Work Text:
Your finger on my hair pin triggers
Soldier down on that icy ground
Looked up at me with honor and truth
Broken and blue, so I called off the troops
That was the night I nearly lost you
I really thought I lost you
We can plant a memory garden
Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair
There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair
— The Great War, Taylor Swift
A muffled thud startled Madara, making him pause. He hopped down from the roof of his house where he'd been repairing the shingles that Kurama and Itsuma scraped off in a name of shinobi-tag, landing in a crouch by the source of the noise; Tobirama’s bedroom window.
Tobirama was propped with his shoulder against his bookshelf, scowling furiously at the heavy tome that slipped between his fingers, spilling its pages open on the floorboards.
Madara gave a silent sigh of relief -he had worried it was Tobirama himself who fell- and rapped his knuckles on the glass, poking his head through the half-open window. “Everything alright?”
Tobirama’s eyes flicked in Madara’s direction before he resumed his floor-glaring. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Peachy.”
Madara huffed a laugh. He hopped up to grab the lip of the roof and used the momentum to swing himself feet-first through the window, into Tobirama’s room. He paced over to the far side where Tobirama was situated and knelt, retrieving the tome.
Tobirama’s fingers shook as he took the book from Madara, barely closing his hands around it before it slipped again. Madara caught it on its way to the floor, and settled it carefully on the bookshelf himself.
“Today's a bad day,” Madara remarked, carefully casual. Tobirama grunted, turning his cheek away from Madara’s knowing gaze. He hid his shaking hands in his sleeves, but that didn't mute the sweat beading on his temple, the crease by his eyes.
The damage to Tobirama’s chakra coils was severe, and while they had scabbed over, so to speak, they were gnarled, scarred things. The pain was chronic, and varied by day. Sometimes, Tobirama moved like there was nothing wrong at all. It was hard to tell how much of it was the pain being null, or Tobirama’s high pain tolerance covering it from prying eyes; getting Tobirama to talk about it was like trying to pry an old oak root from compact ground. But if it was bad enough that Tobirama was shaking, Madara knew it had to be excruciating.
Madara sighed. He did not look at Tobirama, instead watching the wall consideringly. Normally, Tobirama would be protesting the thick silence, the concern, so the fact that he wasn't doing so made Madara even more inclined to intervene.
The roof could wait.
“Come,” Madara said decidedly, tugging Tobirama gently towards the door.
“Where?” Tobirama asked, voice gravelly and tight.
Madara turned to him, putting on his best don't even try to argue with me voice as he said, “Your futon is too thin. Come to my bed.”
“I'm not tired,” Tobirama stubbornly planted his feet.
“You don't need to be,” Madara kept a lid in his exasperation. “Don't be difficult, or I'll call Hashirama in and you won't see straight for days with the shit he'll inject you with.”
Leveraging Tobirama’s hatred of the ‘loopy meds’ (aptly named by Aiko) was the push he needed, Madara saw it in Tobirama’s expression that he would give in even before he gave a tight nod. Madara grinned (widely, ensuring Tobirama could see it), and cracked open the door.
“Ladies first,” Madara teased.
“Fuck you.”
Tobirama’s fingers trailed the wall habitually as he followed Madara down the hall, to the master bedroom.
Madara opened the door and then stood by the mouth of the room, arms crossed as he watched a reluctant Tobirama enter after him. He only glared halfheartedly so Madara took it as a win.
Madara shut the door, and guided Tobirama to the bed by the shoulder. Tobirama shrugged him off, but sat obediently on the edge.
Madara slipped onto the mattress behind him, and sat with his legs crossed, the line of his shin pressing into the small of Tobirama’s back.
Madara’s hands found Tobirama’s shoulders, deft fingers massaging into the tight cords of muscle. Tobirama melted into the touch, groaning appreciatively.
“Kami, you're tense,” Madara mused, as if it was in any way a secret. “If you blindfolded me and replaced your shoulders with twin boulders, I wouldn't feel the difference.”
“If Itsuma replaced you with a large hedgehog, I would not see nor hear the difference,” Tobirama shot back, the bite to his words stolen by Madara’s firm ministrations.
“That's something he would do,” Madara agreed.
“Honestly?” Tobirama started.
“Hm?” Madara swept firm thumbs down the triangle curve of Tobirama’s nape.
Tobirama said, “I wouldn't put it past Arata, either.”
“No,” Madara disagreed. “Too much effort. He’s only capable of causing chaos by merit of happy accident.”
Tobirama chuckled, and though the sound was tight, Madara took the win. “Fair enough.”
Madara slid his hand over Tobirama's shoulder, pressing it over his chest and guiding Tobirama backwards slightly, meeting him in the middle with lips on Tobirama’s nape. Madara leaned forward, kissing around to the side of Tobirama’s neck, ghosting over his scent gland. Tobirama covered Madara’s hand on his chest with his own, fingers tightening in a rare expression of discomfort.
Madara pulled Tobirama tight to his chest, tilting his skull with a gentle hand in his hair and peppering kisses up his neck and jaw, then down again, sucking lightly on the origin of that wonderful rainy scent.
