kalinnan (kalinnan) wrote in orokimi,

The Bone Garden (1 of ?) -- fic

Rating: NC17
Note: AU-ness, in that Orochimaru brings back Kimimaro, and that the change of bodies didn’t completely fix his arms. Also, I altered the jutsu just a little, because the coffins felt too over the top for this. Let’s say they’re for dramatic flair during battle.
Warnings for this chapter: shota-ish (Kimimaro was about 15, right?) anal, boy-on-top, misuse of a kekkei genkai, misuse of extendable body parts.
Summary: Orochimaru resurrects Kimimaro.

The Bone Garden

Part One: Resurrection

“No matter. He is no longer of any use to me.”

Orochimaru watched as Kabuto retreated with a nod. How smug he looked...it disgusted even Orochimaru himself. There were rare moments like these in which he wondered who was more sadistic, more heartless and ambitious, himself or the sweet-faced medical-nin.

He always met that sadism with the same reaction: a show of cold self-interest to rival it, even if it was only a façade. Of course Kimimaro’s death meant something to him. It was the loss of a powerful fighter and ally, one of his cursed children. And Kimimaro had been his favorite by far...

With a windy sigh, Orochimaru went out to the mansion’s garden. The air was beginning to cool, and a patch of lilies that had all withered and died during the summer shifted ever-so-slightly with the changing wind. Orochimaru knelt down by the patch, pushing aside the golden dead stems with a sore hand. It hurt more than it should; his arms should have been healed when he took the new body, but...the pain, though disturbingly present, wasn’t nearly as bad as before. As he had suspected, a single white lily had grown low to the ground beneath its dry, dead fellows, sheltered from the unforgiving summer heat.

But it was dead, just like the rest of them. The past few days had carried in a chill, and the poor flower had wilted in the darkness.

Probably it had been doomed from the moment it had blossomed.

Gently pulling the lily up from the soil, he looked over his shoulder. Under the bench, the hearty marigolds had lasted healthily through the summer. With a sneer, he plucked one unceremoniously from its patch and placed it on top of the lily.

Tora, Mi, Inu, Tatsu.

He clapped his aching hands lightly together.

The marigold crumbled to dust around the lily, coating it in a fine, grey film.

Orochimaru reached out to the lily, almost hesitant, and lifted it, pulsing his chakra through it. The dust fell away. The lily was alive, its roots inching slowly back toward the soil. He took it inside and planted it in a small pot.

It would bloom forever.


He would do it.

Kabuto couldn’t know. With the way he acted sometimes, like a selfish child, he would try to stop him. Tell him that it was too dangerous with how low his chakra-threshold had become after the transfer of his soul. Manipulate him into staying.

That couldn’t happen. He needed to do this.

So, pulling a dark cloak over his shoulders, he set out for the field where Kimimaro had fallen. It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint; ivory spikes jutted up from the tall grass, Kimimaro’s bones. Orochimaru searched through the bones for a few minutes before he found the body. In death, he had reverted to his normal state, pale skin, hair, and eyes. But a crimson stain washed over his lips and throat. Cradling the delicate corpse to his chest, Orochimaru went off in search of a sacrifice.

Any life would do. The stumbling old drunk he accosted in a nearby town would never be missed. In fact, Orochimaru wondered if he had even noticed his own death.

As with the flowers, he laid one corpse over the other.


He would bring Kimimaro, his rare flower, back from the dead.


He would rise immortal and invulnerable.


And in three years, Orochimaru would take his body.


And not only would Orochimaru live forever...they both would. Together.

The sound of his clap resounded in the rocky field where he had brought the bodies. The dirt and dust began to surround the corpse within and without, pulling Kimimaro’s body into it and taking the boy’s form. He knelt, as with the flower, applying the seal. Slowly, the dust fell from Kimimaro. Then he took his first breath. Shallow, shaken. Gradually, heavily, his eyes opened, squinting and confused.

“M-My lord?” he rasped, sitting up with significant effort. Orochimaru lifted him to his feet, inhaling deeply at the boy’s neck. He smelled like lilies and dust and blood.

“Careful,” Orochimaru warned. “I wasn’t able to restore your health completely. You’ll feel weak for a few hours at least, and if you overexert yourself, I won’t have the chakra or the physical strength to help you.”

