Sakumo smothered a laugh at the dark grumblings barely audible from beneath the heavy winter kakebuton. Apparently not well enough, as the mutterings faded into an angry hiss - though it was rather lacking in ferocity - the slender figure curling up tighter and Orochimaru's angular cheek settling on his chest, cool fingers splaying over his belly. Snuggling for warmth, though he would, no doubt, never admit to doing such a thing; Sakumo wondered, if Orochimaru was still with him in the spring . . . would he curl up in the sun to bask, like one of his own summons?


(I blame blackkat for this ship and this version of them living in my head at all.)