“You refuse to medicate,” Madara murmured into the delicate skin, “So I'll be creative.” He crossed his arm over Tobirama’s torso and gripped his hipbone, squeezing lightly. His forearm just barely ghosted over Tobirama’s groin.
“A reprieve?” Tobirama recalled quietly, tense in Madara's hold, but not from emotional discomfort.
Madara smiled fondly against Tobirama’s neck. “Exactly.”
“Kami,” Tobirama groused, and proceeded to speak more candidly than Madara had heard him be in a while, “It'll be a special kind of cruel if I can't even get it up.” Because of the pain, remained unsaid.
Madara was surprised and pleased at Tobirama’s honesty, even veiled by wry humor as it was. Madara huffed a laugh, careful not to give the sentence the gravity that it (quite frankly) deserved.
“I can be rather convincing,” he purred, moving his hand from Tobirama’s hip to cup him through his pants. They were shinobi grade, though Tobirama hadn't been on active duty for a couple months now. Old habits and all that.
Tobirama hummed. “I'll need a proper demonstration, then.”
“For science,” Madara laughed. He brushed his hand up underneath Tobirama’s yukata and then edged beneath his waistband, teasing for a moment before pulling away.
“You know me so well.”
“Scoot up.” Madara coaxed Tobirama further up the bed, and then came around and climbed into his lap, cupping Tobirama’s nape and leaning down for a searing kiss.
Tobirama broke it, protesting, “You can lean your full weight on me, I'm fine.” He sounded angry.
“I'm not going to hurt you to fuel your pride fetish,” Madara snarked right back, unamused.
“I'm not fragile.”
“No,” Madara agreed. “You're in pain.”
They kissed again.
“You don't have to pity me.”
“Maybe I like taking care of you.”
And again.
“So you like seeing me hurt?” Tobirama misconstrued, because he was physically incapable of accepting care with a straight face.
Madara snorted. “Says the sadist.”
“Pot, kettle.”
They met once more, mouths intertwining sensually. Tobirama’s lips parted, his arms wrapped around Madara’s torso, one crossing over to grip his waist, the other snaking beneath Madara’s arm and settling between his shoulderblades. They shook, just a little.
Madara rolled his hips against Tobirama’s, taking fistfuls of short white hair. Tobirama’s throat warmed on a soft noise, sighing into Madara’s mouth. They moved against each other in a deft, synchronous manner, tongues lapping, intermingling just so. Madara’s hips ground forward persistently, and with the added ministrations such as suction on Tobirama’s bottom lip, he was greatly rewarded with a hardness that began to press back against his searching pelvis.
“Convinced?” Madara murmured between kisses.
“Mm, more testing required,” Tobirama mumbled back. The hand on Madara’s waist slipped to the small of his back, urging him closer.
Madara smirked. He pushed Tobirama onto his back, coming down with him, straddling his hips while he leaned forward to capture Tobirama’s lips once more.
They kissed until they were both panting, breathless, and Tobirama’s cock was firmly tenting his pants. Madara grinded down into him, the layers of fabric between them only serving to tease as he rubbed his entrance against the clothed head of Tobirama’s cock, savoring the fissures of pleasure that bloomed from the friction. Madara clenched, feeling all too empty all of the sudden.
Tobirama’s trembling hands found the corners of Madara’s shirt, and in tandem they pulled it over Madara’s head, Tobirama unthreading it from Madara’s hair before dropping it carelessly. Madara’s hands scrabbled for the tie of Tobirama’s sash, loosening the knot. The fabric came apart with a hiss of cloth, and Madara pushed it open, bearing Tobirama’s chest. His hands moved to Tobirama’s pants, and Tobirama assisted by lifting his hips to ease the slide of fabric as Madara hooked his fingers into the waistbands and slipped them down. Tobirama’s cock caught on the downward slide and then sprang free, bobbing gently between them.
“A great win for biology,” Madara said jovially as he shucked off his pants and tossed them to the floor.
“Quite,” Tobirama murmured, watching Madara with a glint of fondness in his eyes.
Madara straddled Tobirama, steadying Tobirama’s cockhead to his entrance. He paused for just a moment, glancing at Tobirama’s face.
“Get on with it,” Tobirama said, thighs tense beneath Madara’s palms.
“What if I just… didn't.”
Tobirama raised a brow. “That would defeat the purpose of you barging in through my bedroom window and demanding I follow you.” He canted upwards, sliding into Madara partway. Madara clenched in surprise, and chased the pleasure automatically, seating himself down in one sharp movement.
They groaned in tandem. Madara shifted forward, leaning his palms on Tobirama’s chest. The cock nestled inside him shifted, pressing against his walls.
“You make a fair argument,” Madara grunted, raising himself partway off of Tobirama’s cock before slamming down. Tobirama’s hands flew to Madara’s hips, grabbing on tight.
“Fuck,” Tobirama groaned, “Do that again.”
“Your wish,” Madara panted, “is my command.”
Madara gave a couple more sharp bobs of his hips, just to feel it, chasing that dull ache deep inside him. Tobirama gripped his hips tightly, though he did not assist, as he might've before… well. Madara’s mouth hung lax as he savored the burn in his legs, the pleasure that bloomed within him.
