seijaku

“Don’t tell Hashirama about that.”

“Good idea.”

“Can I do it again?”

“Absolutely.”

The next day, Madara stood before Hashirama with his head hung. He had told him everything: the fake ID, the alcohol, the run in with Orochimaru and the drugs, the fact that he let Tobirama ride on his motorcycle while under multiple influences. Needless to say, Hashirama threw a right fit. He promptly confiscated the packet of Ecstasy Tobirama still had and yelled at the both of them, but mostly Madara. The tears of relief and anger and worry running down Hashirama’s face made him want to start crying again just for putting the poor bloke through this emotional havoc.

As Hashirama concluded his rant, Madara prepared to be kicked out of the house and told never to come back and especially never to come near Tobirama again. The younger Senju had ended up on the other side of the living room in the wake of Hashirama’s fury, face paler than usual and eyes downcast. Watching everything fall apart like this and knowing it was his fault opened a larger, darker pit inside of Madara that promised a life full of misery and regret.

Hashirama hugged him.

Madara’s entire body seized up, eyes flying open wide as he felt his back pop under the force of Hashirama’s embrace. He couldn’t bring himself to complain, however, even as the air was stolen away from, let alone could he make his mind work long enough to form a coherent thought.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Hashirama sobbed, face buried in Madara’s shoulder. “If anything had happened to you, I...I...I don’t know what I would have done. You and Tobirama are so important to me, and I love you both so much, and I don’t ever want to lose you. Do you hear me?”

Madara couldn’t respond. His vision was blurry and there was a wet sensation on his cheeks and he couldn’t breathe. Hashirama pulled back and gripped him by the shoulders, looking him right in the eye.

“I said, do you hear me?”

Madara gaped.

“You… Why?”

“Why? God, I could slap you, you’re so dumb,” Hashirama said, laughing shakily through his tears. “I’m sorry. You’re not dumb. But you really need to accept that you’re my friend and you always will be. So please,” he paused to take a deep, steadying breath, “please, take better care of yourself. I don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you. And I know I can’t stop you from doing drugs and I won’t try to stop you from drinking and I know I can’t help you in school a lot and I know you have a lot on your plate and—”

Madara pulled him into another hug before he could turn into another blubbering mess (and that went for himself, too). Hashirama took a shaky breath and hugged him back, holding him close as if he were genuinely afraid that he could have lost Madara. And he could have.

Hashirama was wrong. Madara was beyond dumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.” He squeezed shut his eyes. “I won’t do drugs anymore, I promise. I promise, so please...don’t cry.”

Tobirama’s words from last night echoed in his head. He opened his eyes to search for the boy across the room, only to find he was already watching them. Relief shined in his eyes, and if Madara didn’t know any better he would say he was on the verge of tears too. He only smiled, however, and Madara felt that pit closing up little by little. Hashirama was willing to forgive him, and that warranted some serious effort on his part to get his act together.

Afterward, Hashirama made them both give their two remaining dogs baths, then take them on a walk (cleaning up after them along the way), and then a long, long list of chores that took the rest of the day, including, but not limited to: taking out the trash, spraying the grime off the sides of the house, doing the dishes, mopping the floors, et cetera et cetera. He also coerced Madara into doing a week’s worth of volunteer work at the local shelter, while Tobirama was forced to contact his school and sign up to be the mascot for the upcoming football game (they were implementing a tentative Abraham Lincoln costume in an attempt to raise the “school spirit”). Madara promised to be there of his own accord (after ascertaining that it was not, thankfully, on the same day as Tetsujin’s next basketball game).

Hashirama casually stated that he would attend with his girlfriend, Mito Uzumaki, and Madara made certain he knew just how offended he was for not being told about this girlfriend sooner. Apparently they had gotten together only recently, so Madara let it slide (“Just this once. If this happens again, you owe me home-cooked breakfast for a week”). Which, of course, prompted them to take note of the time.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay over again?” Hashirama asked. Madara shook his head as he gathered his things by the door.

“I need to make sure the pipsqueak hasn’t raided my stuff. I think he’s onto my snack stash,” he said. Hashirama laughed.

“Alright then. Don’t be a stranger,” he said. Madara rolled his eyes.

“How can I? We see each other almost every day.” He returned Hashirama’s embrace, however, then let his eyes drift to Tobirama, who stood just behind Hashirama.

“I’m not hugging you,” the younger Senju said matter-of-factly. “We both smell like cheese warmed over pavement and I don’t want to find out what’s sticking in your hair.” Madara scoffed.

