When Madara awoke, it was to the sound of dishes clinking in a sink. He thought it odd, but assumed he had fallen asleep in his dorm lobby. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time, and he doubted it would be the last time. Shifting slightly as consciousness gradually trickled back to him, he realized he was enveloped by a pleasant warmth. He sighed contentedly, easing into the sensation as unconsciousness beckoned him once more.
However, when that pleasant warmth moved, Madara was forced to reject that beckon as awareness seized him like a splash of cold water. His eyes flew open, only to be met with a broad chest that rose and fell steadily, signifying deep slumber. An arm kept him securely pressed against that chest, and the back of the couch prevented escape. A knee rested between his own, keeping him pinned lest he wanted to create a very uncomfortable situation. What’s more was that his own body was slotted against the other’s as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The faint throbbing behind his temples implied that whatever had led to this predicament had been far from an act of a sensible mind.
Panic bubbled in his chest he scrambled through his mind for an explanation. He was still half-asleep and groggy from what little amount of alcohol he had had. Okay, yes, alcohol. Why? He would have remembered going to a club, and if he had gone to a club he would be suffering far worse than a bit of grogginess right now. Madara’s quickening breaths brought a certain scent to his nose and it caused him to lose his train of thought. That scent was familiar, wasn’t it? Where had he smelled that before?
Of course! Madara very nearly slapped himself for his idiocy. Of course, he had gone to Hashirama’s house to hang out with Tobirama, and they...what? They had only talked, hadn’t they? So why in the fuck was Madara tangled up with Hashirama’s little brother on his couch? And who was—
Fuck. Oh fuck. What time was it? How long had they been asleep? He was so stupid, he should have set an alarm, or—or something! He hadn’t even been that tipsy, for fuck’s sake! How could he have let something like this happen?
The sound of dishes being moved around stopped then and Madara held his breath. Hashirama was the only other person who could be in this house. Why hadn’t he woken up the two of them sooner?
The shadow of that very man appeared above him suddenly and Madara jumped so hard he nearly knocked the both of them to the floor. Tobirama awoke with a startled snort, limbs flailing to regain his balance before he tumbled off the edge of the couch. His wide, red eyes looked around wildly as if expecting an attack, and honestly Madara couldn’t blame him. Standing aside now, Hashirama’s booming laughter pierced his ears and he squinted.
“Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you that much,” the Senju said, wiping at his eyes. Madara sat up now that he didn’t have to worry about moving Tobirama and he did nothing to stifle his glare as he looked at Hashirama.
“Why didn’t you wake us up when you got here?” he asked, perhaps more harshly than he intended. Hashirama stopped laughing, but his smile remained.
“You guys looked so peaceful, I couldn’t bear to bother you,” he said. “Besides, I got a few good pictures out of it~” Madara’s eyes widened.
“Where? Delete them! You are not keeping those!” He scrambled to his feet, pushing a dazed Tobirama out of the way.
“Hmm, I think I will. Consider it collateral for letting my little brother ditch school and entering my house without my permission,” the elder Senju said. That stopped Madara dead in his tracks, the colour draining from his face.
“Hashirama, I—”
His voice died in his throat as a dark look overcame Hashirama’s features. The smile only made it scarier.
“As for breaking into my alcohol, you’re going to have to do a lot more to make it up to me.”
Madara felt his stomach drop.
“I never knew your brother could be such a slave driver,” the Uchiha grumbled as he worked a soapy sponge over the hood of Hashirama’s car, which had conveniently gotten so very dirty since yesterday. Tobirama scoffed, dragging a squeegee over the windshield.
“This is tame compared to what he’s put me through,” he said. “He actually made me clean the bathroom with a toothbrush once.” Madara stared at him from across the car.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish.”
Oh boy.
Thankfully, at least, it was later in the day and therefore not as hot outside as it could have been. Hashirama offered them drinks despite the task he demanded of them, but Madara still felt he was being let off easy. He imagined if a parent had caught him cuddling their eighteen-year-old kid on their couch after ditching school with him and drinking alcohol with him, he would have found himself in detainment before he could even try to explain. Not that there was anything to explain. He had no excuse for his actions, and he should know better. He was a grown man, dammit. He shouldn’t be enabling rebellious kids.
