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Hashirama and Madara met in the quiet of the forest, the night sky a canvas of shimmering stars and a bright full moon. The air was cool and still, and the only sounds were the soft whisper of the wind through the leaves and the occasional distant hoot of an owl.
Madara leaned against the trunk of an ancient tree, his gaze fixed on the starry expanse above them. Hashirama joined him, his eyes reflecting the silvery light of the moon. For a few moments, they both remained silent, lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Madara spoke up, his voice low and thoughtful, "Do you ever wonder, Hashirama, if we're doing the right thing? Founding this village, building a new way of life for all the Shinobi?"
Hashirama nodded, his expression serious.
"I do, Madara. I'm constantly questioning myself, wondering if we truly understand what we're trying to achieve. But then I look at us now, meeting like this, and I know. We're creating something that has never existed before. A place where Shinobi can live and work together, instead of fighting constantly."
Madara let out a soft, almost sad, chuckle.
"You're still so idealistic, Hashirama. So certain that this will all work out. I wish I shared your optimism."
Hashirama smiled at that, his eyes glinting in the light of the moon.
"Maybe it's naivety, maybe it's just hope, but I truly believe in what we're trying to do. And I have faith in you, Madara. Your strength and determination are unparalleled. We would not have come this far without you. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you."
A pause and the air between them seemed to grow charged with something unspoken. Madara looked away from the stars, his gaze fixing once more on Hashirama.
"Why do you trust me so much, Hashirama? After everything that's happened, that I've done, how can you still believe in me? There are times I can’t even trust myself, nor you. Times when I look at you and I can’t tell if I’m seeing you as my friend, my partner, or as the brother of the man who killed mine. There’s so much we’ve accomplished, but accolades don’t fill that void and sometimes not even your presence is enough."
Hashirama was quiet for a moment, absorbing Madara’s words. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but firm.
"I trust you because I know you, Madara. I’ve seen who you truly are underneath all the bitterness and pain. Every time I look at you, I see the boy who was my friend first, long before we were ever rivals or brothers-in-arms. I see someone who has been hurt, deeply and often, but hasn’t let it break them completely. We may have our differences, our conflicts, but deep down, I believe in your goodness."
Madara felt a strange pang in his chest at Hashirama's words. He looked away once again, staring out into the dark forest, his voice tinged of a strange tone that neither he nor Hashirama recognized.
"And if, one day, I were to prove you wrong, Hashirama? If I were to go down a path you could not follow or fathom? Would you still believe in me then?"
Hashirama let out a thoughtful sound, his expression solemn.
"I’d be lying if I said that didn’t scare me, Madara. But you asked me earlier if I ever wonder if we’re doing the right thing. My answer is yes, I doubt myself constantly. But I also know that I’d rather take that risk of believing in you, in us, than live a life of uncertainty, fear, and mistrust."
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Besides, I could always just kick your ass if you decided to go rogue again."
Madara couldn’t help but snort at that, shaking his head. Despite himself, a small smile tugged at his own lips, a flicker of lightheartedness breaking through the heavy mood.
"You’re a fool, Hashirama."
There was no malice in the phrase, only a mixture of fondness and grudging respect.
Hashirama chuckled, his shoulders easing a little.
"Maybe so, but I’m a fool who still believes in you. I won’t abandon you, no matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise. So even if one day, you do go down a path I cannot follow, know that I’ll always be here, waiting for you to find your way back."
Madara felt a mixture of emotions at those words. Gratitude, anger, frustration, and something else he could not name or understand. He closed his eyes, willing himself to regain composure, to bury the feelings that threatened to surface. He didn’t want to give Hashirama the satisfaction of knowing how much his words had affected him.
Finally, he opened his eyes again, his tone more serious than before.
"You're a sentimental fool, Hashirama. But I appreciate it and the loyalty. Despite everything, I can't say I'm not grateful for that."
Hashirama gave him a small, genuine smile, the moonlight casting soft shadows across his face. He reached out, clasping Madara's shoulder with an understanding, supportive gesture.
"No thanks needed. We're in this together, from the beginning of Konoha to the end. That's my promise to you, Madara. For what it's worth."
Madara felt the weight of Hashirama’s hand on his shoulder, the warmth spreading through him like a soothing balm.
He wanted to dismiss it, to brush off the emotions behind it, but he found that he couldn’t. In the quiet stillness of the night, beneath the vast canvas of the starry sky, he felt a shift, something fundamental, in their relationship.