Tobirama’s chest rose and fell in jerks, abs tensing and glistening from a fine sheen of sweat. Madara squeezed Tobirama’s ribs lightly, bobbing his hips, eliciting soft grunts and low whines from his lover. Madara grinned in satisfaction, watching how Tobirama’s neck craned forward, chin almost touching to his own clavicle, eyes slanted shut, and open lips quirked upwards in a panting sort-of-grimace, sort-of-smile.
Madara grinded forward slightly, almost mindlessly, with the rise and fall of his hips, chasing his own pleasure even as he elicited it from his lover. Madara’s hair spilled over his shoulders, brushing his bare sides. Sweat beaded on Madara’s nape as he rode Tobirama for all he was worth, determined to make Tobirama feel good. The warmth licking up Madara from inside certainly didn't hurt. A nice bonus.
Tobirama shuddered, a gravelly whimper falling from his lips. Madara clenched around him, stroking tiny circles into Tobirama’s ribs with his thumbs.
“Fuck, ah,” Tobirama panted out.
“Mm, that's it,” Madara grinned, pressing his fingers firmer into Tobirama’s ribcage, “Just like that, come on.”
Tobirama bared his neck, twisting his face flush against the mattress. His fingerpads dug into Madara’s thighs enough to sting. He panted into the fabric, like the pleasure pained him. Who knew, maybe it did. Maybe his body was wracked with pain regardless. Madara so wished he could explore Tobirama’s mind, know exactly how he felt. Drawing earnesty from Tobirama was like drawing water from a rock.
“Fuck,” Tobirama rasped, chest heaving, “fuck.”
Sex always connected them when words failed, and Madara kept his focus trained on Tobirama, noting the tension in his muscles, the noises he made, the crease by his brow. Tobirama was always so carefully controlled. Not as much here, though, not anymore. Tobirama allowed the breath to fall from his lips, allowed Madara to strip him bare and read an easy truth between the lines:
Tobirama needed him.
Madara obliged. He rocked his hips, coaxing amphetamine pleasure through Tobirama’s nerves, murmuring soft praises that flushed high on Tobirama’s cheeks. “Doing so well, baby, so good for me, ah- that's it, that's it, mmn.”
“Madara,” Tobirama groaned. “I'm, fuck-”
“C’mon, Tobirama,” Madara panted, breath short from the cant of his hips, the way he was practically bouncing on Tobirama’s cock, dragging pleasure deep within himself. “C’mon. Nnfuck- so good-”
“Madara,” Tobirama whined, repeating his lover’s name like a plea. His nails drew blood from Madara’s thighs; Madara barely noticed. The pain of it, the burn in his legs, only added to the intensity between them, the bright sensation building like a slow wave. “Madara, mmn-”
“I'm here.” Madara said, breathy and low, “All right?”
“Feels good,” Tobirama mumbled, like he was surprised.
“Good. Ah-” The force of Tobirama’s cockhead ached so good, ambrosia in Madara’s veins.
Tobirama’s hips hiked up, almost imperceptively and first and then higher, chasing release.
“Come on, Tobirama,” Madara encouraged, “A little more.”
“Fuck,” Tobirama bit out, chest quaking beneath Madara’s fingers. “M’close.” Tobirama threw his head back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut, teeth gritted. “Harder,” he gasped out.
Madara slid his hands down to grab Tobirama’s waist and used the extra leverage to slam himself down on Tobirama, harshly, again and again and a third time and then Tobirama was spilling into Madara with a choked out moan, painting Madara’s walls with hot seed.
Madara sat back and clenched down on Tobirama, milking him for all he was worth. Madara’s chest heaved, his legs ached and everything below the belt tingled pleasantly. Accomplishment burned bright in his chest; Tobirama’s face was lax, mouth ajar, and his quaking eased to a soft tremble that could be blamed on the orgasm.
Seed leaked around Tobirama’s softening cock. Madara pulled off, and it dribbled out of him, down his inner thigh and soaking into Tobirama’s public hair.
Madara retrieved his discarded shirt and used it to clean up the mess. He gently wiped down Tobirama’s length before swiping up his own thigh and pressing the shirt against his sensitive entrance to soak as much as he could.
Tobirama blinked lethargically up at him. “Thanks,” he murmured, perhaps a touch shy. Madara grinned, leaning forward to capture Tobirama’s lips in a languid kiss. Tobirama carded his hands through Madara’s hair. It was tangled from exertion.
“Was good,” Madara whispered back, nuzzling Tobirama’s jaw. Thoughts swirled in Madara’s mind. How's your pain? You okay? He said, “I could make some tea and read aloud?”
The meaning was the same.
Tobirama knew. His lips brushed Madara’s temple, a hesitant, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it show of affection.
Tobirama said quietly, “That'd be nice.”
_____
And we will never go back
To that bloodshed, crimson clover
The worst was over
My hand was the one you reached for
All throughout the Great War
Always remember
We're burned for better
I vowed I would always be yours
'Cause we survived the Great War