“It wouldn’t be as bad if you hadn’t let your hounds knock their bath water on us,” he pointed out.

“Me? You’re the one who doesn’t know how to wash a dog!”

“Please. I saw you egging them on.”

“Now now, boys, that’s enough,” Hashirama said, raising his hands as he stood between them. “You’re both smelly. All the more reason to hurry and take a shower.” He began shooing Tobirama toward the bathroom. Madara chuckled as he pulled on his gloves, glancing up just in time to see Tobirama throw a smirk at him over his shoulder.

What a punk.

As Madara approached his dorm room and fished out his keys, he scrolled through his phone to check for any notifications he had missed during his slave labour, leaving him blissfully unaware of the sounds coming from inside the room until it was too late. Opening the door, he made the mistake of looking up to find Yagura...entertaining a guest. A guest who just happened to be Tetsujin. Who was swapping spit with his roommate on the bed.

“Get out,” Yagura said, bolting upright.

“Oh my god.”

“Get out.”

“Oh my god.”

“Get out get out get out!”

Madara narrowly avoided the shoe thrown at his head by closing the door, unable to control his laughter. He heard the thud of a second shoe hit the door and he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. Now, if that weren’t the funniest shit, he just didn’t know what was.

At least he’s moved on, Madara thought as he regained his breath. Shaking his head, he pulled out his phone again, opening Hashirama’s contact.

---

As it turned out, Madara returned to the Senju Residence just in time for supper. He would have to thank Yagura later for giving him the opportunity to enjoy Hashirama’s cooking once more. He was allowed to use the shower again, and luckily he was able to dress in his own clothes that he had accidentally left the last time he stayed the night. Not that he would have minded wearing Tobirama’s clothes again.

(He was able to refrain from jacking off this time, thank you very much.)

Eating supper with the Senju in their home proved to be less awkward than Madara had thought it would be, especially after the events that had recently transpired. Hashirama was good-natured and talkative as always, and Madara and Tobirama exchanged snide remarks in between actual conversation. Hashirama eventually asked about what the club was like, incidents aside, and Madara told him it was actually very nice and a common haunt for the MOGAI community, hence Orochimaru’s presence (they were genderfluid). He and Hashirama mused that that must have meant Jiraiya was there, too; Tobirama asked who Jiraiya was and they explained that he was essentially Orochimaru’s sugar daddy (phrasing accredited to Madara, reprimanded by Hashirama).

All things considered, it was a lovely evening and Hashirama suggested that they do it more often.

“Careful, Hashirama,” Madara warned. “What will your girlfriend think if your gay best friend comes over more often than she does?” Hashirama gave him a look as he gathered the dishes and brought them to the sink.

“Not to worry, I’ve told her all about you and how we’re just friends,” he said. “Besides, we agreed that I would go over to her place most of the time. I don’t want to risk scarring poor Tobirama.” Said Senju feigned a gag.

“TMI,” he said. Hashirama smiled apologetically. Madara whistled.

“Since when do you work so fast? I don’t remember you ever even having a girlfriend in high school,” he said. Hashirama chuckled.

“She’s really one of a kind,” he said. “We have a lot in common, but not too much, you know? It’s fun getting to know her and I think she feels the same.”

“You think? Come on, have more confidence than that.”

“He’s going to need it,” Tobirama chipped in. “She might just be worse than you.” Madara stuck out his tongue briefly, but Tobirama just smirked and licked his lips in response while Hashirama wasn’t looking. Madara promptly turned away.

“That’s not a nice thing to say about either of them, Tobirama,” Hashirama said, glancing back with a pointed look. “Mito is a lovely woman. A prime example of refined nobility.”

“Nobility?” Madara asked, raising his brows. “Elaborate.” Hashirama’s lips tugged upward in that I’m-one-lucky-bastard-but-I-don’t-want-to-brag-about-it way.

“Her mother’s side comes from royalty in England,” he said. “And I think her father is related to some old feudal lord whose family is still considered very aristocratic. Yes, they’re very wealthy, but that’s besides the point.” After putting away all the dishes, Hashirama turned around to lean back against the counter. “She’s very cultured and intelligent, and open-minded, too. She doesn’t share very many opinions with her parents, but she can win over anyone with diplomacy when she puts her mind to it.”

“She does sound lovely,” Madara agreed with a nod. “You’ll have to introduce us sometime.” Hashirama positively beamed.

“Of course! She’d love to meet you, I’m sure.” He pushed off the counter then and waved for Madara to follow him to the living room. “Come on, help me set up the futon.”