For the first time, Madara allowed himself to feel a sense of solidarity, of belonging, that he had never felt before.
Madara’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, when he spoke.
"Thank you, Hashirama. I…" He hesitated, unsure of how to verbalize the feelings swelling inside him. There were so many unspoken words, so much history between them. Just then, though, the full moon peeked out from behind a cloud, bathing them both in its pale, lunar light. It was as if the moon itself was illuminating the moment, shedding light on the connection between the two powerful shinobi.
Madara looked at Hashirama, their eyes meeting, and in that moment, he knew that Hashirama understood without words. The look they shared was silent, filled with meaning and understanding.
Hashirama gave his shoulder a light squeeze, his expression filled with a quiet reassurance. No more words were needed. The weight of their past, their trust, and their future, all hung in the air, tangible and strong.
Madara knew that they would face whatever challenges lay ahead together, their bond, forged through conflict and friendship, stronger than ever before.
Madara let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his tension easing a fraction. They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity as they both absorbed the moment. Finally, when the quiet grew uncomfortable, Madara cleared his throat.
"This is a lot more sentimental than I am comfortable with, Hashirama."
A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, though his attempt to return to his usual cold demeanor fell flat.
Hashirama laughed then, his warm, booming laugh filling the quiet night. It warmed something in Madara’s chest, a feeling he tried not to analyze too closely. He rolled his eyes, trying to hide his own reluctant amusement behind a mask of annoyance.
"Ah, there’s the Madara I know and love. Gotta keep up appearances, don't you?"
Madara shot Hashirama a sharp look.
"Don't get used to it. Sentimental moments like this are very few and very far between."
He turned away, leaning against the tree trunk once more, his gaze fixed on the starry sky.
"Besides, 'love' is a strong word, Hashirama."
Hashirama leaned next to him, his presence warm and steady at Madara’s side. He could sense Madara’s attempt to keep up his usual cool, indifferent demeanor, but he saw right through it. He knew Madara better than anyone, probably including himself.
"Love is a strong word, and I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t mean it, Madara. We may not always see eye to eye, we may fight and argue and disagree, but my feelings for you are real, and they’re not changing anytime soon."
Madara could feel his own resolve crumbling. Hearing those words from Hashirama’s lips, so honest and sincere, stirred something within him. He wanted to reject those words, to deny the feelings they awakened in him, but the truth was impossible to ignore.
His voice was softer than he intended when he spoke, barely above a whisper, "You truly are a fool, Hashirama. Always seeing the best in people, even me."
"It's called seeing the truth, Madara. You may try to hide behind your cold exterior and deny your feelings, but I know the truth of who you really are. I know that beneath the anger and the bitterness, there is a heart that still cares, still feels. I’m not a fool for seeing what others refuse to acknowledge." Hashirama said.
Madara closed his eyes, fighting the conflicting emotions swirling within him like a tumultuous storm. He had spent his whole life burying his feelings, burying the vulnerability and humanity that made him weak.
Yet, here was Hashirama, seeing through his tough facade, seeing the real, complicated man behind the mask. He wanted to resent him, to push him away, to regain his cold distance, yet he felt himself sinking deeper into the warmth of Hashirama’s presence instead.
Was it okay to want it? To want what Hashirama represented when it filled that ache within him that’d been ever present since Izuna’s death?
Madara knew that allowing himself to believe those words and surrender to the warmth of Hashirama’s presence carried risks and consequences he couldn’t predict. But as he stood there, beneath the vast star-filled sky next to the only person he could ever truly call his friend and partner, he realized that he was too weary to fight any longer.
Without opening his eyes, Madara let out a weary sigh.
"I suppose… I suppose there was no point in denying it any longer. You always knew me better than myself, even when I wouldn’t admit it."
Hashirama reached over, resting a hand once more on Madara’s shoulder. His touch was warm, reassuring. He could sense the weight of Madara’s surrender, and he understood what it cost him to admit those words.
"I think deep down, you knew it too, you just weren’t willing to acknowledge it until now. It’s alright, you don’t have to hide from me, Madara. I’m here."
He paused for a moment, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness.
"And I’m not going anywhere.”
Madara wanted to say something, anything to match the sincerity of Hashirama’s words. But his emotions were churning, too complicated to put into a mere sentence. Instead, he simply nodded, his eyes still closed as he leaned into Hashirama’s touch, accepting the comfort it offered.