Kimimaro nodded, leaning on his master’s shoulder. He reached up to Orochimaru’s face, his fingertips brushing the bandages. “This is your new body?” he asked. “And your arms? Are they healed?”

“We’re not sure,” he replied grimly. It was the first time Kimimaro had ever seen him look afraid. “I have use of them, but they ache constantly. Kabuto is doing all he can to find out why.”

The boy stared sadly off into the surrounding fields. “My lord, I’m sorry. I--”

“No,” Orochimaru said firmly, stroking Kimimaro’s silvery hair. “You did well. No one has ever proven so faithful to me.”

The two walked slowly to the edge of the field and sat under a flowering tree, it‘s blossoms clinging even into autumn. “We’ll spend the night here,” he continued, wrapping his cloak around the boy’s thin shoulders and his own. “In the morning we’ll start back...It won’t rain tonight, if we’re lucky.”

Kimimaro rested his cheek against Orochimaru’s chest and watched the moon rise over the tree line.

Kimimaro woke slumped over his master, their torsos flush against one another. He blushed deeply at how close they were, wondering if Orochimaru would break the contact when he woke, if he would ever let him get this close. Orochimaru’s ivory kimono had fallen open during the night and had left him exposed to the waist. His heart fluttering, Kimimaro pressed his lips to the tender flesh just under his master’s collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispered, half hoping that the quiet words would be enough to wake him. But Orochimaru slept on, soundly, until the sun rose high enough to warm his body into wakefulness.

“Come,” he said softly, adjusting his obi. He left his cloak on Kimimaro’s shoulders.

At a slow pace, they made their way back to the mansion, stopping frequently to rest; the jutsu had left Orochimaru very weak, his chakra already drained from his change of bodies, and Kimimaro had not regained his full strength. Even so, he felt stronger than he had since the illness had begun ravaging his body.

When they arrived at the mansion, Orochimaru called Kabuto into his bedroom. The medical-nin seemed only vaguely surprised to see Kimimaro perched in the windowsill.

“So that’s what you were doing out,” he commented dryly, standing near Orochimaru’s chair. “You know, you could have gotten hurt. That jutsu is draining, even for you. You should have at least taken me along, just in case.”

“I obviously had no need of you, Kabuto,” said Orochimaru. There was a punishing bite to his voice. “But,” he added with a touch of softness. “I need you now. Make sure that no trace of Kimimaro’s illness remains. If you should discover anything this time, we will have plenty of opportunity to treat it.”

Kabuto nodded. “I’ll let the two of you rest before I start. And, if you don’t mind, my lord, I’d like to have another look at your arms, as well.”

“Certainly. In the morning. We’ll stay in here.”

“You don’t want me to make up a guest room for Kimimaro?” Kabuto asked innocently.

With a sadistic smile, Orochimaru replied, “That won’t be necessary.”

“I see.”

With that, Kabuto left the room, shutting the door a bit harder than he had to.

Kimimaro wondered whether his master really intended what he implied or if he simply wanted to punish Kabuto for second-guessing his judgment. In all likelihood, it was the latter; Orochimaru liked to pit his servants against one another from time to time. It gave them a common enemy in each other, while ensuring that their service to Orochimaru himself was all the more faithful. Kabuto and Kimimaro would naturally prove even more competitive because of their mutual desire for their master.

But when Kabuto was gone, Orochimaru went to the bed and stretched, beckoning for Kimimaro to join him. Kimimaro curled up at his master’s side.

“If I’m healthy again,” Kimimaro said quietly, placing a timid hand over Orochimaru’s heart, “will you take my body?”

“That’s exactly what I intend,” he replied.

Kimimaro felt his heart skip a beat. His purpose...he’d been given a second chance to fulfill his purpose. He could only pray that he would remain healthy enough to be the vessel for his master’s spirit.

He gasped audibly and blushed; Orochimaru’s hand was trailing over his chest, lightly, idly. Orochimaru was willingly touching him. It all but undid the boy. With a sigh, Orochimaru pulled Kimimaro close, into his arms. His hand lingered in the boy’s silver-white hair, and his lips brushed at his cheek, then his throat. His tongue darted out just over Kimimaro’s jugular, and suddenly, the boy understood the double meaning in his master’s words. The sudden shock of adrenaline arched his back, pressing him up against the older man.