Tobirama cleared his throat, standing to follow them. “He can sleep in my room if he wants,” he said. Both men turned to look at him.

“Aw, that’s nice of you. But where will you sleep?” Hashirama asked.

“I can take the futon. I have to stay up and write an essay anyway, and I need to reference some books,” Tobirama said, gesturing to the bookshelf in the living room.

“Well, okay then. Madara?” Hashirama turned to the Uchiha, who looked between the two Senju for a moment, squinting.

“...Sure,” he said after a moment. Tobirama raised his hands.

“It’s clean in there, I swear,” he said. “Just don’t look under the bed.” His wink suggested sarcasm, but Hashirama gasped.

“What do you have under your bed?” He immediately took off to find out and Tobirama bolted after him.

“Nothing! I was kidding! Stay out of my room!”

Madara watched them go with an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. Those brothers were something else.

Several scandalized screeches and poorly muffled argument later, Hashirama and Tobirama returned to the living room. Madara had taken the liberty of unfolding the futon and dressing it for Tobirama and he looked up as they filed out of the hallway.

“I can’t believe you own something like that,” Hashirama said, a faint blush still present on his face. Tobirama sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“I really hate you sometimes,” he said. “Anyway, it’s all clear. We changed the sheets for you, too.”

“How kind of you,” Madara said, raising an eyebrow at the two of them. Tobirama shrugged past him, setting down a laptop case on the futon and unloading its contents. Hashirama led Madara back to Tobirama’s room.

“Do not look under his bed,” the Senju warned. Madara snorted.

“I’ve probably seen worse.”

“Madara!”

“What?” The Uchiha chuckled and shooed away Hashirama. “Go on before I go into detail.” The brunet gaped and looked as though he had some choice words to say to that, but he closed his mouth and pursed his lips, crossing his arms as he turned to leave. Madara lightly slapped his ass on the way out. “Don’t think too hard about it~” Hashirama jumped and squeaked and held both hands over his rear, hurrying away with a very brief middle finger.

Madara laughed and closed the door, finally taking a moment to study Tobirama’s room. It was impeccably tidy, as to be expected, but it held more evidence of personality than the rest of the house. There was a TV, but no remote, only a gaming console and its controllers, which didn’t surprise Madara. A brief scan of the stack of games offered a wide variety of genres, some of which looked as if they hadn’t been touched in a while. The bed was dressed in greyscale covers, a fuzzy blanket folded at the foot of the mattress. Madara chuckled and ran his fingers through it, enjoying the texture.

Two sets of bookshelves lined the wall on either side of Tobirama’s bed, each filled to the brim with literature of many kinds. One bookshelf was devoted entirely to scientific theory, and just looking at it gave Madara a headache. A few obscure band posters decorated the walls, and a desk was tucked into a corner of the room, an empty space in the middle where Madara assumed the boy’s laptop usually sat. There were numerous files sorted into holders on the surface as well as the side shelves, most of which were filled with papers that Madara didn’t bother to touch. He didn’t need to look at them to know that they consisted purely of nerd porn (that was, boring text that held little to no relevance to anything ever).

Curiosity satisfied, Madara peeled back the bed covers and slipped beneath them, momentarily taken aback by a scent that washed over him that was undoubtedly Tobirama. He inhaled deeply once, closing his eyes as he pressed his face into the pillow. It was almost as comforting as being in his arms, but not quite. He imagined he wouldn’t find anything to top that feeling in long, long time.

And speaking of long times, it just so happened that tonight would be the night that his body refused its natural need for sleep. An hour or so passed of Madara simply lying there, willing desperately for his mind to shut off as he shifted restlessly this way and that. Now he lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling with contempt. He supposed he should have expected it. After the day’s stress, both emotional and physical, it was no wonder that it got to him more than he realized. Maybe he should seek out professional help after all.

After another five minutes that Madara counted the seconds to in an attempt to bore himself to sleep (which instead only kept his mind focused on not messing up his counts), he sighed and pushed off the covers, slipping out of the bed regretfully. Perhaps, if nothing else, he could take his bike out to the lake like he’d been wanting to. Riding had always calmed his nerves when all he had to think about was the wind in his hair and the scenery flashing by him.

As he walked out into the living room, he found Tobirama still sitting up on the futon, computer in lap and glasses hanging off his nose. The boy snapped up his head upon seeing Madara, reaching up to pull the headphones from his ears.

