’t stop him from being damn sexy, especially when he slithered in through the window after a night of clubbing or playing with his snakes or whatever the hell it was that Orochimaru did in his spare time. And he had it; Jiraiya had seen him with enough acquaintances to know that Orochimaru got around socially, but until a year ago he hadn’t had any idea just how experienced the other man was. The young sannin was fascinated by people; Jiraiya found it discomforting that Orochimaru would often sit and stare out into a crowded street, completely hypnotized, and could maintain this rapt attitude for hours at a time.

Quicksilver was another name for mercury, wasn’t it? Yeah, that’s what the moon looked like sometimes. A glowing drop of quicksilver-mercury in the sky.

Jiraiya had had a dream once that he was married to Tsunade and that they were hunting Orochimaru through a forest of tall, thick-trunked trees. It was a full moon, like it was tonight, and Jiraiya had in his hand a sword made of solid quicksilver and it glinted in the moonlight. He found Orochimaru in a clearing, only he had the body of a giant purple snake and eight heads on long sinuous necks, and Jiraiya had taken all of them in one fell swoop.

Mercurial. That was a good way to describe Orochimaru, too. He was eloquent, shrewd, faster than anything Jiraiya had ever seen…and he was given to swift changes of temper. Jiraiya had seen him go from perfectly calm to raging in less than ten seconds; it had been terrifying.

Jiraiya heard the window open and smelled Orochimaru before he slid into the bed, spooning behind Jiraiya. Orochimaru smelled like something ancient—he was only twenty-five—and like the earth, and like snakeskin and rain. Jiraiya knew each one had a mood it was dominant for, and right now Orochimaru smelled like snake. He’d been out people-watching again.

Orochimaru smelled most like snake when his lust had been sparked.

Waking slowly, Jiraiya shifted onto his back and Orochimaru crawled on top of him, strong legs lightly holding his hips in place. Jiraiya could feel the heat on his teammate’s skin and felt warmth creeping along his own, and moved his hands down to grasp Orochimaru’s hips.

“Where’d you go tonight?” he asked, voice blurry with dreams of mercury and impossible swords.

“Out,” was all the response he got before Orochimaru crouched forward and kissed him roughly, tongue bullying its way into Jiraiya’s mouth. Orochimaru’s tongue was something Jiraiya was both amused by and disgusted with; it could grow to strange and unnatural lengths, which was weird, and it was completely precise and under Orochimaru’s control when it was whatever length of the day, which was fine with Jiraiya as long as it was being put to a use he approved of.

Between kisses, and deft white fingers removing his shirt, Orochimaru asked, “What did you do?”

“I wrote.”

Orochimaru snorted, licking inward along Jiraiya’s collarbone before nipping at the bend in his shoulder. “More of your pornography. Find something useful to do with yourself.”

“This is useful.”

Orochimaru’s fingers ran over the suspicious tent in Jiraiya’s sleeping pants, and the white-haired sannin arched his hips into the gossamer touch, demanding more. Smirking, Orochimaru caressed him through the cloth. “You could be studying jutsus or getting yourself a girlfriend. You make the most noise about the latter, anyway.”

“I’m not a bookie, like you. And unlike you, I have a charm that the ladies love.” Jiraiya’s hips came off the mattress as he slid his pants off and tossed them to the floor, beginning work on Orochimaru’s clothing now. The tight black shirt was first gone.

“Is that right,” the other muttered, nudging Jiraiya’s legs apart with his knee and pulling them around his waist. Smirking himself, Jiraiya hooked a leg around his partner (thank god for flexibility) and flipped them over, nipping at Orochimaru’s lips when he started pouting. He’d learned the other liked to be clawed at and bitten, and he’d grown to like seeing the bruises blossom over lovely white skin.

“That’s not fair,” Orochimaru snapped. He tried to roll them back over and scowled when Jiraiya remained upright.

“Welcome to real life, ‘rochimaru,” Jiraiya said, then sighed in pleasure as their erections rubbed together, Orochimaru freeing his from his pants and throwing them after wherever his shirt had disappeared to.

Jiraiya reached over to the bedside table drawer where he’d stored their assorted lubricants, losing grip on the pale sannin. Orochimaru took the opportunity to push Jiraiya over onto his back again and held Jiraiya down, biting his neck almost savagely and grinding against Jiraiya’s hips. Their moans curled together and hung in the air like a mist.

“Cheater,” Jiraiya growled, holding the bottle of lube tightly enough so that Orochimaru couldn’t get it out of his hand. When Orochimaru lost focus to protest, Jiraiya rolled them ,i>again, trapping Orochimaru under his body. Orochimaru might have had uncanny powers and aptitude for jutsu, but Jiraiya was physically bigger. Unscrewing cap on the lube, he squeezed it out onto three of his fingers on one hand and rubbed them with his thumb, spreading the gel around. “But you don’t mind.” Spreading Orochimaru’s legs, Jiraiya traced the ring of puckered skin a few times before poking his finger inside.

