Current location:	My room
Current mood:	silly
Current music:	Aerosmith -- Pink
Entry tags:	jiraioro, jiraiya, orochimaru, pastfic, smut

Tactical Error-- OroJirai not-porn
Title: Tactical Error
Pairing: Orochimaru/Jiraiya
Words: ~1,010
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Smutty humor
Spoilers and/or Warnings: Nada.
Other notes: Written for 60_minute_fics' porn challenge and is now FINISHED. (Beginning had been previously posted under a different title.) Also, this was meant to be serious, but…er…Jiraiya. He just killed any chance of smut existing by opening his mouth.



It would never be a matter of love, not between them, though sometimes when he was very tired or very tired of this, Jiriaya almost wished that some variation on affection at least contributed to these kinds of moments; it would certainly be nice, for instance, to be able to enjoy the panting, trembling cool-down afterwards without having to endure close-range blistering scorn and snide insults before he was shoved away…but perhaps it was better that it didn’t play into their affairs much.

It might be nice at first, an interesting and novel change-up from the usual, but it would also be really fucking weird.

And besides, were that the case Jiraiya doubted that he’d continue to be interested in pursuing this. He only ever wanted things he knew he really and truly could not have; those shiny, shiny things that sparkled tantalizingly out of his range were much more valuable and intriguing than anything closer—the grass is always greener, and all that shit.

It was always about base lust, power-play, and domination—it was a sharp-edged game, and that’s part of what made it interesting, and Jiraiya knew he’d never, never have all of Orochimaru; no matter what happened between them, there would always be walls between them.

Walls…

Yeah, kinda like the one at his back, obligingly holding him more or less upright as his bastardly teammate coiled against him—just like a fucking snake, the creepy son of a bitch; oh gods, why’m I doin’ this again?—and smirked against the arch of muscle that ran from neck to shoulder, his pale hands making short work of the Jiraiya’s clothing.

Uncaring nails raked down his chest to shred the fishnet, and the white haired nin hissed in protest as blood welled up in delicate jeweled beads, earning soft laughter from Orochimaru—the kind that made Jiraiya want to slam a fist into his fine-boned face and give him something to laugh about, goddamnit, though he never did because the sound vibrated through his taut stomach and groin and made him ache with more than just repressed long-standing irritation.

Orochimaru nipped at his ear hard, and Jiriaya jerked his head away, face flushed with more than just anger, and with another pleased snicker, Orochimaru dropped his attention to the welts he’d caused, agile tongue tracing the scores, lapping up the spilled blood as he shifted lower and lower, eventually dropping down to his knees…and hey, oh yeah, that’s why the fuck I’m doing this again!, then it was Jiraiya’s turn to laugh, mocking and breathless.

“Oh, fuck…” he managed, somehow, though language was a slippery beast right then, and he rolled his head back against the wall in a lazy arc. “Oh, fuck you. Fuck you and your pretty fucking mouth.”

The glare that Orochimaru shot upward at him swore to him that he’d regret that later, but he was safe for the moment: if Orochimaru bit it off, he couldn’t play with it anymore, and so Jiraiya felt relatively complacent despite the sharp threat of neat white teeth near bits of himself he’d really, really rather not have injured.

“I meant that as a compliment,” he added rather generously. His grin was beginning to make his face hurt. Jiraiya dropped his hands to the long hair tickling his lower belly and thighs and combed his fingers through the silky stands to push them back away from Orochimaru’s face and pin the dark mass up in a sloppy ponytail, and then his forearms tightened and his grip shifted.

“And a promise.”

Orochimaru’s throat vibrated in a deep growl, and his hand hit the wall beside Jiriaya’s thigh to steady himself as he was suddenly pulled forward, and ow, fuck yes, there were alot of pointies in there…and while clipping Jiraiya’s desire at the root of the problem seemed to not be on his teammate’s mind-- thanks to all the gods that may or may not exist!-- he was still able to do something with his teeth which was far less than pleasant.

What a mood-killing little bitch.

Still, why should a little discomfort stop the great Jiraiya-sama, trained in the shinobi way from the time he could walk, and who had endured much worse with a smile? Who had, at times, even encouraged worse, simply because he would not be broken so easily, in combat or in training or anywhere, goddammit?

Jiraiya braced himself against the wall and tried to thrust again.

That was a Really Bad Idea.

“Aaaawwwww, fuck! C’mon, you bastard! It’s not like you’re gonna choke or somethin’!”

Orochimaru shifted his weight and leaned back against Jiraiya’s vice-like grip on his hair, regaining his balance, and yep, he still looked pretty pissed off, didn’t he? That was a look which was not conducive to getting his dick sucked, which was a damn shame, ‘cause Orochimaru had no gag reflex whatsoever and could do that thing with his tongue…

…that aside, though, it was pretty funny. The bastard rarely lost his cool enough to look that angry no matter how much Jiraiya provoked him, and it was a victory made all the sweeter by virtue of the fact that he was on his knees with his cock in his mouth, and…

Orochimaru clasped his hands together—shit-fuck-goddammit, his fucking hands!—and Jiraiya had the wall at his back and absolutely no time to prevent the jutsu and oh hells, this is gonna hurt…!

___

Jiraiya limped for a week.

Sarutobi, upon seeing his noisy student’s condition, checked a frustrated sigh, assuming that he’d gotten beaten by Tsunade for pestering her about her panties again. The boy would never learn…

Tsunade merely smirked, thinking that it was about damned time some other unfortunate woman taught the skirt-chasing twit a lesson he wasn’t likely to forget.

Orochimaru continued cleaning his fingernails with his kunai for a moment and then finally glanced up, a knowing little smile on his lips.

No one said a word about it, and for that Jiraiya was infinitely grateful. He wasn’t sure even he could make up a suitable cover-story for this one.