“Sorry,” Madara said, keeping his voice quiet so as not to disturb Hashirama potentially. “Didn’t mean to disturb your nerdness.” Tobirama rolled his eyes.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked; Madara sighed and nodded, detouring to the kitchen to snatch a juice pouch. He heard another bout of typing and a series of clicking as he returned to the living room in time to see Tobirama putting away his glasses.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Madara said, sitting down on the makeshift mattress to take a peek at the boy’s computer screen. “What’s the essay about?”

“We’re supposed to write a short narrative about what we thought might have happened during the Abraham Lincoln assassination,” Tobirama said with a sigh. “It’s a real pain. I’m better with strictly non-fictional stuff.” Madara hummed, sucking on the juice pouch. “But I’m finished. I just had to revise a couple things.” Closing his laptop and setting it to the side of the futon, Tobirama raised his arms above his head to stretch. Madara’s eyes wandered over the tug of his shirt on their own accord, but he didn’t go to any great lengths to hide the fact. Surely enough, Tobirama caught him red-...eyed. He smirked. “Like what you see?”

Madara snorted, turning away to stand up. “As if.” He walked over to the doorway to begin putting on his shoes, jacket, and gloves. “I’m going for a ride down to the lake,” he said, glancing over at Tobirama. The boy fiddled with the hem of his blanket.

“Do you want some company?” he asked tentatively. Madara smirked.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Franklin Delano Roosevelt Park was one of the most peaceful places to be found at night. A skatepark resided under the nearby overpass and was almost always occupied by at least a couple skaters at any given moment, but they offered decent background noise in addition to the traffic. Madara particularly enjoyed the gazebo overlooking Meadow Lake, which was where he led Tobirama after dismounting his bike.

Right now they sat on the ground of said gazebo, Madara’s arm draped over Tobirama’s shoulders while the latter’s head rested in the crook of his neck. It was just cold enough to keep on his leather jacket and the fuzzy collar of Tobirama’s nearly consumed the boy’s face. It was cute, Madara conceded internally, finding himself sneaking glances at the Senju every so often.

“I’m glad we moved here,” Tobirama said after a while, voice muffled by his jacket. “Hashirama decided to after I came out to him. Said he didn’t want me growing up in that kind of environment anymore.” Madara blinked at that, then chuckled.

“Your brother is a piece of work,” he said. “But thank God for him. I’m surprised he didn’t move after...everything that happened, though.”

“We moved out of that neighbourhood,” Tobirama said. “But the general opinion of Mississippi is the same no matter where you go.” Madara hummed and rubbed Tobirama’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you got out of there,” he agreed. “You should have told Hashirama sooner. It was probably hell for you.”

“What was it like for you?” Tobirama asked, tilting up his head slightly. “Were you out to anybody?”

Madara sighed and nodded. “Yeah, but my idiot teenage self only made it worse. That’s how my ‘gang’ got started.”

“Tell me about it,” Tobirama urged. Madara smiled, partly out of nostalgia and partly due to Tobirama’s eagerness.

“It’s how I met Orochimaru,” he began. “Actually, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that’s the reason he took such an interest in my family. He was our gang’s drug dealer because nobody else wanted to get involved in that noise, and for good reason. Orochimaru constantly tried to tempt my relatives living in the area. Namely Sasuke and his brother.”

“They’re your cousins, right? I think I’ve met them,” Tobirama said; Madara nodded.

“Somewhere along that line. They were both little prodigies of their own, too, though. Itachi once threatened to report Orochimaru directly to their father, who was head of the police department at the time. That got him to back off for a while, at least.

“And the rest of us… Well, we were just a bunch of trouble-makers,” Madara continued. “We raised hell for Itachi’s dad, that’s for sure. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been in detainment.” Tobirama poked his side.

“Brag about it, Smooth Criminal.” Madara quirked a brow.

“I thought you said I wasn’t smooth?”

Tobirama hummed, flattening his palm against Madara’s chest. “There’s room for improvement,” he amended. Madara smirked, leaning down.

“I’ll get started right away~”

Tobirama’s lips were soft and as warm as the rest of him. Smooth to a fault, unlike Madara’s which were constantly victim to his worrying teeth. Tobirama didn’t seem to mind; encouraged it, even, as he sucked on Madara’s bottom lip to nibble on it softly. The Uchiha made a quiet noise of content, tongue peeking out to trace the seam of Tobirama’s lips. They parted obediently, his own tongue sliding along Madara’s as a slow dance ensued. There was no battling for dominance, not this time. Although, Madara couldn’t help but muse just how that battle would turn out.