They stood in silence then, both lost in their thoughts, a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air between them. The night slowly grew deeper, the moon and stars above their only witnesses to the quiet, intimate moment they shared beneath the trees.
Finally, when the silence had stretched to almost unbearable, Madara spoke, his voice low but steady.
"And… what now?"
Madara’s eyes opened, glancing at Hashirama, and Hashirama could hear the underlying question beneath the words. It wasn’t just ‘what now’ but ‘what does this mean for them? For the village? For their relationship?’ All questions neither of them could answer, yet, the answers seemed essential, inevitable.
Hashirama took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, contemplating the question that seemed to hang in the air like a heavy fog.
"Now… now, we carry on as we have been," he said eventually, his voice even and steady, as well. "We keep building the village, we keep leading the Shinobi."
He looked over, meeting Madara’s gaze, an intense look in his eyes.
"We protect what we care about most, and no matter what happens, we stick together."
Madara held his gaze for a moment, studying Hashirama’s face, as if searching for any trace of deception, any hint of uncertainty. But there was none, only firm determination and sincerity in those eyes.
He let out a deep sigh, a mixture of relief and resignation.
"You really are stubborn, you know that?" he muttered, shaking his head, but there was no real resentment in his tone anymore, only a quiet resignation. Perhaps, there was even a hint of affection in it, though Madara would sooner die than admit that out loud.
Hashirama chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, like sunlight through the trees.
"And you’re just as stubborn, so I suppose we’re a good match, aren’t we?"
There was a slight trace of teasing in his voice. He knew that Madara was starting to let down his guard, and he couldn’t help but take advantage of that fact as a little, harmless, revenge for all the times Madara had tested his patience. He nudged him, gently, with his shoulder.
Madara shot him a sidelong glare, half-hearted irritation in his gaze, though the corners of his lips were tugging upward slightly, betraying a hint of amusement.
"Cheeky bastard," he grumbled, but there was no real anger behind the words.
A pause, and then a sigh, "I suppose we are a good match, against my better judgment."
Hashirama laughed again, the sound soft and full of fond affection. He was still grinning when he spoke again, his eyes lingering on Madara’s face, taking in the subtle changes in his expression.
"And I’m more than alright with that judgment. Though I think we both know that’s just your way of admitting that I was right, as usual."
Madara rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "In your fantasies, Hashirama. As if I would ever admit that you’re right about anything."
“So my affections aren’t returned then?” Hashirama mused, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.
Madara shot him a sidelong glare but didn’t answer immediately. He knew he could deny it, easily, but found that he couldn’t, especially not when Hashirama was looking at him like that.
There was a moment of tense silence before Madara finally spoke, his voice a gruff mutter.
"Don’t be an idiot, Hashirama. I never said your affections weren’t… returned. But your ego doesn’t need any more stroking."
Hashirama’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with joy and affection. Madara wasn’t one to express his feelings easily, and it was a rare gift to see him admit to something so openly.
"Ahh, so you are capable of being sweet on occasion! I knew it!” He chuckled, nudging Madara gently with his elbow, just to see that annoyed scowl appear on his face once more.
Madara let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as Hashirama nudged him.
"‘Sweet’ is not a word I would use to describe myself, and you know it."
He shot Hashirama a sharp, sidelong glare, but even in the dim light of the night, Hashirama could see the corners of his lips tugging upward in a reluctant smile. It was faint, almost invisible, but it was there nonetheless, a testament to the bond between them that Madara would be so open.
Hashirama laughed, his voice full of warmth and joy.
"Of course not. You’re the scary, fierce, brooding type. But I know that underneath all that prickly exterior, there’s a gentle heart that you stubbornly refuse to show to anyone but me."
A pause and his smile softened, becoming more sincere. "And I’m grateful for that privilege, Madara."
Madara felt his heart skip a beat at Hashirama’s words, the sincerity and warmth of them almost too much to handle. He turned away, unable to meet Hashirama’s gaze, the heat rising in his cheeks, as he scowled.
"You’re reading too much into it. I’m just acknowledging the fact that you’re the only one worthy of my attention and presence." His voice sounded a little hoarse, and Madara cursed his own vulnerability. It was dangerous, getting too close to Hashirama like this, allowing himself to feel these emotions. It made him weak, and opened him up to a world of hurt and heartbreak. Yet, at the same time, it was like a drug, Hashirama’s presence a warm, comforting balm that soothed the aching loneliness he had felt for so long.
