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Sometimes, he stands on the rocks over the Hokage heads, where his own would be. Despite everything.
Where it might have been.
In another life.
Sometimes he admits he misses.
Longs.
Terribly.
Listening to Kakashi is a special kind of torture.
He loves Kakashi’s voice, despite everything.
He loves to watch him speak. To them.
Stories of pain and death and… him.
He envies Kakashi for being close to him still.
He despises Kakashi for carrying on, with his gift.
He loves Kakashi for always coming here and talking to them though, every day.
He hates Kakashi for what has come to pass but somewhere, deep within… something tightens in his chest and the thought flees, leaving only longing behind.
Today Kakashi’s face is troubled, visible even in what little he can see of it.
Still hiding, huh? But you cannot, not from me.
Your eye is forever mine.
A part of you feels my longing, my despair, just as I feel yours.
He frowns, actually focusing on the words.
"… and he‘s not reported in yet. I‘m waiting for the Sandaime to send me out to be honest. It’s not him to miss reporting in. And the hiraishin kunai is undisturbed… I…“ Kakashi hesitates and Obito knows he’s grimacing. "I’m troubled.“
Obito blinks, glad for the recording function of the Sharingan. He‘ll just analyze Kakashi’s words later. Kakashi sighs, heavily, fists in his pockets, shoulders hunched.
Obito knows that Kakashi’s nails draw blood from his palms.
How well I know you. How much I hate you.
And how much I miss you.
All of you.
He watches Kakashi leave, feeling suddenly uneasy himself, the thought coming unbidden. He looks up at the three Kage heads in the distance.
Would I… be happy if he dies?
Would I be … relieved?
There is another pang in his chest, and he grimaces, resolving to talk with Madara about it later. Maybe there‘s something wrong with the white Zetsu tissue, although it is generally working really well now.
He goes back to Madara through the dimension, the shortcut only taking a small amount of power by now. He wonders if Kakashi will ever find out about it. And use it, even.
For now though, for now it is his, his alone.
He knows not even Madara can access it.
It is something that is his, at least.
Everything else is shared after all.
“How was it?”
A similar question, every day.
A simple question. And one that is terribly complicated.
Madara doesn’t stop him leaving anymore, does not interfere with his actions. He’s sitting there like a wraith, biding his time, his mortal body seemingly frail, but Obito knows that is only the surface, a cocoon, a hull, that keeps Madara’s actual body well preserved. The body that cannot survive outside the cocoon, for long.
The body painstakingly kept safe, just in case all else fails.
He’s told Obito he’ll disconnect from the statue, soon. That he‘ll put his trust in him.
Let the dice roll.
Not yet though.
Not yet, while they’re still practicing.
Madara is harsh words and vicious punishments when Obito’s skills fail, and tight nods and clipped praise when they do not.
Obito tries.
Hungering for touch and sound and… attention.
But…
Sometimes, even Madara apparently feels mellow.
Sometimes, Madara leaves the hull behind, and walks through the cave for a while, to stretch his legs, his long dark hair flowing. He’s handsome, and brooding, and it’s times like these that he tells Obito about his childhood, while he tilts his head up and watches the moonlight filter between his fingers.
It’s times like these that Obito stares at his naked chest, itching to touch Hashirama’s face.
He wonders if it really can be felt.
He also wonders if it really looks like Senju Hashirama.
He can hear the longing in Madara’s voice when he talks of their days by the river.
What fools we are, to rage, rage against the dying of the light.
It’s days like these that he doubts.
It’s days like these that Madara is exceptionally gentle.
He never forces, then, just offers.
Obito always goes, like a moth to a flame.
Lets Madara take his mind away.
Madara tastes like knowledge, and wood, and ash, and… devotion.
He demands that, too.
The white skin grown from Hashirama’s cells is glowing in the moonlight, the muscles rippling under it. When the white skin touches it whispers, and Madara bends to eat Obito’s moans.
Obito’s not allowed to touch Hashirama’s face, his wrist almost broken when he reached out at some point.
The wrist, that Madara had then kissed and stroked.
Obito blinks, now, his tongue stumbling over the words. “I… Sensei Minato is missing. Likely wounded. He hasn’t reported back. I… ” He stumbles, regroups. "Kakashi is very worried.“
I‘m very worried.