When they pulled away, their breath puffed against each other’s cheeks, eyes gazing into one another as if that were all the communication they needed. And maybe it was.

“So what does this mean?” Tobirama asked once they’d calmed down somewhat. Madara stroked a thumb over his cheek.

“What does what mean?” he asked.

“Us. You know. This.”

Oh, right. That was a thing.

Madara pursed his lips, eyes searching Tobirama’s face as he moved his hand to card through that white hair of his.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I haven’t really thought about it.” Tobirama shifted slightly, expression pensive.

“I remember you saying you wanted to focus on your studies,” he said. “I don’t want to get in the way of that.” Madara took a deep breath and leaned his head on Tobirama’s, closing his eyes.

“Let me think about it,” he said after a moment. “I definitely like you. But I think a few more dates are in order before I decide anything.

“Are you sure? If it’s just going to stress you out—”

“It won’t,” Madara said. “It would stress me out more if I kept you waiting until you lost interest.” Tobirama turned away his head slightly.

“...I’ve had a crush on you since I was little. I don’t think my interest is going anywhere.”

Madara choked on his own spit (again) and he had to pull away to let it run its course before he shot Tobirama a wide-eyed glance.

“You what?”

Tobirama clicked his tongue, crossing his arms and not looking up at Madara.

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Hashirama’s words rang in his mind. Was this what he was talking about? Why the hell didn’t he just say that? It probably would have saved Madara a lot of emotional turmoil.

Surprising himself as well as Tobirama, Madara laughed. He tried to placate Tobirama’s offended accusations between his fits to little avail. Fate had a sense of humour after all.

Eventually they returned to Hashirama’s house, doing their best to enter quietly so as not to wake the elder Senju. Tobirama tempted Madara onto the futon for some intense making-out interspersed with barely muffled laughter as Madara’s hands wandered and found a good number of ticklish spots on the boy’s body. Tobirama returned the gesture in kind, discovering just how sensitive the back of Madara’s neck was with deadly precision. Of course, that sensitivity was a two-way street and it was all Madara could do not to jump him then and there. The only things stopping him were a muddled sense of propriety and Hashirama’s presence in the house, but that was all he needed.

“So,” Madara said once they had settled down. They lay along the futon with Tobirama half-draped over the Uchiha’s chest, a leg resting between his own. “What’s under your bed?”

“You didn’t already look?” Tobirama asked with a chuckle.

“No. I do make an effort to respect people’s privacy when I can,” Madara said, lightly flicking the boy’s head. Tobirama hummed.

“A dildo vibe,” he said plainly. Madara raised and dropped his eyebrows.

“My my, Tobirama. You are quite the scoundrel, aren’t you?” he said, tracing his finger along the albino’s spine. “Do you use it often?” He felt Tobirama smile against his chest.

“Mm, not as often as I would like,” he said, slipping his fingers just beneath the hem of Madara’s shirt. “I never know when Hashirama’s going to barge in.”

Madara let his fingers dip into the waistline of Tobirama’s pants, relishing the minute shudder it elicited. “That’s a shame. I’m sure it’s quite the experience.”

“Mhm. I’ll have to show you sometime.” That gave Madara pause, and he did everything in his power not to imagine that right at this very moment.

“I can’t say I’d complain,” he said. He was sure Tobirama could feel the hammer of his heart, but if he could he didn’t mention it. Madara withdrew his hand with a pat to the boy’s rear. “You should get some sleep. I can’t let your brother find us together again lest he take more pictures.” Tobirama tilted up his head to look at him.

“Are you tired?” he asked. Madara pursed his lips.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep,” he confessed. “But I’m not going to keep you up any longer.” He leaned down to kiss Tobirama’s forehead. “Thank you for staying up with me this long.” Tobirama shifted up to kiss his cheek and then his lips before allowing him to disentangle himself from the boy.

“When are you leaving tomorrow?” he asked, watching Madara from his pillow.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the Uchiha said, sighing. “I’ll just have to text the pipsqueak and see. I don’t want to risk another run-in like today.” He shuddered at the mere memory.

“What happened?”

“Evidently, he and Tetsujin hooked up.” Tobirama snorted.

“S’at mean dude’ll hop off your dick finally?” Madara snickered and reached down to ruffle Tobirama’s hair before kissing his head.

“Hopefully. Good night,” he murmured.

“Good night.”

As it turned out, Madara was able to sleep rather peacefully, although he wasn’t spared a fevered wet dream or two.