Hashirama pretended not to notice the slight quiver in Madara’s voice, the way his chest hitched ever so slightly, but he recognized the signs and a small pang of tenderness filled his heart. Even now, Madara was still trying to keep his walls up.
But he knew better.
"‘Worthy,’ huh? That’s the best compliment you can give me?"
He moved closer to Madara, close enough to touch, but he held himself back, wanting Madara to come to him of his own accord.
Madara tensed slightly as Hashirama moved closer, the warmth emanating from his body and his presence making Madara’s heart race. It was too much, these feelings, the way Hashirama could affect him with just a gesture or a glance. Madara hated that he was so affected, and yet, he couldn’t deny the pull, like a moth to a flame.
Madara swallowed, forcing himself to respond, his voice a little rougher than before.
"Shut it, you know what I meant."
Hashirama chuckled, a soft, affectionate sound that sent a shiver down Madara’s spine.
"I do know what you meant." He paused, studying Madara for another moment, a half-smile on his face.
"But I want to hear you say it."
Madara felt his heart lurch in his chest, a mixture of annoyance and a deep, intense longing that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew what Hashirama was asking, knew what words he wanted to hear. And he knew that if anyone could break down his walls, it was him. For a few agonizing moments, Madara hesitated, a hundred fears and insecurities racing through his mind, the words he wanted to say caught in his throat.
"I…" His voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible.
Hashirama’s heart skipped a beat as the words tumbled from Madara’s lips, even as soft and quiet as they were. Hope bubbled up within him, a feeling he had only dared to dream of before. Carefully, slowly, he reached his hand out to Madara’s, tangling their fingers together.
"I can’t hear you, Madara. Speak louder."
His tone was gentle and comforting as he gave Madara’s hand a light squeeze.
Madara felt the warmth of Hashirama’s hand in his, and it was like an electric shock through his entire system. He wanted to pull away, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he closed his eyes, swallowing hard, his voice a little louder, still hoarse and shaky.
"I… I love you, Hashirama. Happy now?"
Hashirama let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Those few simple words, delivered with reluctant honesty, resonated through him like a symphony, a chorus of emotions that sang through his soul. He gave Madara’s hand a light squeeze, feeling the rough callouses, and the strength beneath them.
For a moment, Madara couldn’t bring himself to look at Hashirama, half-convinced that if he saw the affectionate, loving expression he knew he’d find on his face, he might just combust.
But eventually, he forced himself to look, meeting Hashirama’s gaze, a mixture of vulnerability and defiance lurking in his dark eyes.
"Stop looking at me like that. Like some lovesick fool."
“But I am,” Hashirama said, eyes crinkling at the edges with the force of his smile.
Madara felt his heart jump in his chest again, and he hated how he could never seem to hide anything from Hashirama.
"You idiot" he muttered as he just looked at Hashirama, letting his eyes roam over his face, taking in every detail, every laugh line, every little feature that made him who he was - that made him the man Madara loved.
"How did I end up falling for the biggest fool in the world?"
Hashirama laughed again, a bright, booming sound, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Madara’s cheek. Despite the cold air, the touch of his lips was warm, like a small spark of sunlight. Madara’s breath caught in his throat, a wave of emotions washing over him at the gesture. He leaned into Hashirama’s touch, just a little, a gesture so small, he would deny it if questioned.
"Because, Madara, you know what they say. Opposites attract."
Madara felt his cheeks heat up, a warm blush of embarrassment spreading over his cheeks and ears at the kiss. He felt like a lovesick teenager instead of a powerful shinobi, yet at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to mind. The feeling of Hashirama’s lips against his skin was electric, sending his heart racing, and he resisted the urge to reach up and touch his cheek where Hashirama had kissed him.
He snorted, trying to regain some of his typical cool demeanor.
"So I’m the sensible one, and you’re the idiot?"
“Maybe, but I think we’re both a little stupid. Love does that to people.”
Madara couldn’t help but chuckle at that, a quiet, gruff sound that held a hint of resignation. Perhaps Hashirama was right. Perhaps they were both fools, for willingly throwing themselves into this mess, for daring to risk their hearts on each other.
Slowly, hesitantly, Madara leaned his head on Hashirama’s shoulder, the gesture small but filled with meaning.
"You’ve always had a way with words, damn you."
Hashirama smiled small, “I’ve always had a way with you, you mean.”
Madara sighed a soft, affectionate sound, "And don’t I know it."
