#|| What out Oro I don't know what this man is thinking. Like a metronome between sane thoughts and batshit crazy thinking.

[hatredcurse]

uchihacollector​ | Orochimaru:

You’re on suicide watch.

“Suffer?” Orochimaru asked. “Goodness, this isn’t the Hidden Leaf Village. No. You left most of your suffering behind when you stepped over the threshold.”

No physical barrier can keep Sasuke-kun inside this base, but there must be a barrier. Orochimaru makes it a mental one. A hurdle laced with the association of pain becomes the threshold. He can’t have his precious Sasuke-kun wander off on his own.

Sasuke-kun is in such a weak state, that heavens-know-what-creeps could do hells-know-what-actions to the last survivor of the Uchiha. They could squash his other arm, for example.

It’s good that they’re hugging, because Orochimaru has a nasty expression on his face. He’s not exactly human in that moment. He needs time to get his emotions under control. And his plans. And his morals. The chakra-sensitive Karin is lucky to be in another base.

“This is our base, Sasuke-kun,” He surprises himself. There’s kindness in his voice, a warmth that he only reserves for people when they’re at the lowest point in their lives. That’s the point when he collects them. And now –even though he’s wearing such dark expression and he feels like violence– he still managed to summon kindness to the surface of their interaction.

Perhaps, he reasons, it’s because I so dearly want to keep Sasuke-kun near me. I want him. I want him so much.

“The only person who will make you suffer is me,” he hushes. He runs a white hand over Sasuke’s back hair. His bony fingers look look too long, and his nails look like claws, but the gesture is gentle and soothing. Even a devil knows when to be comforting–it’s his trade. He promises near Sasuke’s ear: “I’ll not give up that prerogative easily. I will force you into a routine. You will eat three meals a day, sleep with the circadian rhythm, exercise, spar with me, have regular check-ups, shower, preferably soon, and you will read up on the homework I give you so your brain can chew on something other than the dogma of the Fire country’s idiocracy.”

He let go of Sasuke, but didn’t step away. He patted his bicep as a sign this was done. “Enough hugging. Raise yourself up. I didn’t raise a slouch. The next step is a shower, so let’s go. You know the way to the communal showers. Don’t worry about people. It’s just me and you. Don’t worry about undressing. You can leave that to me.”

It would be so easy. This fragility in his arms. The tender softness of a well-tended body— he could grab all of Orochimaru and crush him into a jagged sack of wet meat. It would be all over in a second; no remorse to be had, just the pleasure of extending his suffering to one who knows it best.  His teeth pressed to the back of his lips, threatening a snarl into the soft belly exposed to him. A beaten dog has no trust. Hands may extend out to feed it, and it will seldom know the difference between fresh meat and the flesh that carries it, as it would taste all the same: delectable.

“Tch,” he huffed, like a cough, and smug laughter trailing behind it. “Our base, ha- you’ve gone soft on me.” 

A heinous feeling stirred within the Uchiha. The air sizzled, crackling under the change of pressure, similar to warm humidity carrying the pretense of lightning weaving through dark storm clouds. Sasuke smiled.

Not in good nature did he express joy. A smile like this only cracked through the skin before the break of Mangekyou. Though, the Mangekyou has already been mastered, conquered by the God’s eye to his left and his hubris in his right. His eyes lidded, near drunk on something different ( see: “something wrong” ) than the pain surging through his body.

“Make me suffer then. Impose your will on me. Do as you please,” he graciously proffered himself. But, heed caution, it was a threat; a challenge, if Orochimaru was so daring.

He’s wretched his steel and Kirin through this snake once, and he’d gladly do it again. Over and over until he was nothing but a stain, and cruelly pray over what remained out of self-satisfaction.

Sasuke bowed his head and excused himself from the other, putting as much distance as he can between him and that man as he travelled down familiar halls. Left arm hanging limp against his hip with his remaining hand squeezing at the elbow, squishing the veins until they struggled a painful, yet meaty thrum of his heartbeat. A final reminder of his mortality and what he is about to lose due to his poor choices. 

“Sasuke, what have you done?” he said aloud to no one. Though, it was not his voice that repeated back to him, but the dulcet tones of Uchiha Itachi. His imagined disappointment. The cruel Genjutsu image Sasuke lived with for several years before unmasking the truth. Itachi, in all his good heart, gone, but what wasn’t forgotten was the fake fear-mongering image he imparted to young Sasuke. The only living memory left to scold him and keep him behaved.

Keeping his sword taut to his person and everything else secured to his image, he waited for the other. Despite his delusions, his kept himself aware. Mentally signing his fate away to an endless, unsure abyss, he could only entrust whatever will become of him to any higher power willing to spare him the mercy for his stupidity.