Young adults, rather. Madara scoffed in his mind. Just what the hell had come over him, anyway? He normally hated touching people and being touched. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that alcohol lessened that inhibition somewhat, but he had barely drunk any at all. It was as if merely learning of Tobirama’s preferences had made him care less about keeping up appearances—and, really, he guessed that’s what it was. He felt he could be more relaxed around people who were like him in that way, which would explain his behaviour with Tetsujin, as well. He supposed Tobirama was a special exception to have cuddled with him. He was just. So warm. And strong. And wow. He should stop right there.
Madara pointedly kept his eyes off of Tobirama while they cleaned the car, especially when Tobirama lifted his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his face, or when his shirt revealed his midriff when he raised his arms to reach the top of the car, or when he bent down to soak his own sponge in a bucket of water and his tight jeans showed off that perfect ass of his.
Madara was doing a really bad job at this keeping-his-eyes-off-Tobirama thing.
By the time they finished, Madara collapsed back onto the couch in exhaustion more from the mental effort of willing away a boner than from physical exertion. Why in the fuck did Tobirama suddenly seem so hot to him now? He had cuddled the bastard and he hadn’t been this affected. Not to mention, what the fuck? What happened to his “I’m not looking for a relationship right now” resolve? Not that he was considering a relationship with Hashirama’s kid brother. No way in hell.
Hashirama himself provided the perfect distraction from that devastating train of thought. He placed glasses of water (Madara sniffed first just to be sure) in front of them and joined them on the couch to Madara’s left.
“You know, it’s pretty late now, and you could probably use a shower,” Hashirama said. “You can stay the night if you want.”
Madara looked at him, brows furrowing. “...Aren’t you still mad?” he asked hesitantly. Hashirama smiled at him.
“I know you didn’t mean any harm by it. I’m actually glad you were here with him instead of him being alone while he ditched school.” He threw Tobirama a pointed look from around Madara, which was deftly avoided as Tobirama turned away. “Who knows what worse mischief he could have gotten into?” Madara raised a brow.
“Is he prone to worse mischief?” he asked.
“Oh, where do I begin?” Hashirama exhaled labouriously, leaning back. “One time I caught him drawing graffiti on our neighbour’s doghouse!” Madara feigned a gasp.
“Heavens no.”
“Yes!” Hashirama shook his head in exasperation. “And then he tried to steal their dog!”
Madara could only laugh at that, turning to look at Tobirama questioningly. The boy rolled his eyes.
“They were abusing it. I saw it myself,” he said.
“They were,” Hashirama conceded. “But you should have called a humane society instead of trying to steal it.”
“You grounded me from using my phone remember?” Tobirama countered. Hashirama blinked.
“I did?”
“Yes. Because I drew graffiti on their doghouse.”
“My point exactly!”
Madara couldn’t remember laughing this much in his life. He was used to Hashirama being a total doofus, but listening to the two brothers banter with each other, especially about Tobirama’s delinquent record, was something else entirely. He kind of regretted not being able to enjoy this for the past five years. God only knew he could have used it.
“You’re in a good mood,” Hashirama noted. “Oh, right. Did you decide if you would stay the night yet?” he asked.
“Only if I’m not imposing,” Madara said after a moment.
“Of course not! We don’t have a guest bedroom, but this couch unfolds into a bed,” Hashirama said, patting the arm of the couch. Madara nodded. “And like I said, you can use our shower. There are fresh towels in there. And, ah…”
Hashirama stood, tugging Madara along with them, and compared their heights for himself. Pursing his lips in thought, he gestured for Tobirama to stand as well, who did so with mild confusion.
“I think Tobirama’s clothes will fit you better than mine. Will you go get an outfit ready for Madara?” Hashirama asked from around the Uchiha.
“I—That won’t be necessary. I can just wear the same clothes—”
“No, you can’t,” Hashirama insisted, patting both of his shoulders. “I know how much you hate wearing the same clothes two days in a row. It’s fine. Right, Tobirama?” He turned that smile onto his brother, and Madara glanced back to see Tobirama roll his eyes.
“Sure. They’ll probably still be too big, though…” he muttered as he disappeared down a hallway. Madara sighed.
“I told you I didn’t want to impose…”
“Hush. You’re not imposing. You’re welcome here anytime, even if I’m not home,” Hashirama said. “Just don’t let my little brother ditch school anymore, okay?” Madara glanced away.
“I can’t stop him if he decides to,” he said.