He shifted closer to Hashirama, their shoulders pressed together solidly. He could feel the warmth of Hashirama’s body next to his, and it felt… good. Too good. The kind of good that left him feeling too exposed, too vulnerable, like he was walking a tightrope without a safety net.
"I still think you’re an idiot, though," he muttered.
“I can live with that.”
It was late by the time they finally returned to the village, the sky dark and the streets quiet. The night air was cool, a refreshing contrast to the warmth still lingering between them. Madara followed Hashirama closely, his eyes fixed on the back of his head, taking in the subtle way his shoulders rolled with each step, the way his hair swayed with the movement, and the way his hips rocked with the gate of his walk.
It left Madara’s head spinning, his body aching for something he hadn’t felt in years. It was both thrilling and terrifying. By the time they reached Hashirama’s house, it felt like the whole village had disappeared, leaving only the two of them in the silent streets. Hashirama unlocked the door and gestured for Madara to enter, and the air around them crackled with tension. Once they were inside, Madara felt that tension grow thicker, so palpable, it was almost suffocating.
As the door closed behind them, they both paused, as if uncertain of what to do next, how to break the silence. The room was dark, the only light coming from the window outside. The dim light played against Hashirama’s features, making them sharper, more intense. He looked like something out of a dream, a fantasy brought to life. Madara had always known Hashirama was a gorgeous man, but in that moment, with the soft shadows and the moonlight highlighting the strong lines of his face, the sharp angles of his body, he looked like a god of war.
And yet, it was the gentleness in his eyes that made Madara’s heart skip a beat, the warmth and tenderness in his gaze that made him feel weak in the knees. This was the man he loved, more than anything in the world, and it was a feeling that frightened him more than anything.
Madara swallowed, trying to regain his control, his composure. It wasn’t easy to do when Hashirama was looking at him like… like that.
He cleared his throat, his heart in his throat, and said simply, a hoarse whisper, "Bedroom."
He didn’t need to say anything more; he knew Hashirama understood the underlying meaning behind the word. The silence around them seemed to stretch, like the stillness before a lightning strike, and Madara could almost feel his own heart pounding like thunder in the silence.
Then, abruptly, the tension snapped. Hashirama closed the distance between them in two strides, cupping the back of Madara’s head with one large hand as he leaned in, capturing Madara’s lips with a fierce kiss.
Madara let out a stifled noise of surprise at the kiss, a soft gasp swallowed up by the intensity of Hashirama’s mouth against his. He stumbled forward, his hands coming up to rest on Hashirama’s chest to steady himself, the touch making his hands tingle. The feeling of Hashirama’s lips on his, of Hashirama’s taste in his mouth, sent shivers down his spine, igniting something deep within him.
He leaned into the kiss, his fingers curling into Hashirama’s shirt, a silent, desperate plea.
Hashirama responded, his lips firm and demanding. He pressed closer, his free hand sliding down to the small of Madara’s back, pulling him flush against him. The feel of Madara’s body against his, the subtle shudder that ran through him when Hashirama’s fingertips brushed against a sensitive spot of skin. It was all he could do not to devour him then and there, to take the man he adored and unravel him.
Madara felt like he was on fire. The touch of Hashirama’s hands set his skin buzzing, the way they moved over his body leaving a trail of burning sensation in their wake. He could feel his resolve crumbling, his control slipping away. He pressed closer, his body molding against Hashirama’s, desperate for more.
His lips parted, granting Hashirama’s tongue entry, and the sensation made his mind spin. It wasn’t enough, nowhere even close to enough.
Madara’s hands moved of their own accord, slipping under Hashirama’s shirt with a frantic urgency, feeling the hard muscles beneath the soft skin, the way Hashirama shivered beneath his touch. It was almost dizzying, the power coursing through him, the knowledge that he could reduce the mighty Hashirama to trembling with a simple touch, a mere caress of his fingers.
He pulled away from the kiss to breathe, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Bedroom,” he managed to say again with a gasp, the words coming out in a breathy whisper that made Hashirama chuckle softly. He heard the sound with a thrill that went through him, the rumble of Hashirama’s voice so close, so intimate, it sent a shiver through his entire body.
Hashirama didn’t speak, instead taking his hands and leading him toward the room, his grip firm and sure. The whole way, Madara could feel the weight of his eyes on him, his gaze blazing with an intensity that promised to consume them both.
