I don't own any of Masashi Kishimoto's creations. If I did, I would be filthy rich. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Four Years

Kabuto's footsteps echoed down the long, darkened hallway, lit only by dimly flickering torches every few feet or so. The light from the flames reflected in the medical-nin's glasses, flickering exuberantly in the darkness.

He stopped in front of a door with a strange, three-circle symbol on it. So today was the day. Four years, now, Kabuto had been serving Orochimaru. He sighed. No time to dwell on the past. Hearing screaming, he pushed open the door.

"My, my," he said, eyes glancing around the blood-covered room.

Half a torn corpse laid on the floor, while the other half protruded grotesquely from underneath the bed.

"I come back and already have a mess to clean," said Kabuto, stepping inside the room and closing the door behind him.

Orochimaru's head, once bent, slowly rose as his snake-like eyes focused on the silver-haired man before him. His arms lay beside him, twitching with pain.

"What have…you brought…?" Orochimaru gasped, his eyes shot with reddened veins, body convulsing.

"Meds, made for you alone," said Kabuto, placing a tray by his employer.

Employer. No. Orochimaru was his Lord, his savior. His Sama. But nothing more than that.

Orochimaru didn't even glance at the tray as his weakened fist flung headlong into the row of bottles. He licked his lips as the glass shattered, eyes rent with pain, blood dripping from his sliced knuckles even through the bandages.

"Take…the damn…things…elsewhere…" he hissed.

Kabuto sighed.

"They are meant to ease the pain."

Orochimaru was heaving. Kabuto fought down the urge to cry out in panic.

Suddenly the heaving stopped. Orochimaru smiled ruefully.

Kabuto felt as though he were watching something in slow motion as Orochimaru pitched backward onto the bed and was instantly still. The panic that had been clawing its way up Kabuto's throat ever since he entered the room now came out in a terror-laced shriek.

"Orochimaru-sama!"

He jumped quickly onto the bed and began at once to expulse medical chakra from his hands. Orochimaru's heart had stopped.

Orochimaru-sama… Kabuto pleaded, his face etched in concentration, sweat forming on his brow. His already frantic heart began to beat faster.

No…

Ripping open Orochimaru's shirt, he increased the chakra flow ten fold. He suddenly found himself blushing as he stared down at Orochimaru's smooth chest, which his hands were now so urgently pressed against.

Being one of the three Sannin, Orochimaru's chest was muscular and refined, his smooth, jagged features well worthy of a great shinobi. Suddenly distracted, Kabuto felt even more color flood his cheeks as Orochimaru began to stir, his long, silky black hair falling across his face as his eyes opened slowly.

In his endeavor to save his employer's life, Kabuto hadn't realized that he was positioned directly on top of Orochimaru, his legs parted where the other man's body lay.

Now, though…

Orochimaru seemed to notice Kabuto's discomfort, even in the waking hour of recovery. He smiled wickedly. Kabuto swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He could not tear his gaze away from Orochimaru's viciously green eyes, glittering in the soft darkness like sickened emeralds.

Orochimaru's neck twisted slowly upward; he was still smiling that malicious smile of his. Kabuto's heart was hammering painfully inside his chest. Fear? Perhaps. Anxious pleasure? Probably. But instead of sinking his fanged teeth into Kabuto's shoulder or, better yet, displaying his bloody remains in tatters on the floor, Orochimaru leaned in and pressed his lips against Kabuto's.

Kabuto's eyes were wide as Orochimaru's tongue slid into his mouth, wet and smooth and pleasurably poisonous. He closed his eyes and tried to jerk away, but Orochimaru viciously pulled Kabuto toward him and switched their positions, so Orochimaru's long tongue now invaded Kabuto's mouth at a vertical angle.

"Unh…Mnn…"

Kabuto couldn't pull away. Resistance was all but nonexistent. Orochimaru's tongue overpowered him, treading deeply and sadistically inside his mouth, sliding against Kabuto's with a grip and press like iron.

Orochimaru slid his hands under Kabuto's shirt, his aching fingers hot against Kabuto's body. And as tears started to burn Kabuto's eyes from the viciously gratifying force of Orochimaru's tongue, some small part of him acknowledged that, deep down, he desired it.

He wanted it.

He fully enjoyed the taste of Orochimaru's lips.

And it was this thought that brought him out of the not-so-blissful trance, and he shoved Orochimaru's warm body off of him. Everything was now painfully clear. He stumbled out of the bed, his cheeks flushed with shame, fell sharply on his shoulder, ignored the pain, scrambled up, threw open the door and slammed it shut.

His breath escaped him in short, ragged gasps. He slid down to the floor, his hands splayed against the soft dirt. He could not ignore the fast tattoo of his heart as the muscle slammed hard inside his ribcage.

There was a soft rap at the door. Kabuto froze for five long seconds.

Then he bolted.

Out of the forest, away from the underground labyrinth that he had come to know as, if not so specifically, home.

He ran until the sun had sunken behind the trees, out of sight.