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Orochimaru poked his fingers out of the layers of kakebuton and furs, paused for a moment, and wrinkled his nose. He slid his tea cup away along the floor rather than get up and entirely abandon, however briefly, the cocoon of warmth he had established here in the heart of the house.
He had grown stronger - and more resilient - with age and he could weather the deepest bite of winter if he must, these days - at least, the deep of winter in Konoha; Orochimaru didn’t remember fondly the mission his team had been sent on in Tetsu no Kuni.
Actually, Orochimaru didn’t remember the mission at all; he had vague recollections of forging into the viciously icy, bitterly cold lands, of being miserable and stiff, too cold and foggy to even be angry about the assignment despite the pain and sluggishness sapping at him as they crossed deeper into the bitter winter.
Apparently after one night’s camp he had simply stopped waking up, curled up tight and cold, unresponsive.
Tsunade had been incandescent with rage when they returned home, the ringing sounds of her swearing bellows were where his first proper memory picked up again, and Jiraiya had been scathing; harsh enough, between them, to drive their sensei to something that was almost an apology.
But Hi no Kuni was not Tetsu no Kuni; Konoha got snow, frequently through the worst of the winter even, but truly, it primarily came in soft layers that added insulation. The cold crept and bit, but rarely howled.
Still, while Orochimaru might be very much capable, he had less than no desire to go out and deal with the cold and the precipitation up close, however soft its layered embrace. It was picturesque, perhaps. From a distance. That was the most Orochimaru was inclined to give it, and he was already looking forward to the spring thaw, the summer warmth. Orochimaru sniffed, curling up a little more snugly, relaxing in the warmth, and let the fabric and furs fall completely over his head once more.
. . .though in fact, it was warm enough under here that Orochimaru was leaving behind much of the usual lethargy that afflicted him in the season and thus growing rather bored. It was perhaps the warmest he had managed to keep himself during the winter, thanks in large part to his fretful, thoughtful wolf, which was a pleasure on several levels . . . but being bored was very much less so. It was a pity negotiating a book - and enough light to read by - beneath the layers of bedding would be impractical at best and entirely impossible at worst, he thought idly, stretching and twisting onto his other side.
Perhaps almost more of a pity that his mate was away and expected to remain so for some days yet, Orochimaru thought with a huff, lips twitching. There would be potential for occupations not hampered by the restriction of a heavy cocoon of bedding. Orochimaru settled again, nudging the heap of living fur tucked along his legs, and Seikio wriggled against his knee in response, twisting his neck and resting his head heavily over Orochimaru’s hip, his damp breath tickling through Orochimaru’s yukata.
‟Warm?” Seikio asked, and Orochimaru laughed, scritching lightly through the thinner fur atop his head.
‟Very warm. Thank you.” Orochimaru said softly as Seikio nudged into the touch, tail thumping against his legs, though it was somewhat restrained by the weight of the bedding wrapped around and over them. Seikio was more than capable of being a fierce hunter and a deadly battle companion . . . but when he wasn’t in such situations, he was prone to whining and puppy eyes and wheedling and flopping on the floor like a rug.
Big baby, Orochimaru thought, fond rather than exasperated. In truth, he suspected that was part of the reason his mate had chosen Seikio to leave with him, instructed to watch over him and keep his side in his mate’s absence.
And perhaps in hopes that Orochimaru would be more likely to accept the concern gracefully if it was clothed in such a form.
It was an unnecessary worry, but Orochimaru didn’t mind that any more than he resented his mate being so fretful over him. Sakumo. . .
Sakumo would never doubt his strength, indeed, depended on it in turn - and found it sexy, Orochimaru thought with wry pleasure of his own; he felt much the same towards the feral, spine-tingling strength Sakumo could bring to bear when he chose - but Sakumo was also devoted and protective by nature. If there was anything he could do to spare Orochimaru so much as a paper cut he likely would.
Ridiculous, perhaps, but hardly belittling.
And Orochimaru hated to be cold; this was the warmest he’d ever been in winter, despite the fact that his mate was away. A puppyish companion snuggled up to him in downtime was hardly such an imposition to allow, considering.
Orochimaru yawned, fingers sinking lazily deeper into Seikio’s ruff.
He was a sweetheart, silly creature, and he had been very helpful, but. . .
‟I hope your summoner returns home soon.” Orochimaru murmured as he drifted dozily; he was vaguely aware of Seikio whuffing agreement as he snuggled more cosily along Orochimaru’s thigh and hip, one foreleg sliding over Orochimaru’s own legs.
Then Orochimaru was slipping deeper into sleep in the basking, comfortable laziness of warmth even if it came with enforced stillness, rather than the painful, tight weakness of torpor.
So he woke swiftly, mind easily shaking off sleep, when something stirred and drew him from his rest. He drew a breath, then stilled, licking his lips.
Seikio couldn’t possibly have reverse-summoned Sakumo, he thought, twisting around with rather less planning - and thus, grace - than he would usually employ when moving beneath such a heavy, tangled nest as he had built himself. He turned right into his mate’s solid chest, however, and Seikio whined happily at his back, scratching at Orochimaru’s calf in his eagerness to scramble across and get closer to his summoner.
Sakumo laughed, praising Seikio, but his eyes were fixed on Orochimaru’s in the dim light, warmer still than the close air around them.
Orochimaru’s lips curled into a languid, pleased smile, and he dragged one hand up - his brows rose - over warm, bare skin, following the lean lines of thigh, sharp angle of hip and solid muscle at the waist, then the thick-
Sakumo seized his wrist, breath hitching, and Orochimaru laughed softly, curling into his mate with an affectionate hum. ‟Welcome home, wolf.”
Sakumo grinned, drawing him closer still, nuzzling his face with needy eagerness not entirely unlike Seikio’s, Orochimaru thought with wry fondness, allowing the silliness with pleasure for several minutes before finally stilling his mate with a proper kiss.