“Sure you can! He looks up to you, so he’ll probably be more eager to follow your example than mine,” the Senju said. Madara looked back at him, eyebrows drawing together again.
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He’s exactly like you were in high school. But he probably has better grades than you did.” Hashirama chuckled.
Madara was left to his own devices then, but he still couldn’t quite piece together what he’d been told. Why would Tobirama look up to him, and more importantly, why would he try to imitate him? It was painfully obvious how much trouble he got into as a teenager, so why would someone as smart as Tobirama want to follow in his footsteps? And Tobirama was indeed very smart; Madara remembered quite clearly his own jealousy at the younger Senju’s academic prowess. He had often shown up Madara whenever the opportunity presented itself, which had only fortified the unspoken rivalry between the two of them. Things were different now, of course, but still. It just seemed rather strange to him.
He eventually meandered his way to the bathroom just in time for Tobirama to emerge.
“I left the clothes in there,” he said, stepping aside. “My shampoo and conditioner are on the left. I wouldn’t suggest using Hashirama’s unless you want to smell like a daffodil.” Madara snorted.
“I appreciate it.”
Madara stepped inside and locked the door behind him, taking in the sight of the bathroom. It was rather lavish, all things considered. Clearly not the master bathroom, but impressive all the same. It had marble tile, a marble sink, and a walk-in shower with a pantry to the side that, upon closer inspection, stocked more towels. Madara made a note to replace the ones he used after he finished.
The warm rush of water over his skin was a direct blessing from God. His hair posed the usual challenge; keeping it so long did have its drawbacks, but he did so love his hair. And, as he compared the Senju brothers’ hair care products for himself, he was glad Tobirama had offered his own. It was no wonder how Hashirama kept his hair as soft and lush with this crud, but Madara would rather smell like a fuck boy than a rose garden. He wondered now, though, what Tobirama’s hair felt like. It certainly smelled nice, as evidenced by his awakening this evening and the aroma that filled the air around him now. He was concerningly delighted by smelling like the younger Senju, and the more he let his mind wander on that topic, the more he realized just how deep was the shit he was in.
Goddamn, he should have more control than this, but fuck if that hadn’t been the hottest lapse of his voyeuristic tendencies earlier. The fact that he was five years Tobirama’s senior held little substance to him; Tobirama was a legal adult, and he had matured so beautifully. He was no longer the prepubescent, gangly teen he had been when Madara had left. His jawline was strong, his muscles had filled out nicely, and he made albinism his own personal fashion statement. He could even be considered erotic by some standards, and that, of course, led Madara’s thoughts to his interest in dance. The image of Tobirama working a pole was all it took to bring Madara’s neglected dick to immediate attention.
He sighed as he looked down at it as if he could make it go away with the sheer force of his glare. He knew when it was time to take care of business, however, lest he suffer the revenge of his hormones at a less opportune moment. He had practically taken a vow of celibacy over the course of these five years, and his libido had been more or less compliant, but he feared its full-force return now, and just as well. He had fought valiantly against his affections for Hashirama throughout their friendship for fear of ruining their relationship, and it just went to show that the Senju had inexplicably attractive genes as those affections slowly but surely shifted their focus to Tobirama. It almost felt like betrayal as he recalled those since-faded affections for Hashirama, but perhaps this was for the better. He wasn’t so naive as to think he could do any better a job of suppressing his emotions this time around, but at least this time they wouldn’t risk depriving him of the one thing that had given him reason to stay alive all this time. Not that he thought Hashirama would turn him away should he have learned of Madara’s true feelings back then, but Madara would have ruined himself. He always did.
Shaking his head to dispel such depressing thoughts, he begrudgingly lowered his hand to his erection. He didn’t have time to work himself up to it; if he stayed in the shower for much longer, those two would undoubtedly grow suspicious and then he would thoroughly regret his decision to stay the night.
He gave his shaft a slow stroke, sighing at the sensation after so long. He had to thank his low stamina just this once; back in the day, he could have drawn out something as simple as this for hours, if he wanted. He was an attentive lover, through and through, and always made a point of bringing off his partner before himself, not out of pride, but consideration. Now, however, it would be a miracle if he lasted the next five minutes. The shudder that rolled through him as he flicked his thumb over his slit proved that much.
Gradually he increased his pace, focusing only on reaching that breaking point. God, how he would love to delve back into his extensive assortment of fetishes. Voyeurism was plainly one of them, and he recalled the half-fantasy he had begun to piece together of Tobirama on a pole.