Silence in the cave, only the sound of water, somewhere. Obito wonders absent-mindedly where the Zetsus are.
Madara’s dark eyes seem to bore into him. “I see.”
Obito swallows, expecting a sharp-tongued whiplash for calling Minato still… Sensei. And for listening to Kakashi again.
Madara exhales instead, slowly, his eyes glittering now. With a humor that’s rarely shown. Or allowed. “What are you waiting for then.”
Obito exhales, too, swallowing the ‘thank you’ down.
He concentrates, replaying what Kakashi said, at Rin’s grave, looking for clues.
A mission to Amegakure, undercover.
Reports of a trio, of powerful ninjas. Minato had been sent, as a last mission before his inauguration.
A trio… That must be Nagato, Konan, Yahiko. I’ll start at their hometown. Maybe he ran into them.
Or someone else.
He takes another shortcut through the dimension.
The rain pours, as usual, and it is cold.
Obito watches as his breath turns white in the chilly air, and he draws his coat tighter, scanning the area with his Sharingan activated.
He knocks on the door of a house nearby, shivering in the cold.
The door is only opened an inch, a scared man looking up at him. Obito tries not to seem so overpowering. “I… was there a fight nearby recently?”
The man blinks at him, and then answers with a shaking voice that nonetheless carries defiance. “Isn’t there always?”
Obito grimaces, his gaze turning sad. “Did you see a blonde man? In armor?”
The man shakes his head and the door is shut again, tightly.
Obito curses, softly, under his breath.
It takes 11 houses, and sheer luck, to catch Minato’s proverbial scent.
And a little girl, tugging at his sleeve, pointing a finger towards a cave, near the cliffside.
Obito desperately wishes for some food to give her, her gaunt face haunting him while he tries to pick his path through rubble and bodies. Someday, I’ll save you, little one. I’ll take the pain away. And for others, like you.
He grimaces, blinking the tears away.
Thunderclouds over him, lightning illuminating the cave, for just a second.
There is a form, at the back.
A still form.
Obito is glad he does not have a heart anymore, but something feels like stumbling nonetheless.
He rushes close, unable to breathe.
He turns Minato onto his back, pushes the wet blonde bangs away from the sweaty skin.
Sweaty skin.
Relief, as potent as a drug rushes through him, making him gasp. He bends down, with a short laugh, pressing his forehead to Minato’s hitai-ate, for just a moment.
There is a gash underneath, and Minato smells like copper and something acidic, spicy, that Obito knows is fever.
He also knows that if he leaves Minato here, now, he’ll probably die.
The decision isn’t one, not really.
He simply cannot leave Minato here, like this.
It’s simply impossible.
He debates hiding Minato in the dimension, but deems it ultimately futile, since Madara knows already.
And Madara’s face isn’t too dark either when Obito materializes with Minato in the cave, his eternally youthful face even vaguely amused.
Laced with understanding.
It’s one of those nights he left the cocoon, then.
In more ways than one.
Obito feels viciously relieved, Madara’s soft words washing over him. “Our little hideout is getting full.”
Obito grunts, putting Minato onto his bed, one unresponsive leg shifting to drop to the ground. Saying it like it explains everything, like it explains why he has the currently most dangerous adversary to their plans in their refuge. “He’s my Sensei.”
“Hmmm.” Madara gets up, slowly, walks over in a seemingly relaxed manner. He’s big and powerful, and Obito always feels somewhat intimidated, his own frame not as bulky. But Madara moves with a grace that belies his size and that speaks volumes of the time spent fighting, the time in battle. The back of one finger drifts over Minato’s flushed and yet pale face, the sheen of fever giving it a sickly and yet otherworldly glow. “We need to bring down his fever. I think he must have had a run-in with Hanzo… the wound in his thigh is reeking of that lizard’s poison. It will kill him if we do not remove it.”
Obito looks down, only now truly realizing the dark patch on Minato’s thigh hides a wound, a wound almost black, the blood in it obviously infected.
He curses harshly, the words echoing through their little chamber.
Madara’s eyes bore into him. He seems to be on the verge to say something, but then obviously thinks better of it, turning towards his cocoon. He reaches up and withdraws a tendril, returning quietly to put the snake-like thing onto the wound.