Madara followed Hashirama, allowing himself to be led, his mind a haze of need and desire. He could feel the heat radiating off him, the electricity thrumming in the air, sparking between them with every step. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, his focus single-minded, his whole world narrowed to the press of Hashirama’s palm against his, the sound of his heartbeat, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.
By the time they finally reached their destination, he was aching within his pants, cock straining against the fabric.
He barely felt Hashirama’s hands guiding him back onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath them.
Hashirama’s voice was low and husky when he spoke, “…perfect.”
All of his senses were suddenly overwhelmed by Hashirama, the feel of his hands sliding over Madara’s body, the heat of his breath on Madara’s skin, the way his voice sounded when he said Madara’s name. The sound of his own gasp filled his ears as Hashirama’s hands traveled over his chest, his stomach, sliding down to undo the fastenings of his clothes. It was all he could do not to squirm, not to whimper as he felt his resolve crumbling further with every touch.
Hashirama undressed him with a patience that nearly drove Madara mad, his hands slow and thorough as he uncovered Madara’s body little by little. His knuckles grazed Madara’s skin, his fingertips trailing over sensitive spots, the touch feather-light, almost teasing. With each piece of clothing discarded, Madara felt himself falling further under Hashirama’s spell, powerless to resist the feel of him.
He lost track of how long Hashirama spent exploring every inch of his body, his head spinning as he felt himself being drawn slowly, inexorably, towards the edge. The sensation of Hashirama’s mouth on his skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, was driving him mad with need, his breaths coming now in ragged, desperate gasps. He felt like he was dying a slow death, burning from within like he’d swallowed a katon whole.
Finally, when Madara didn’t think he could take anymore, Hashirama pulled away, leaving Madara lying on the sheets, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. For a moment, he felt only cool air against his flushed skin, the absence of Hashirama leaving him feeling bereft, alone. He opened his eyes, confused and frustrated, desperate for Hashirama’s touch again.
But then, he saw Hashirama staring down at him, his eyes dark and hooded, his own breath coming in quick pants. The sight of him, almost feral in his desire, was enough to send a wave of heat through him and he felt a surge of impatience, unable to keep still anymore.
"Hashirama. Now." Madara’s voice was a hoarse, rough whisper that barely sounded like him, almost pleading. "I can’t take it anymore."
Hashirama let out a low chuckle that sent a shiver through Madara, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Impatient, aren’t we?" He teased, his voice a deep, gruff rumble that sent another shiver through Madara. His hands trailed over Madara’s thighs, a possessive touch that set his skin aflame.
Madara bit back a whimper, unable to suppress the way he automatically lifted his hips, wanting more. The feeling of Hashirama’s hands on him was slowly killing him, driving him to the brink of madness.
"Stop teasing me," he gasped out, his chest heaving, his body aching with every heartbeat. "I swear if you don’t touch me…"
His words only made Hashirama chuckle again, his hands never stopping, still exploring all the places Hashirama knew would make Madara crazy. He leaned down to press a kiss to a particularly sensitive spot on Madara’s inner thigh, and Madara let out a soft gasp, his eyes closing, his head falling back on the mattress. His hands clenched the sheets in a desperate attempt to keep himself from begging.
Madara felt close to losing his mind. The touch of Hashirama’s mouth on his inner thigh, so close but so far from where he needed it on his cock was sending him over the edge. He was half tempted to shove Hashirama over and straddle him, to take what he wanted—needed—himself.
Just as Madara was about to lose control, Hashirama finally took pity on him, his hands sliding up to where Madara wanted him. He let out a ragged hiss as he felt Hashirama’s fingers, calloused and rough from years of training and fighting, grip his cock, his muscles tensing involuntarily. He didn’t know how Hashirama managed to know his own body better than he did, but he wasn’t going to complain when it felt that good.
Madara bit back a groan, struggling to keep still, to keep from bucking into Hashirama’s touch like an animal. He was a shinobi, damn it, but he was quickly losing control. Every fiber of his being was focused on Hashirama and only Hashirama, on the feel of his touch, the sounds coming from his throat, the words whispered against his skin. He felt the heat building within him, intense and all-consuming, as Hashirama stroked him. He reached down, tangling his fingers into dark silky strands, tugging a little impatiently.
"Hashirama, I need… I need—" Madara’s voice was ragged, barely audible, more like a gasp than words. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts, couldn’t speak past the haze of desire that clouded his mind. He felt too hot, too tense, ready to shatter from the intensity of wanting.