“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, pumping his cock at a steady pace now. If Tobirama could dance as well as he claimed, he should have no trouble wrapping his strong thighs around a pole and making his audience jealous of it. Yeah, Madara would absolutely let that boy wrap his legs around his waist. Against a wall, probably, frantic and furious. Madara reached down with his other hand to fondle his eagerly hot balls, biting his lip at the spike of sensation. He imagined pounding away at that tight, firm ass, Tobirama’s nails digging into his back and hopefully (please, God) drawing blood. He imagined leaving hand-shaped bruises on pale hips, leaving a perfect mould or two of his teeth on Tobirama’s shoulder, maybe where those fuzzy collars wouldn’t stand a chance of hiding it. He would tangle his fingers in that snowy hair and pull on it until Tobirama was screaming his name, begging for him and his cock like his life depended on it.
And Madara would give it to him. He would positively ravage that pristine body, ruin it for anybody else. He would leave such a deep claim on Tobirama that the boy would be thinking about it for years to come. Maybe Tobirama would let Madara fuck his mouth. Shit, yeah, that’d be nice. He could almost feel that hot wetness around his cock. He could hear the slick sound of his own strokes clearly, pre-cum mixing with the running water as he jerked himself off. He would definitely keep his hand in Tobirama’s hair, holding him in place as Madara’s hips drove his cock down his throat. Would he choke? Would he like being choked?
Now there was a hot image. Madara’s hands around his neck, pressing down just enough to make him squirm. Hips rolling slowly back and forth, stroking Tobirama’s prostate with every thrust, but refusing to speed up. He wanted that desperation, that animal instinct that surfaced amoung the adrenaline, the fading consciousness. He wanted to see Tobirama’s eyes go hazy and unfocused just before he released his hold and plowed the boy to climax.
And good God did he want to cum inside of Tobirama. He wanted the Senju to swallow his load, he wanted to plug his seed inside Tobirama’s ass and take him out in public until they could find a crowded bathroom stall to fuck him against, and then he would plug him again until they got home. He wanted to paint his face with his cum and take pictures for a rainy day, and he would send pictures of himself jerking off to the image of Tobirama’s plastered face. Whisper filthy things to him over the phone and forbid him from touching himself until Madara was there to take him again and again and again.
His climax seized him before he knew it, and a strangled noise escaped his throat as he came. He fucked his hand through it all, watching the white spunk wash down his hand and stomach with the water. It was starting to turn cold, and he knew he’d been in here too long. He cursed under his breath and shut off the water, stepping out of the shower on shaky legs. An incredible amount of guilt weighed down his shoulders as the fact that he had just masturbated in Hashirama’s bathroom settled in, but he set aside the thought for now as he hurried to dry and get dressed. He just managed to remember to replace the towels before he left the bathroom.
He staggered as he came face-to-face with Tobirama standing outside the door. He prayed to God that the flush of his face could be assumed due to the steam from the shower. Tobirama merely lifted a brow at him and stepped aside to let him pass.
“Come on. I need to shower too,” he said, waiting. Madara forced his feet to move forward, hurrying to get away from this situation as quickly as possible. He couldn’t help but worry that he’d been heard. Would Tobirama have said something if he had? He was brazen enough, but Madara didn’t know if he had the guts to confront something like that, and he couldn’t blame the poor kid. He didn’t want to confront it himself.
Upon returning to the living room, he found Hashirama draping the blanket over the unfolded futon. The man threw a smile over his shoulder at Madara.
“Hey! If it gets too cold tonight, you can get more blankets from that closet,” he said, nodding to the door to the right of the hallway Madara emerged from. “Don’t worry about sticking around if you wake up before us, but I’ll make breakfast in the morning if you do. I’m sorry in advance if we end up waking you; Tobirama has to leave for school at seven.”
“That’s fine. Thank you,” Madara said. Glancing down, he tugged at the clothes he’d thrown on without much of a second thought. They fit, but they were just big enough to make him feel pitifully small in them. Hashirama chuckled.
“At least they won’t be falling off of you,” he pointed out. Madara rolled his eyes.
“I’m just glad I don’t smell like you. Axe is much better than ~citrusy floral garden aroma~” he said. Hashirama pouted, crossing his arms.