Obito watches in fascination as the tendril twists, and burrows into the wound, turning black with blood and poison in the process. Minato moans sharply, eyelids fluttering when the red blood gushes once more, the infected flesh removed, and Madara takes the tendril and throws it into the air, incinerating it with a small burst of flames. And then he smirks at Obito, his dark eyes sparkling. “There. He’ll survive now. The wound will heal rapidly through the few Zetsu cell’s left behind by it.”
Obito exhales, closing his eyes and leaning in a bit, the relief almost debilitating. “Thank you.”
Madara hums, and then gently cups Obito’s face, strokes the wrinkled skin. “We have to bear the pain of living for them. I see no use to bringing you even more pain.” His hand drops away. “However, it would be wise to return him, now, before he wakes.”
Obito swallows, shifting on his feet. He looks down at the pale face, and then turns away, retrieving some tissue to wrap the wound.
Madara leans with his hip on the bed next to him, watching him work. There’s something in his voice Obito cannot place. “You’re attached to him.”
Obito scoffs, lifting the leg to put the dressing on. “Well, yeah, he’s my Sensei.”
Madara’s eyes are dark. “Should not I be that by now?”
Obito’s eyes snap up. “Well, yes, but…” He trails off, not knowing what to say.
Madara watches him for a moment. “But not like I am?”
Obito shrugs, looks at him, at the fine lines of that intense face, and then blushes, remembering how Madara had looked the last time he had left the cocoon. The last time that mouth had… Obito stops the thought.
Madara watches him, one eyebrow quirked, aware.
His voice is very quiet. "He’s very beautiful.“ A short pause. "My opposite, in many ways.“
Obito feels pinned, hot and cold all over. Shivery, words on his tongue he doesn’t know how to speak.
Minato moans again, and they both turn to him, watch the eyelids flutter open.
Blue burns into Obito, the awareness in them dimmed by fever still, and pain, but the mouth twists into a surprised smile almost immediately. “Obito? How…”
And Obito cannot help himself, he feels the tears rise, and then the world blurs and Madara shifts next to him, silently leaving, and Obito sobs, once, harshly.
He hides his eyes behind his hands, starting when a hand lightly touches his wrist, draws his one hand down. The fingers are clammy still, and seem smaller than he remembers, but then he is grown now, isn’t he, and Minato is… He lowers his hand and returns his gaze to the man laid out on his bed, feeling flayed open at the smile that is directed at him. A wide, gentle, wistful smile. “Obito, I had hoped that there was a chance that you made it, somehow. They never found a body after all.”
Obito frowns, harshly. “They looked?”
Minato’s voice is soft. “Of course. But the cave was flooded and they didn’t manage to remove all the rubble. We… assumed.”
Obito nods, sniffing once. “Yeah, I know that.”
Minato quirks an eyebrow. “You know?”
Obito looks away for a second, shrugs.
Minato’s voice is even softer. “I see.”
Madara‘s shadow falls over them, like an omen.
Obito shivers.
Minato’s big, watchful eyes turn to Madara, his gaze traveling over the body. Over the features. Pause to watch the expression for a long moment. He frowns. "Who are you? Are you… an Uchiha?“
Madara quirks an eyebrow while reaching to help him lift his head, offering him some water. There is a small smile on his lips. "I am the one who will erase your memory tomorrow.“
Minato sips on the cold water, closing his eyes for a moment in obvious relief, but his tone is neutral. "I see.“
Obito fidgets, playing with the cloth of the blanket under Minato. Something in him is revolting at the thought of Minato knowing and then…. not. I cannot bear the thought of you forgetting me, Sensei. “Is that necessary.”
Madara turns to him, the black, unruly hair gleaming in the low light. “You know it is.” His gaze shifts, just slightly, his tone carrying a lilt to it that shivers between them. “You know what we have to do otherwise.” He turns back to Minato, his voice a caress that belies the words, eyes staring into Minato’s, shifting to red for a long moment. “Do not flash away, Namikaze Minato. I would need to kill you.” He smirks. “And I would do so without regret.” He clicks his tongue, with a little smirk. "Well, some regret maybe. But without much effort.“
Minato exhales, and then shivers again, and Madara looks up at Obito. “We need to get his wet clothes off and get him warm. Since we do not have much else, we must use body heat.”
