Beep-Beep-Beep-bang-Beep-Beep. Jiraiya rolled over, slapping his alarm clock repeatedly with a limp arm. Why wouldn't the damn thing shut off? He let the arm drop, the grating beeping fading by increments into the background. beep-beep-beep-beep.....
Who the hell invented that noise, anyway? They deserved to be dragged by the hair through spike-studded horse shit and then flame-broiled. beep-beep-beep-bee-click. Finally, he raised his head and aimed correctly at the evil machine, mercifully ending the continual flow of obscene sounds. He rolled the rest of the way out of bed, thudding to the cold floor in a tangled heap of messy blankets and akimbo limbs.
Within five minutes he had successfully raised himself from the boards and begun the arduous trek to the bathroom, where his routine typically started. Out of habit more than anything else, he opened the bathroom window's curtains and peered out into the firmly closed shades of his attractive female neighbor's bedroom. The sad lack of eye candy went pretty near unnoticed, though, as the blinding white frosting that laced every surface immediately attracted his attention in its entirety. Now, although Jiraiya was sixteen, the oldest of the Golden Trio (although only by a few months), he still retained a childlike fascination with snow.
This childlike fascination led him with record speed to his closet, where he donned a jacket and boots; to his front door, which he unceremoniously flung open, escaped through, and slammed shut; and down the street in the direction of the nearest of his friends' houses- Orochimaru's.
The shinobi in question was fast asleep, having stayed up far too late the previous night torturing a number of baby bunnies. (The activity had just been too amusing for him to tear himself away from.) In any case, his peaceful dreams of a worldwide socialist state were prematurely disrupted by a loud puff, accompanied by a heavy weight imposing itself upon his bedsprings and an unmistakably grating voice announcing with a ridiculously overexaggerated sense of self-importance,
"Oro, wake up! It snowed!" The adressee of this statement propped himself up on one elbow, a single raised eyebrow and disbelieving countenance the only outward signs of his flat-out shock at this new display of utter degeneracy on the part of his best friend. He asked carefully, keeping the murder in his voice to a minimum,
"And you are in my house at this ungodly hour to tell me this....why?" Jiraiya paused, considering, as though the idea of questioning his actions before carrying them out had never crossed his mind. He began slowly, "Welll...."
Orochimaru sighed, returning his head to the soft pillow it so craved. "How about you think on it, then tell me when you've got a good explanation, hmm?"
"Oh, no, you don't!" Jiraya cried, yanking Orochimaru up and out of his bed. "We're going out to play!" Orochimaru's eyes widened. The very thought of anyone seeing him- him!- the genius sannin, the quietly aloof prodigy, playing in the snow made him want to crawl back into bed for another ten years. Unfortunately for him, his state of early-morning bleariness prevented him from mounting any semblance of adequate resistance, and so allowed him to be dragged, in his pajamas, out the door and into the freezing white landscape.
As soon as Jiraiya released him, he planted himself in the cold drifts, wishing to move but held fast by the fact that his blood seemed to be freezing in his veins. Instead, he watched the asinine cavortions of his teammate with a mixture of mild disgust and curiosity as to how he was able to function so efficiently in zero degree weather. That is, until he finally managed to gain some form of control over his rigid limbs. He climbed up from the ground and began making his slow, torturous way towards the still-open front door, praying Jiraiya wouldn't notice. Of course, we all know just how tight Orochimaru is with God. "Hey, Oro! Whatcha doing?!" Orochimaru halted, wincing.
Well, that's the last time I'm asking you for help, God.
"Dude, you're going in already?!" Orochimaru sighed, crossing his arms in an effort to retain what little heat his body could still generate. "Jiraiya, this cretinous activity is not only completely and utterly pointless, but completely and utterly beneath me. If you don't mind, I would like very much to return to the wonderful, wonderful rest which you have tried so gallantly to deprive me of." Jiraiya looked askance at him, an uncharacteristically calculating look appearing on his face. After a short pause, he smirked. "You're just cold, pussy."
WHAT?! If his teeth had not begun chattering uncontrollably, Orochimaru might have thrown a tantrum audible for miles around right then and there. No one, repeat, no one, associated him in any way with the female sex. He had spent too many years being mistaken for one of them, he was too old to deal with this shit any longer!
"Oh, what a cute little girl you have!" "Hey, miss, can you help me, please?" "Wow, hun, your hair is gorgeous! Did your mommy teach you how to do it?"
No! No more! Orochimaru pushed past Jiraiya and stood defiantly in his original place, disregarding the nagging feeling that he could feel his synapses slowly shutting down. "I-I'm less warm than you," he pointed out, stilling his spasming jaw muscles with effort. "You, at least, have a coat. I don't even have shoes. Between the two of us, I'd say you're the pussy."
Jiraiya growled indignantly. "Fine, then! We'll make it even!" With that, he threw off his coat, boots, hat, and, for good measure, socks. Now Jiraiya stood in sweatpants and a T-shirt, while Orochimaru shivered in shorts and the fishnet shirt favored by so many ninjas. "Even?" He asked sardonically, one eyebrow arching in reluctant amusement.
Jiraiya flushed. "It's not my fault you can't dress yourself! Who wears shorts in winter, anyway?" Orochimaru just grinned, the muscles in his face working furiously against the absolute permeation of cold throughout his body. "Fine!" Jiraiya snapped, pulling off the shirt and pants. Despite his situation, Orochimaru couldn't help but laugh.