“My lord?” he whimpered, uncertain.

“When we’re alone,” he said firmly, but with a certain air of playfulness, “you’ll call me by my name.”

Kimimaro felt stupid, but there were suddenly tears in his eyes. He turned his face away and said softly, “I’m honored.” A brief hesitation. “Orochimaru.”

The name felt odd on his lips; it was something he had never called his master, or even thought of calling him. Actually, he had never heard anyone dare call Orochimaru by his name. Behind their master’s back, the others of the Sound Five did, but not a one of them would have the gall to do it in front of him.

Even so, it sent a thrill of excitement through Kimimaro. He was, in all likelihood, the first person to address him without his title in decades. And Orochimaru himself had asked him to do it.

Orochimaru lifted Kimimaro’s chin with two fingers.

The boy’s heart nearly stopped; his master was so close...Their lips brushed, then pressed against one another. I can’t believe that I’m allowed to do this, Kimimaro thought, timidly pressing his tongue back against his master’s. And Orochimaru was so much...gentler than he had expected. Every move he made was slow and sensual and soft.

While they kissed, Orochimaru slipped a hand into the boy’s shirt, fingernails scraping lightly over his torso.


Orochimaru chuckled softly at Kimimaro’s breathless cry, opening his own kimono and pushing the boy’s shirt from his shoulders. Kimimaro undid his own pants and pulled them off, groaning as their bodies came into full contact.

The older man pulled the younger on top of him, his hands pressing against the small of Kimimaro’s back, pressing them closer together. The boy’s body responded instantly, as did Orochimaru’s; his eyes fluttered shut and his grip on his lover tightened.

Suddenly wild, his heart pumping heated blood too quickly through his body, Kimimaro tilted his hips up and pushed himself back down, impaling himself fully on his master in one stroke.

Orochimaru gasped, his eyes fluttering open.

“Isn’t that painful?” he asked, staring at Kimimaro.

“No,” he replied breathlessly. “I’ve been stretching myself this entire time.”

Orochimaru squinted, confused. “How?”

The boy smirked. “With my bones.”

Returning his smile, Orochimaru purred, “Clever boy. But if you’re going to use your technique, I’ll use mine.”

Kimimaro gasped, arching back, nearly bent double; his master was suddenly penetrating him much deeper, almost too deep. Kimimaro had heard nasty rumors from the other Sound Ninja about their master’s extension technique. Orochimaru was said to enjoy snaking through another man’s (or a boy’s) entire digestive tract, penetrating him at one and coming out the other. Most survived it.

But he trusted his master; he may push him to his limit, and he certainly welcomed that, but he would never do anything to hurt him. Orochimaru, for all his cold-heartedness, took care of his own for as long as they were of use.

Kimimaro met the intrusion with enthusiasm, clenching his thighs together and grinding against Orochimaru’s thin hips, sighing at the pleasure of being completely full. Each heavy downward thrust drew a hiss of ecstasy from the older man. Kimimaro noticed his master’s eyes fixed on his hard exposed length, and so reached down to stroke it, almost drawing more pleasure from Orochimaru’s shallow breathing and hungry gaze than from his own hand.

“More...” he begged, sweeping droplets of precum from the head with his thumb. Orochimaru extended himself and thrust upward at the same time, growling sadistically, his gentleness completely discarded.

Kimimaro threw his head back, howling in mixed pain and pleasure.

He was close...

He began squeezing his inner-muscles, tightening and clenching around his master, mercilessly pulling him over the edge with him. One deep thrust and their bodies arched together, writhing. Kimimaro shouted wordlessly, hot semen spilling over his hand and shooting onto Orochimaru’s belly.

With a shudder, Orochimaru pushed the boy off, sitting up on the edge of the bed, fists clenched and breathing raggedly.

Kimimaro gasped with alarm at his master’s arms. They looked bruised in patches, black and purple and yellow.


“I know,” he said, quietly, his voice laced with fear and hate. He spoke through gritted teeth as if in pain. “Kabuto will be in his lab. Bring him here.”

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