Obito swallows harshly. He gesticulates towards the bed after a moment, knowing the tips of his ears are burning. “It better be you, I’m still damp from the trip as well, I’d only cool him down further.”
Madara quirks an eyebrow, and there is a twist to his mouth, but Obito ignores him, starting to pull off Minato’s shoes. Tries to ignore that his fingers are trembling, too. The blanket shifts as Minato tries to help with getting the clothes off, Madara’s hands deft and swift and surely divesting him of his wet clothes, putting them away to dry.
Minato’s skin is pale, dusted with gold, almost silver in the moonlight. Obito tries not to stare.
And then the blanket covers him, and Obito blinks, realizing he must have spaced out. And that Minato is watching him, intently, his gaze impossibly soft.
Madara steps past him, his expression… weird, and then starts to undress, matter of factly.
Obito averts his gaze.
Madara glides under the blanket, and Minato shivers, a sigh escaping his throat. Obito swallows, knowing the feeling of those limbs.
Knows how enticing and arousing their touch is.
How well Madara knows what to do, and when.
He stares at the gold and raven black hair, entwining on the pillow.
At the silver and gold dusted skin, so close together.
It seems so soft.
Obito knows it is, too.
At least the silver dusted one is. He knows how that skin feels, under his hands.
But the gold…
His throat is dry, trying not to imagine.
The blanket shifts, and Obito knows Madara is pushing his hand over Minato’s stomach, shifts closer. Obito cannot look away, he watches the blanket shift with the way the legs entwine.
Something tickles his awareness and he raises his gaze, locks it with blue. The blue eyes are blown, dark, by fever and awareness and… something else. Something rare.
Something… primal and yet gentle.
Something unleashed and stoked.
For him.
Just for him.
Obito bites down on the groan that wants to tear free.
Minato breaks the gaze and turns his head to Madara, whispers against the hands caressing the small gash on his brow. “Do you treat him well?”
Madara hums, his dark gaze shifting to Obito for a moment. “When I can.”
Obito cannot breathe. He can see Minato stare at Hashirama’s face that is just visible over the blanket, for just a second. Minato’s voice is very soft. “I think he…”
Madara smirks, more softly than he has any right to be able to. “I think so, too.”
Minato blinks up at him, eyes wide and understanding and… aware. “We can fight another day, I believe.”
It‘s an offer.
Obito is frozen to the spot.
Madara’s long lashes throw shadows over Minato’s cheek, vanishing when he bends to kiss them away. There is a red shadow that travels over the pale skin, and his voice echoes, somehow. “We will, too. But for now… You don’t mind, do you?”
And… Madara accepts.
Obito cannot fucking breathe.
Minato sighs shudderingly, reaching up to push his hitai-ate off, the last part of his clothing on him still, carefully placing it onto the small desk next to the bed. His fingers hover over it, for a long moment. “For today, yes.” He hesitates, adding with a voice that is almost inaudible, and it sends shivers down Obito’s spine. “For him.”
And then he turns and threads his fingers through Madara’s hair, a small, brave and yet gentle and serene smile on his lips. Allowing. “I always wanted to grow mine this long. But they never would.”
Madara pushes his nose into Minato’s neck, in a way as if he has done so a million times, inhaling deeply. “Bangs suit you.”
Obito swallows, feeling light-headed, the image burning itself into his mind.
Minato sighs, as Madara obviously does something he likes, right there, in his neck.
With his teeth.
Obito’s throat is dry and there is something stuck deep in his throat, wanting to crawl out.
He wants to feel what Madara feels now, badly.
Madara sighs, and then draws his nose up the column of Minato’s throat, and the blanket shifts. Minato sighs, his eyes fluttering close for a moment. Madara chuckles.
Obito wheezes.
He… wants.
But his feet are frozen to the spot, his tongue unresponsive.
He is uncomfortably aware of his own body, of the scarred and artificial mess that he is. It doesn’t matter with Madara, somehow, Madara who knows him better than he does know himself.
Madara, who has created large portions of this body.