On the pillows, Orochimaru sighed in the way that meant he was irritated, and pushed against his hand. Jiraiya knew he could have just gone straight to two fingers—Orochimaru was usually relaxed enough for that, but he was going to torment the other tonight, and so he stuck with one finger for a few minutes until he got swatted at. Smiling and knowing he’d top tonight for sure, Jiraiya slid in another finger. At last, Orochimaru’s eyes closed and his lips parted, tongue flicking out to wet them so they glistened in that way that meant Jiraiya was to kiss them right now, which he did, and then he was up to three fingers and stroking Orochimaru’s cock, and grinning at how he knew exactly what to do to turn the untouchable sannin into a melted mess, and gleefully delighted in this knowledge as long as he could before the hand on the other’s cock started to get sticky.

“Hurry up,” Orochimaru growled as Jiraiya slathered his own cock in lube. There was a fine, silvery gleam of sweat on their bodies that made them appear lined in light and made Orochimaru glow, and dreamlike, Jiraiya lined them up and slid until he was fully seated inside his teammate. As relaxed as he was, Orochimaru winced, and Jiraiya was there to pet his sweaty cheeks and kiss him feverishly.

Bracing himself on his arm and keeping one hand planted on Orochimaru’s hip to hold him where he wanted him, Jiraiya let the tension in his lover’s body ebb away. “You ready?” he husked, then blocked the other’s ability to speak with a deep, possessive kiss.

“Hell yesss,” Orochimaru whispered, wrapping his arms around Jiraiya’s shoulders. His voice became more sibilant when he was aroused; when Orochimaru topped, Jiraiya would shiver when that voice danced along his nerves. Somewhere, Jiraiya’s brain had made the connection between Orochimaru’s voice and Jiriaya’s cock, and now whenever he heard it in that particular tone it never failed to turn the toad sannin on.

Orochimaru made the sexiest noises when he was being thoroughly fucked; moans, mewls, gasps, all kinds of thing, noises that weren’t sexy until they were coming from that pale throat in the darkness. Jiraiya’s first thrust hit Orochimaru’s prostate dead-on, and the snake-nin’s back arched off the mattress, hands clutching at the sheets. “Oh—oh, more, Jiraiya—“ his mouth fell slack as Jiraiya did as asked, over and over again.

Golden eyes glittered at him from a sweaty face, surrounded with a halo of black hair. Dreamily, Jiraiya took a lock between his fingers and rubbed it, feeling the silky strands fall through again. Orochimaru arched again, searching for friction for his weeping cock, because it was never enough for him to just feel their bodies together.

Harder—damn it, Jira—“ The slender man twisted his body, muscles rippling as though they were all being stroked at the same time. “Fuck me—“ His erection rubbed against Jiraiya’s belly again, and at last the white-haired nin understood what Orochimaru was looking for.

Orochimaru’s cock deserved a book all to itself; perfectly shaped, not small, but not too big either. His pallor made his erections a dark blush under the skin, blending into tight curls of inky black hair. Jiraiya took it in his hand, rubbing a thumb over the sensitive head before pumping in time with his thrusts. Orochimaru’s orders had long since dissolved into wanton pleas; his thrashing had knocked the pillows to the floor and they’d long since kicked the sheets off, as they both rushed for completion.

Jiraiya never seemed to last as long as Orochimaru, and came growling his lover’s name into his pale shoulder. The strength of Jiraiya’s thrusts and the warmth flooding inside him brought Orochimaru, toes and fingers curling as white hot liquid shot over their bellies. The tightness around his half-hard member nearly brought Jiraiya back, but it was gone before he could waken enough, and instead waited until Orochimaru’s cock had throbbed the last time in his hand and begun to soften before releasing it and pulling out.

Rolling to the side, Jiraiya dazedly scrabbled for a towel he knew he’d stashed down here the last time they’d fucked at his place. His hand ran across various things…shoes, shirt, pants, shirt—ah, there! Snatching it up, he politely offered it to Orochimaru, who grabbed it and cleaned himself up dreamily. Jiraiya did likewise and then unceremoniously tossed the towel over his shoulder.

Orochimaru was inexplicably cuddly after sex, and got crabbier than normal if his touchy-feely crap was ignored too long. But curled together with the sweat steaming off their bodies and Orochimaru’s head tucked under his chin brought back memories of long-ago missions as genin and chuunin, with the three of them snuggled together for warmth under a pale, full moon.

Surprised to see Orochimaru already asleep as well, Jiraiya mentally checked to make sure he had the breakfast foods the other liked, and pulled only the thin summer sheet up around their hips.

In the morning, Orochimaru was gone, there were washed plates on the drying rack, and a neatly written note telling him (Jiraiya could hear Orochimaru’s voice in his head, that annoying holier-than-thou drawl) that his apartment was a mess and to clean it up before Orochimaru did it himself, because no fucking way was he going to associate with (this, Jiraiya had learned, was Orochimaru-speak for ‘have mad sex with’) someone who lived like a pig.

Sighing, Jiraiya pulled the note off the pad and tossed it, and began to clean things up.

Mercurial was definitely the right word for Orochimaru.
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