Jiraiya was wearing spiderman tighty-whiteys, and looking extremely uncomfortable about it. Who even read comics like that, anyway? Orochimaru wondered. When most of the village had stronger powers that the "super"hero did, it it kind of lost most of its appeal. Well, to everyone except Jiraiya, that is. "Oh, shut up!" yelled Jiraiya, his face scarlet. "It's not like you could stand out here in just your underwear!"
The amusement instantly draining out of him, Orochimaru considered. On the one hand, it was freezing. But on the other, he had to prove to Jiraiya that he was not, had never been, and would never be in any way, shape, or form, anywhere near being pussy. Grimly, he pulled his thin shirt over his head, depositing it neatly in the snow, and then bent down, removing his shorts. He, luckily, had chosen the previous night to wear a slightly-too-tight pair of black boxers instead of his customary man-thong.
Sorry about earlier, God, I really didn't mean that.
As he straightened, however, he noticed a strange expression on Jiraiya's face. "What?" he asked icily, borrowing his tone from the surroundings. Jiraiya's face went raging red and he turned away without answering, muttering imperceptibly. Orochimaru sighed, resigning himself to the fact that Jiraiya usually didn't make sense because there was nothing in that empty head to make sense of.
He turned to the street, suddenly realizing that this spectacle was clearly visible for anyone and everyone to see, and felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Tsunade stood at the edge of his lawn, giggling hysterically. When she realized he was aware of her presence, she burst out laughing, the sound surely loud enough to draw the attention of the whole block.
Tsunade had woken up at her usual time, only to find that the ground was covered in a thick blanket of white stuff. From long years of experience she knew that jiraiya would soon be up, racing over to Orochimaru's house, and forcing him outside to play in the snow. Having nothing planned, she quickly threw clothes on, wrote a note to her parents on a pad in the kitchen, and headed off.
When she arrived, Jiraiya was standing in the middle of the lawn, looking about ready to completely freeze his ass off, wearing cartoon tighty-whiteys. Next to him was Orochimaru, who looked as though he had already frozen, stripping to reveal plain (if somewhat tight) boxers. Tsunade's initial disappointment (she had been so sure Orochimaru was a thong type!) was immediately quelled by an immense laughing fit at the sheer unexpected idiocy of it all, which she quelled as best she could until Orochimaru looked around. His expression was enough to dissolve the little restraint she had left, and she burst into loud, racous laughter. Jiraiya's head snapped up, his expression mortified. Tsunade doubled over, hysteria mounting.
Several minutes later, having recovered enough to draw breath, she ordered the two of them inside, following close behind. The two guys stood in opposite corners of Orochimaru's living room, dressing hastily and without making eye contact. Tsunade, making tea in the kitchen, had to suppress a fresh bout of laughter at the sight. Five minutes later, she exited the kitchen to find them slightly less frostbitten and slightly more amiable. She gave them their cups, which they accepted gratefully, and suggested they watch some TV. After all, her own was broken and Orochimaru had a 36-inch plasma screen. But it wasn't like she was using him for his stuff. That would just be wrong.
When it seemed like Tsunade and Orochimaru were absorbed in an MTV biography of Gwen Stefani, Jiraiya inconspicuously retreived a pad of paper and a pencil from Orochimaru's kitchen. He quickly set about sketching an image that he had been trying very, very hard to keep in the front of his mind. As the pencil moved rapidly across the paper, he grinned conspiratorially to himself. This was awesome.
Orochimaru, nearly bored to tears by the inane stupidity of Hollywood, allowed his gaze to wander around the room. There was Tsunade, entranced by Stefani's first music video, there was the coffee table, it would probably be a good idea to get the bloodstains off of that before anyone noticed, there was Jiraiya, blushing furiously as he looked at a paper he was holding close to his chest....hm?
Knowing Jiraiya, he probably had a Playboy concealed from tsunade behind it, but Orochimaru was just bored (and nosy) enough to become curious. He silently rose from his seat, crept across the small space separating them, and snatched the pad from Jiraiya's hands. He stared at it in disbelief.
He was looking at an admittedly good reproduction of himself, nearly naked, looking rather vulnerable and...uke...in the snow. (At least he assumed it was snow, the background had yet to be completed.) He looked up at Jiraiya, a huge number of tangled emotions roiling through him. First and foremost among them, however, was blinding anger. He threw the pad into the barely-used TV, sending out a bright explosion of sparks, and launched himself at Jiraiya.
"YOU-!!!--GR-- Fucking!!!....agh!!!" Orochimaru incoherently spewed nonsense, his indignation at being considered a bitch (male or female) rising to monstrous proportions.
Tsunade sat stunned in her chair for a moment, then headed for the door. She didn't have a clue what had set Orochimaru off, but damned if she was going to stick around for the show.
A number of long, long hours later, Jiraiya's bleeding body was thrown carelessly down Orochimaru's front steps. He lay there for a moment, willing his pain to ebb away, and began the slow, arduous trek home. As he rose on shaky legs, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He glanced at it quickly, nosebleed forming, and stuffed it back into his pocket.
Orochimaru watched from behind his curtain as Jiraiya walked uncertainly home, red splatters marking his trail. He sat back, sighing, and pulled a small book from underneath his pillow.
Dear Diary,
Success! Jiraiya is totally into me. I thought it would be a lot harder to win him over, but as it turns out my naturally feminine charms are plenty to lure him in. I tried to act like girls do, getting mad at his perversion, and I think I did great. He might need a week or two of hospitalization, though. Maybe I'll bring him flowers. I wonder if roses would be too obvious? Anyway, I'm gonna get some sleep now. Bye, Diary!