But… Minato…
Minato, who is so beautiful, and kind, and strong, and unreachable, and…
Minato licks his lips, his eyes reopening to lock once more with Obito’s, his eyes so dark the blue seems a thin ring only. He sighs again as the blanket shifts once more, and his voice carries something that makes the hairs on Obito’s neck stand up. “Don’t you want to warm up, too, Obito?”
Madara chuckles, and does whatever he does to make Minato sigh again. His dark voice drips sin. “Why don’t you come here, instead of watching us with this longing, Obito… come to your Senseis, hmm?”
Obito grunts, deep in his throat.
Minato gasps, as the blanket shifts, lower. Madara licks into his ear, making him jerk. Minato gasps a laugh, his eyes searching for Obito’s. There is a small smile on his lips, and another gasp spills from them, as the blanket shifts again. “Come and share this with me, Obito. For tonight. Caress me.”
There is something woven into Minato’s voice, making it clear that he is doing this for Obito, now, here.
For him alone.
The words tumble from his mouth, unbidden. “I’m ugly.”
Both Minato’s and Madara’s gazes turn to him. Madara’s gaze is dark, his voice laced with almost-anger. “You are powerful.”
Minato looks at him and then turns back to Obito, reaching for him with one hand. His voice carries a myriad of feelings. “You are a vision.”
Obito’s heart seems to beat hard, once. He blinks slowly, shivering with need and longing and cold.
Minato wriggles his fingers, a smile on his lips. “Come here, Obito. Touch me.”
And Obito goes, unable not to.
Minato grabs his hand, entwines their fingers. His eyes sparkle, dark with desire as Madara licks into his ear again. “And now… Obito… Kiss me.”
Obito shudders. Minato’s eyelids flutter, but he holds the gaze, asking again. Gently. “Kiss me, darling.”
I want you to kiss me first hangs in the air, unsaid.
The darling digs a space for itself deep in Obito‘s soul. He knows he‘ll hear it, forever.
Obito mewls, deep in his throat, and Minato tugs on his hand, and Obito falls down, his gloved hand coming up to thread into gold, his cold lips finding the furnace of Minato’s mouth.
The lips that are so soft and nimble and heaven.
Minato gasps into him, opening to his touch, and the first touch of their tongues is everything Obito has ever wanted, somehow. Minato tastes of power and wind, and the sun and the sky. Of love he knows and never spoke of, of acceptance and care and desire.
Of more than what a Sensei is allowed to be.
Of more than a shinobi is allowed to be.
Obito groans harshly, trying to get more, and Minato mewls, deep in his throat.
Madara shifts and licks over the skin of Obito’s throat, pushing the words in between. “Come and join us, Obito.”
Obito’s fingers shake, as he starts pulling at his clothes with his free hand. Minato chuckles softly into the kiss, humming when it deepens even further, their tongues stroking insistingly now. Minato untwines their fingers, and threads them into Obito’s black hair instead, grasping the short strands to tilt Obito’s head, angling, and he groans, deeply, when Obito follows the pressure, pushing his tongue deep.
Madara chuckles, and then does something that makes Minato jerk, with a small cry.
Obito breaks the kiss, his gaze wild.
Madara grins at him, fangs on full display. Repeating, once more. Telling. “Come to bed, Obito.”
Obito pulls up, pulling off his clothes with jerky movements, while Madara bends and starts to kiss Minato, thoroughly, his hand possessively on Minato’s throat, thumb on his carotid.
Obito pushes the last garment off, and stands there for a moment, hovering and then Minato and Madara both break the kiss and turn to him, and their hands drag him in, two twin sets if eyes hypnotizing him, and he stumbles, a gasped laugh changing to a moan, as their skin touches.
The whisper of that white skin, and the sheer pleasure of the golden.
Madara shifts, pulling and throwing the blanket up to settle over them, like a veil.
Or a cocoon.
For a moment nothing happens.
And then Madara shifts so Minato is in the middle, with Obito to the other side, and it’s a tight fit, but it works, and Minato sighs, with a small smile. He raises his hands to glide through Obito’s hair again and to trace the scarred portion of Obito’s face, the twisted skin that will stay wrinkled no matter what Madara does to try to heal it. Obito tries to shy away, but Minato tightens the hold he has in his hair, makes him stay. “No, no hiding, here, now.” He pulls and reaches up, and ghosts a kiss along the lines, along Obito’s eyes, his temples, his nose, and Obito blinks harshly, something in him breaking, the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.