“Excuse me for wanting to smell good. The ladies love a guy who smells like a garden,” he retorted.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not interested in the ladies,” Madara said, peeling back the blanket as he sat down on the edge of the futon.
“Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot you were gay,” Hashirama said as if it had just occurred to him. Madara gave him a blank look.
“Gee. Thanks.” Hashirama floundered.
“It’s not like that! It’s just been so long, you know? So have you found anyone?” he asked, suddenly very interested in Madara’s love life. Go figure.
“No, I have not. I want to focus on my studies for now,” he said. Hashirama came to sit next to him on the futon.
“I get that, but does that mean you have to cross off relationships entirely?” he asked, genuine curiosity ringing in his voice. “I know gay guys were hard to come by where we used to live, but I hear Philadelphia is really open and accepting of that stuff.” Madara sighed.
“I know it is,” he said. “I’ve met more gays here than I thought truly existed in the United States. But...I don’t know. I just think it’s better if I keep my mind off that sort of thing until I can finish school. I’ll feel better about potentially having to support someone else after I have my degree.”
Hashirama hummed. “If you say so. Just don’t beat yourself up over it, okay? If things happen naturally, I mean. Stressing yourself out over it will just defeat the purpose.” Madara turned a soft smile on him, nodding.
“I won’t. Thank you.” Hashirama smiled back and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to give him a half-hug.
“You’re welcome. I’m gonna head to bed. Tobirama should be out of the shower soon,” he said, getting to his feet. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry or something. Good night!”
“Good night.” Madara watched Hashirama disappear down the hallway before he lay down and drew the covers around him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes. He really was one lucky son of a bitch to have Hashirama as his friend. Despite the headaches and worrying after the bastard half the time, he was good to Madara in ways he didn’t think he deserved. Hashirama had put up with a lot of shit from him and had held fast through it all, unwavering in his devotion. He had a will of fire, a bleeding heart, and the wishful thinking of a child. People like him only came along once in a millennium, and Madara thanked his lucky stars that he had been graced with such a person in his life.
Deja vu clouded Madara’s mind for a moment as he woke again to the sound of dishes clinking. This time, however, he had only the warmth of a blanket, and part of him was thankful for that. He blinked open his eyes slowly, yawning and reaching up a hand to rub away the bleariness as he shifted into a sitting position.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” came Hashirama’s voice from the kitchen. Madara opened one eye to see him grinning from around the corner. He disappeared for a second before re-emerging with a plate of food in his hands. “Here you go! I made your eggs just how you like them.”
Madara took the plate with a mumbled thanks. Looking down, he saw Hashirama hadn’t been lying about the eggs, but he really had gone all-out. The eggs were both sunny-side-up, lightly seasoned, and somehow he had kept the whites and yolks from running like Madara’s eggs usually turned out; there was a golden piece of toast spread with nut butter, topped with banana slices, and sprinkled with what looked like chia seeds; and finally, a side dish bowl with a berry parfait.
“Yes, he does this every morning, in case you were wondering.” Madara looked up to see Tobirama coming from the kitchen, his own plate in hand. The Uchiha pushed the blanket out of the way to make room for him to sit.
“You have it good here,” he said with just a hint of envy. Tobirama chuckled, getting comfortable against the arm of the futon while Madara dug into his eggs.
“Hell yeah I do. He’s tried to teach me how to make half the stuff he cooks, but I’m no good,” the Senju said. “Everything I make either gets burnt to ashes or looks like something you’d find at the bottom of a public school trash can.” Madara made a face at that and Tobirama nodded.
“You better learn how to cook,” the elder said. “It’s like a requirement for all gay men to know how to cook.”
Tobirama snorted. “Can you?”
“Enough to make due,” he said. “But your brother is like a culinary god. These eggs look like the stuff you’d see in an IHOP commercial.” He shoveled more into his mouth, oh so grateful for Hashirama’s cooking skill.
“Cook for me sometime,” Tobirama said then. “Maybe I’ll have a better chance keeping up with you than Hashirama.” Madara glanced up at that, nodding a little. He remembered what Hashirama said last night about Tobirama looking up to him, and he could see proof of that showing through now.
“I’ll make you a deal. If you can out-dance me Friday night, I’ll cook for you,” he said. Tobirama smirked.
“Deal. I’m gonna wipe the floor with your ass.” Oh, but there are so much better things you could do with my ass. Madara shook his head at that, turning back to his food and promptly ignoring his own thoughts.