Madara felt Hashirama shift above him. His hand stroking lazy but firm along his cock, thumb smearing precum along the tip with each drag of his fingers. Then the next thing Madara was aware of was heated flesh pressing to his and Hashirama’s hand moving to enclose around both of their cocks.
Madara let out a ragged, harsh groan, his head falling back against the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. He felt overwhelmed, like a drowning man, unable to get enough air. It was like the world was narrowed down to only the two of them in that moment, nothing else existing except the feel of Hashirama’s body pressed against him, the touch of his hand, the heat of him all around him. He could feel himself coming undone, his body trembling with the intensity of his want, his need, and all he wanted to do was give in completely, to let himself fall into the depths of this all-consuming feeling.
And then, Hashirama spoke, his voice a low growl, breathless and ragged, “Look at me."
Madara’s breath caught in his throat at those two words. Something about the way Hashirama spoke, the almost commanding tone, the possessiveness beneath the gruffness, sent a shiver down his spine. Slowly, he opened his eyes, meeting Hashirama’s gaze.
The desire he saw in Hashirama’s eyes, the pure, unbridled heat in his gaze enthralled him. He couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it, even as the intensity of being looked at like that sent him spiraling further towards oblivion. fingers tugging more on Hashirama’s long hair, “I want you."
"Then have me,” Hashirama’s voice was rough, raw with lust, and it sent a jolt through Madara, making his heart skip a beat.
He leaned down, capturing Madara’s mouth in a kiss. Madara could feel the roughness in Hashirama, the barely contained strength in his arms trembling ever so slightly as they held himself up, as if holding himself back from devouring him whole. And Madara–Madara felt like he was ready to be devoured.
He pulled on Hashirama’s hair a little harder than usual, the possessive gesture the only way he could express his impatience right now. It was all he could do not to beg, the taste of Hashirama’s tongue on his making him need him even more.
"… Now," he murmured against Hashirama’s mouth, his hands slipping down to grasp at Hashirama’s hips, fingers flexing. "Now."
Hashirama growled in response, low and almost feral, and the intensity of it made Madara’s stomach tighten.
"Impatient," he muttered, even as he nipped at Madara’s lower lip playfully. But he felt just as impatient as Madara, judging by the way his fingers dug into Madara’s thighs just below his ass, a warning. He leaned down to press a quick kiss to the side of Madara’s neck, before pulling back, pulling away. Madara nearly whimpered at the loss of touch, even as he knew what was coming.
He felt Hashirama moving, his weight shifting, before he felt those big, firm hands gripping his hips, guiding him. He let Hashirama move him into position onto his hands and knees. At that moment, nothing mattered except wanting this, wanting Hashirama, and there was no shame in submitting to that want, to surrendering to the need. Even with how embarrassing, how exposed he felt laying himself so openly and completely bare to this man, trusting him with his heart and his being, paled against the overwhelming force of his desire.
Madara heard the sound of a jar being uncorked, and a moment later, he felt the slick touch of Hashirama’s fingers between his cheeks. He groaned, his hands fisting in the sheets, letting his head hang down as he struggled to keep still, to not rush. But it was hard, with fingers stroking him, teasing him, preparing him for something more, something he wanted more than anything. He was already leaking, aching, on the edge, wanting to fall over, wanting to give in. And he couldn’t wait any longer.
He heard the jar being placed on the bedside table. Madara’s heart was racing, his breaths short and sharp with anticipation. He felt Hashirama’s hands settle on his hips, strong and firm, his thumbs rubbing circles lightly against his skin. For a moment, the touch was soothing, and Madara was grateful for that. Then, Hashirama’s hands moved from his hips, one shifting to rest on his back. Madara felt Hashirama shifting around on the bed, positioning himself behind him, and his heart quickened, his breath catching.
"Are you ready?" Hashirama asked. The words were a deep whisper, a hoarse growl, and it made something inside Madara ache with want.
"Yes." It was more of a gasp than a word, barely audible. But it was all the permission Hashirama needed.
He felt Hashirama’s hand, large and hot, on the small of his back, pushing down, forcing him to lower himself a little more, and he shivered at the touch. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet, the knowledge that he was surrendering himself completely to Hashirama, trusting him with his body, with his soul. And he was giving himself willingly.