Minato whispers against his skin, inaudible, little words that are only spoken to caress, not to be heard, his breath whispering over Obito’s eyes and cheeks and mouth. Obito stares at him, at them, the blue promising the summer sky and sun, and he shivers again, gasping, when Minato pushes his leg in between his, slowly.
Madara starts to nibble along Minato’s shoulder, his dark hair spilling over Minato’s gold, and Minato sighs and tilts his head up, and Obito follows the invitation, like someone starving being fed for the first time, the sounds falling from Minato’s lips tasting so sweet, and Obito shifts and clings to him, arousal and desperation shivering through him.
Minato gasps into the kiss, his hips pumping once, and Madara chuckles, biting and nibbling still at Minato’s neck. Minato groans again and presses his hips back, and Obito realizes Madara must be pushing a finger in, or maybe two, because Minato is flushed now, and pumping rhythmically back, moans spilling from his lips, and Obito drinks them down, suddenly ravenous, rapidly needing more.
His fingers glide to map out smooth skin, this skin he’s wanted to touch for so long, the hot length of Minato’s cock heavy against his stomach, and then reach the chest, and Minato groans when he squeezes it, and so he does it again, and again, his fingers twisting around nipples and Minato breaks the kiss with a grunt, his panted breaths harsh in the air between them. Obito stares at him, at the vision he presents, and then pushes down, and Minato mewls, and then Obito sinks into smell, his smell, the smell of his teacher, his Sensei, his… he follows the smell, his tongue coming out to taste the head, instinctually.
Minato sighs above him and Obito suckles softly, the skin so smooth and so soft, and he pushes the tip of his tongue into the slit and there’s more precome, rushing up and he swallows it down, hungrily. His hands find the shaft on their own, and Minato mewls above him, and Madara chuckles, and Obito hums, with a smile, and then he’s really getting into it and Minato moans, harshly, pumping his hips just a bit, and Obito follows it, one hand shifting to hover over Madara’s fingers, still pumping in and out, leisurely.
Minato twists slightly, and Obito follows the movement, bobbing his head, humming, and Minato’s one leg is over his shoulder now, and Obito knows Madara is kissing Minato, because the moans are muffled now, but constant, and there’s fingers, gliding through his hair, pulling just softly, and Obito wants more of the taste, badly, but he wants something else, too, and he pulls off with a gasp, pulling a grunt from Minato’s throat.
Madara pushes up, just slightly, biting harshly at Minato’s lips. Minato gasps as he withdraws his fingers, and Madara grins fiendishly at him, while Obito latches onto Minato’s left nipple, suckling and biting until Minato writhes under him, gasping.
Madara chuckles, breathlessly. “Easy, Obito, don’t make him come yet.”
Obito groans harshly, while Minato throws his head back, writhing continuously beneath him. There is a shift of the bed as Madara leaves it, and Obito knows that he is getting something as lube now, and he feels hot suddenly, all the shivers gone, and he shifts over to the other nipple, and Minato cries out, softly, Obito’s name falling brokenly from his lips.
Obito’s non-existent heart stutters, and he redoubles his efforts with a sob, and Minato’s arms come up to hold him close, and Obito’s arm threads under his back to pull him even closer, Minato’s heart thundering against him through the thin layer of flesh and skin.
A breeze of cold and a resettling of cloth and then hands reach between them and coat both their cocks and Minato moans loudly, a drawn out, sighing moan that lodges itself deep in Obito’s spine, and want makes him pulse.
The name is a gasp, encompassing everything. “Sensei.”
Minato mewls, and then turns, so his back is against Obito’s chest, reaching to drag him up with one hand, while the other reaches for Madara, who is watching him with glowing red eyes now, mouth open with a little, lewd smile. Recording.
Obito grunts and activates his Sharingan, too, licks and bites his way up, feels the way Minato undulates between them, his breath fast and shallow.
Madara smirks at him, before settling in to shift closer to him, whispering against Minato’s mouth. “No worries, future Yondaime, we won’t make you beg, will we Obito.”
