As soon as Itachi has his back turned, Orochimaru can look freely. His gaze travels down to the tight bum, and then up to Itachi’s beautiful hair. He has wanted to touch Itachi all day, and run his pale hands over these muscles.
Beautiful, he thinks. He runs his cold pointerfinger over the line of Itachi’s spine, hoping to make him arch, so he will see these muscles tense. He want Itachi’s discomfort, his bashfulness, his insecurity, because Itachi’s hesitation means Orochimaru has control. But this Uchiha… why is he so resiliant?
There is one, quick, minuscule flinch. He’d expected a hand, perhaps a little lower– Orochimaru and subtlety didn’t mix sometimes. But that is all his Master gets, Itachi keeping still for his ‘examination’.
Months and months ago… he would’ve been embarrassed. Unsure of what to do with the attention. But Orochimaru didn’t act on it the last time, nor when they shared a bed, and so he’s caught on, utilizing it himself. Eventually, Orochimaru’s patience will run out.