Hashirama’s hands settled on Madara’s hips, grip firm, almost possessive, and Madara felt a sense of anticipation, of eagerness. Then he felt Hashirama moving, shifting his weight, and the feeling of him, of the heat and bulk of him, brought Madara out of the haze of want and into the reality of Hashirama, above him, around him. His whole body was trembling, overwhelmed with the feelings, the wanting. And he felt Hashirama leaning over him, his lips brushing against his ear, his chest pressed flush against Madara’s back.
"Breathe," he heard Hashirama whisper, his breath hot against Madara’s ear.
Madara’s eyes flew open, not even realizing that he’d closed them. Slowly, he took a deep, steadying breath, releasing the one that he’d been keeping pent up, letting it out in a heavy, ragged sigh.
And then Hashirama was pushing into him, slow and controlled.
Madara felt the steady pressure, the initial burn, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sensation of being filled, taken. For a moment, all he could do was gasp and shiver, overwhelmed by everything he was feeling, overwhelmed by the sensation of Hashirama within him, the way it felt to have Hashirama hold him in place, to surrender himself that way. He’d never thought it would feel like this. It felt so good, so intense, he couldn’t even begin to articulate the feelings coursing through him. All he could do was gasp, his hands fisting in the sheets. When Hashirama spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper, Madara felt it all the way down his spine. He wasn’t quite sure where the words came from.
"Move," he managed to gasp out, "please move. God, please." It was barely coherent, barely a plea, but it was enough that Hashirama let out another one of those deep, rough chuckles.
"God, Madara," he breathed out, a rumble of a sound deep in his chest, and Madara felt the words more than heard them. "Impatient. All of the patience you show when fighting, and yet when it comes to sex, you lose it like a man starved. It’s almost adorable."
Madara would’ve given him some choice words for that, except he couldn’t speak. The only sound that came out of him as Hashirama finally started to move was a sharp, deep moan. It felt like he’d been filled completely, like there was no room for anything else within him, except the man inside him, around him, above him, holding him, surrounding him, everywhere around him. He could feel Hashirama, in the way he was pressed against his back, his warmth, the way he felt him inside him, and the overwhelming heat and need and want that filled every corner of his mind.
They lost themselves in he feel of each other. Hashirama rocking into Madara with slow long drags of his cock.
Madara felt like he was drowning. Every nerve in his body was ablaze, and yet he wanted more, needed more. He needed Hashirama, like he needed air to breathe, and he didn’t think it was possible to be more overwhelmed with feeling than he already was. But Hashirama had a way of making him feel things so intensely, it was almost more than he could stand, and yet, more than he wanted to lose, so he could take it.
Hashirama’s hand curled around his cock beneath them as he thrust, stroking in time with his movements and Madara gripped desperately at the sheets, toes curling against the mattress.
He felt every drag of Hashirama within him, every movement, every gesture. He felt his own body being pushed closer, closer to the edge of something that had been threatening throughout this whole time, a feeling that he could fall to pieces from. His breaths came shorter, shorter, harder to catch. His lungs ached, but it only served to make the desperate feeling within him grow more intense. He felt as if he were teetering on a precipice, on the edge of something, and then, at a particularly deep thrust, it was as though something in him snapped, and he felt himself falling, falling into the abyss.
He felt it all at once, his whole body tensing, his fingers curling, his mind blanking out completely.
Madara felt himself arching his back, a silent cry filling his throat and spilling from his lips. He felt Hashirama’s name on his tongue, but he wasn’t even sure what he was saying. Everything was a blur of sensation, an overwhelming flood of pleasure, and he felt like he was burning up from the within, consumed completely by his need for Hashirama. And still, he wanted more. He wanted more, and he wanted Hashirama to give it to him, to give him everything he had.
Hashirama, the only man he would ever let see this side of him, ever let see him like this, vulnerable and raw, his heart wide open and defenseless. It was humbling and terrifying, and it was so intense that it was overwhelming. He knew he would be forever changed by this, by this moment, by whatever happened between them afterwards, and he knew he didn’t even care. He just wanted Hashirama, he wanted to burn forever beneath his hands.
When their passion died down, a mess of cum beneath madara’s stomach and staining the blankets beneath him and the warm trickle of Hashiramas cum dribbling from between his cheeks, Madara let out a deep boneless sigh. Hashirama curled around around him laying down. He stroked his jet black hair, pulling it aside to press a kiss to his neck.
And Madara trusted him to know what to do. To give him what he needed at that moment, and he did. Strong hands smoothed down his sides, comforting and familiar. Kisses pressed to his temple and neck.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And Madara knew he wasn’t.