Obito gasps something that may or may not have been a laugh, the sound bordering on crazed and sobbing, and then he feels Minato bend back, one leg coming up to lock over Madara’s.
Giving him room.
Obito mewls and shifts closer, pushing his face into the gold, into that smell, and he aligns, his fingers gripping the slim hips tightly, shifting for the angle.
He pushes in harshly the moment Madara takes Minato’s mouth again, surely, deeply, without rush, the sound torn from Minato’s throat seemingly matched to the one torn from Obito’s soul, echoing through the small chamber, through the mark of his remaining bones.
Minato’s hand picks Obito’s hand from his hip, threads their fingers together.
Obito bottoms out and hides his sob between his teeth, tasting copper.
Madara chuckles and pushes Minato’s leg down and straight, and then pushes close - and his cock between Minato’s thighs. Minato breaks the kiss and groans, harshly.
Obito gasps, the position allowing Madara to glide along Minato’s balls first, and then nudge the base of Obito’s cock, before pulling back. And then he pushes in again, along both their balls, and Obito knows he’s likely dragging along Minato’s cock, too, and along their joining, and he’s frantic suddenly, jarred into movement, driven by lust, taking up small, insistent pushes and Minato is silent now, eyes slitted, mouth open, and Madara licks and bites at his chin and lips, and grasps their clasped hands, and there’s a rhythm suddenly, and it works, and Minato moans in a tone that burns itself into Obito’s brain, addictive and raw and everything, and he laughs, burrowing closer, shifting a bit and Minato shivers now with each of their pushes, his heated skin a furnace, and Madara reaches for his cock, mumbling nonsense.
Minato cries out and then breaks, as if in slow motion, the contractions starting deep within him and around Obito’s cock and Madara laughs gutturally, his hand on Minato’s cock speeding up and Minato throws his head back, teeth clenched, the sound leaving him is only vaguely human.
Obito pushes deep and lets the contractions pull him over the edge, coming with a groan, and pressing his face into the back of Minato’s neck.
Madara chuckles softly, and then lifts his head to lick Minato’s come off his fingers, his dark eyes sparkling. He hums, pulling the last digit out, and then leans into Minato’s space, his voice dark, suggestive. “Why don’t you turn around?”
Minato groans, and Obito grunts, his cock twitching tiredly and then Minato turns, sluggishly, and Obito embraces him, gently, their faces now so close, noses touching.
Minato’s pupils are blown, a tired, sated expression on his face that matches with the small smile on his lips, directed at him. Obito blinks and then smirks at him, and leans in to kiss him just as Madara pushes in, the kiss soft and gentle and intimate, while Minato moves with Madara’s long and powerful thrusts in Obito’s arms, his sighs and soft moans and hisses traveling through Obito’s soul.
It’s their own little bubble and nothing much exists, no air, no sound, no smell, no Madara, just them, so close that their eyelashes tickle.
So close their embrace is heat only, no movement or space or breath between.
So close Obito thinks he can feel Minato’s soul shiver, on every glide of their lips.
Obito shifts his arms around Minato’s back, and Madara’s chest pushes against them now, against the barrier, and Obito frowns into the kiss, desperate suddenly, knowing they’re on borrowed time already, and Minato’s eyes open, indescribably blue on this short distance.
Letting him see.
Obito stares into him, their mouth’s hovering, shifting, gliding.
There.
Somehow, it’s more than the sex was, before.
Much more.
Madara growls, knowing and taking what he wants, and Minato grunts with the slaps now, with the oversensitivity, and their kiss turns sloppy, wet and desperate, and then Madara yells through clenched teeth and Minato mewls into Obito’s mouth, hips kept rolling still by Madara‘s hands, who is chasing the pulsing deep within.
Obito shivers and keeps kissing him until Minato’s breathing quiets, and until his movements gentle, and then until his lips grow slack, and he keeps kissing when Minato’s breathing evens out fully, and only then does Obito draws back, still nosing along the soft skin under Minato’s eyes.
The red glow of Madara’s eyes watches him, silently, watchfully, and then sleep claims him after all, and Obito succumbs to it with a feeling of sheer and absolute terror, knowing he will lose the smell and the taste and the sounds and the touch… when he wakes.
And he longs for an eternal dream.
Of this.
*********
Blue eyes watch him when he wakes, and soft fingertips trace his face.
Minato’s face is dark, hidden in shadows, and Obito tries to make sense of the expression, of the sorrow in it.
Minato winces when he shifts, and Obito grimaces in sympathy, knowing that feeling very well.
Over to the side, Madara is… whistling.
Obito blinks, shooting him a slightly weirded out look.
Minato leans in, whispers into Obito’s ear. “Don’t tell him he didn’t manage to trap me in a Genjutsu. I think it‘d destroy his good mood.”
Obito’s eyes snap to his, and Minato’s eyes crinkle, just slightly. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Obito’s forehead, humming softly, before drawing back again, with a smile. “What a splendid man you’ve become, Obito.” He hesitates. "I don’t know why you are here, now, or what your plans are. But if you ever want to come back…“
Madara interjects, his tone hard. “He won’t.”
Minato looks up at him, his gaze carefully neutral. “I see.”
Madara grins, that slightly manic grin that Obito has come to know as a warning signal of imminent danger and pain. He interjects hastily, his tone carrying enough honesty. “I cannot, I am sorry, Sensei. He… is giving me something I desire very much.”
And that is the utter truth.
Even now.
Minato blinks at him, and Obito leans in, ghosting a kiss over his lips. “Thank you. I will always cherish the memory, until the dream comes true.”
Minato frowns at him at that, apparently picking up on his undertone.
Madara chuckles, clasping Obito’s shoulder for a moment, his tone not a question. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and dressed.”
Obito swallows, knowing what will happen now, of course, but unwilling to watch it, scrambling out of bed almost frantically.
He hears Madara sit down on the bed, hears the rustling as Madara uses his bulky form to restrain Minato’s movements.
Minato doesn’t say anything, accepts it with grace, and Obito sobs, the world blurring as his fingers shake.
It doesn’t take long, and he knows it is over when Madara steps up to him, hovering behind him, silently. Watching Obito clean up and pull on some fresh clothes.
His voice, when he finally speaks, is hard. “You know it had to be done.”
Obito nods, jerkily, refastening his armor. “I… I know.”
Madara clicks his tongue. “When the time comes, you can dream whatever you wish, for eternity.”
Obito’s face crunches in sorrow and pain, and he sobs, wiping angrily at the tears. “I… it’s going to take so long still. I…” He turns, letting Madara see, uncaringly. “I cannot bear this alone.”
Madara’s dark eyes glitter. “You can. And you will.”
Obito blinks, looking away for a moment. His voice comes haltingly, pleadingly, filled to the brim with pain. “You have to make me forget. I … I cannot stand this longing. For him. For… them. And… You have to make sure I won’t forget the path. Please.”
Madara looks at him, silently, for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is grave, laced with something that grates. “You would make me take your will?”
Obito hears what he doesn’t say. You would make me do this, alone? Using you only? Force me to become the villain between us?
He nods, jerkily. Fidgeting.
Madara’s face darkens, repeating. “Is that what you really want? For me to take your will?”
Obito’s eyes are wide, and full of tears. Of apology. “Yes.”
Madara’s presence is dark and swirling and filled to the brim with hate, suddenly, devastatingly. Obito shivers. He turns away, offers Madara his unprotected back, arms spread.
Madara inhales, and then Obito knows that he looks at him, almost kindly, and with fathomless sadness, and anger, all of it carried easily in his tone. “Fine. Don’t come to me and complain afterwards.”
He weaves a sign and indifference settles deep within Obito, deep in his soul, deep in his mind, around the space that was his heart, and it is… soothing.
Madara grabs his chin, and turns his head, red eyes taking the longing, the need.
Muting them.
And then his hand drops and Obito… exhales with a blink, watching Madara return to his cocoon with shuffling steps, and hunched shoulders.
Seemingly as frail as the hull he returns to.
Staring into space, biding his time.
The moonlight filters through the cave as Obito turns, and takes the sleeping man on the bed into his arms. He looks at him and then shrugs, and takes their guest back to a wet cave, far away, his face relaxed.
Tranquil.
With a smile.
Dreaming of a dream he wants to dream.
Someday.
For all eternity.