Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Tobiiii. . .” Hashirama pouted at his brother, his eyes going very wide. “It’s just bothering me so much, would you please help me?” he wheedled.

Tobirama laughed softly, rolling his eyes, and slid his chair out from his desk. “Of course, come here.” he beckoned. “Madara, could you get the patrol roster from the shelf by the door for me? I can’t place if we put Yamanaka or Nara in charge of the inner wall squad that day.”

Madara nodded and moved to retrieve the scroll in question as Hashirama folded his legs and settled at his brother’s feet, shrugging off the Hokage robe just as it began to bunch around his neck and shoulders.

Madara’s steps hitched momentarily as he took them in, throat tightening. Hashirama sat happily between his little brother’s knees, and Tobirama. . . Tobirama was running his fingers through Hashirama’s hair, a gentle caress, smoothing it out slowly.

Hashirama made a soft purring sound, eyes drooping almost closed as Tobirama rubbed his temples with light fingertips, then played with his long hair, pulling it back. Madara swallowed as he put the roster on Tobirama’s desk, then unrolled it himself, since Tobirama’s hands were . . . obviously full.

Leaning over the desk to skim the names listed on the roster, Madara was hyperaware of the weight of his own wild, wilful hair along his back and shoulders in a likely tangled mass. It often was tangled, though he brushed it far more often than he knew it seemed. It was just . . . unmanageable.

Madara’s eyes darted back up to his best friend and his little brother. Tobirama had produced a brush from somewhere and Hashirama was all but melting against one of his thighs, arm draped over it, humming happily as Tobirama efficiently but carefully brushed Hashirama’s hair out from roots to tips, brushing away every trace of knots or tangles until the strands were sleek and smooth in his hands.

Hashirama made little contented humming sounds as Tobirama worked, and he hummed back from time to time. His long fingers curled and scritched up the nape of Hashirama’s neck and he twitched, then shivered, moaning softly, lashes fluttering.

Madara dropped his gaze, looking down again and then closing his eyes rather than looking at the patrol roster.

“Madara?”

“What?” Madara raised his head, quashing his startlement before it could show.

“Who did we line up for the inner wall?” Tobirama prompted, glancing at Madara before his attention returned to his brother’s hair.

Madara winced. Right. He looked, skimming quickly to the correct squad, the commander’s name neatly written heading it in Tobirama’s precise, slightly slanted strokes. “Nara.” he provided.

Tobirama made a thoughtful noise, then posed a question to Hashirama, gently tugging his handful of Hashirama’s hair after a few moments without a response. “Anija. Anija, I’m happy to help you,” Tobirama leaned forwards, peering down at Hashirama - Madara blinked; was that the corner of a playful smile he saw on Tobirama’s face? - and disregarding the papers at his elbow, “but you need to focus, too.”

Hashirama sighed loudly, pouting, and Madara felt a flare of irritation and-

Madara was not jealous. He set his jaw.

Hashirama pouted a little more, but despite the expression his eyes were sharp again and the little sounds he made were more reminiscent of thought than pleasure. He supplied the answer Tobirama had been looking for, suggested something else, then glanced at Madara with a fleeting smile, drawing him back into the discussion.

Oh, please, Madara thought, deep down, as something sharp lanced in his chest, I can’t just sit here while you do this and think about work, I can’t. . .

But-

But it was his responsibility, this work, and he would, he knew it. He did his best to ignore the Senju brothers’ . . . unusual closeness as they continued discussing plans and strategies. And if his eyes strayed to follow Tobirama’s elegant hands from time to time as they went from brushing to all but toying with Hashirama’s hair, and his voice faltered once or twice, his throat tight, and his chest ached dully the whole way through. . .

Well, Madara refused to give such things any credence even had they happened, and the others were too absorbed in work and each other to notice.

Hashirama winced and rubbed his brow, closing his eyes against the tension headache making his whole head throb, down into his neck. He could feel it at his pulse points.

He sighed. That. . .

That probably wasn’t going away on his own, he thought wryly, and slowly slid back from his desk. Ugh, that much movement, and the sound of the chair against the floor, sent splintering waves of pain through his head.

Hashirama half covered his eyes with one hand and made his way out into the corridor, not bothering to grab anything as an excuse to pester his brother. He wasn’t so much seeking an excuse as-

Hashirama pulled up short. “Sorry, Madara.” he said vaguely, side-stepping and going around his friend after nearly running into him. “Wasn’t thinking.”

Madara made an absent sound of acknowledgement, unbothered, and continued on. Hashirama really didn’t understand why people whispered about Madara as though he were some manner of- of- Hashirama didn’t even know what, but for all he did have a temper - and Hashirama wouldn’t swear to it being worse than Touka’s, or Tobirama’s, for all he was louder about it - he hardly let it rage over any little thing. In fact while he wasn’t very patient he was quite tolerant, even as it irritated him to be so.

Hashirama grumbled inwardly as he slipped into his brother’s office.

“Ah, did you find the- Anija.” Tobirama greeted, voice shifting immediately. “What did you- What’s wrong?” he asked, rising behind his desk.

Hashirama looked at him and resisted the impulse to sniffle, feeling very pitiful. “Are you busy?” he asked plaintively.

“Always.” Tobirama said dryly, beckoning. “What is it, Anija?”

“Hurts.” Hashirama admitted, squinting. Tobirama sighed, mouth twisting. Hashirama opened his mouth to apologise for disturbing his brother - Tobirama might say it in jest but it was true, he was always busy - but Tobirama beckoned him again.

“Come here, Anija. Let me help.” Tobirama said softly, and Hashirama let out a soft little huff that verged on a sob and went to him. “You shouldn’t let it get this bad before you come for help. Or do anything.” Tobirama scolded softly, nudging Hashirama into his chair. “Tea, a nap, a hotpack on your neck. . .”

“I was busy. . .” Hashirama protested quietly.

“Mm,” Tobirama gently rubbed at the nape of his neck, and Hashirama let out a soft cry; Tobirama didn’t ask, just shifted his grip in response, pressing a little harder just over the vertebrae, “I’m sure you were working very efficiently, too. Did you find them?”

Hashirama groaned, confused - perhaps he should have packed it in with his work earlier, he had no idea what Tobirama was referring to.

“Of course.” Madara said, just as Hashirama opened his eyes and saw him standing on the other side of Tobirama’s desk, which cleared that up. Although now he felt he might have underestimated how much he was sidetracking his brother from work. . .

“Stay put.” Tobirama ordered, one hand tightening in Hashirama’s hair. “Brush?”

Hashirama opened his mouth, and Tobirama gently tugged his hair before he could speak. It didn’t hurt, but it was enough to underline the throb of his headache. He sighed, shoulders slouching down a little more, and absently created a wooden brush, passing it up to his brother’s hand.

“It’s fine.” Tobirama said softly, bending close to his ear. “Relax, Anija. Sorry, Madara.”

“No problem.” Madara replied, his voice even. “Shall I come back, or. . .”

“I’m fine to discuss it now. Review it for me?” Tobirama asked as the strokes of his hands lengthened over Hashirama’s neck and down through his hair, then back up to rub firmly at his temples, and Hashirama drifted away from their conversation. Drifted away from reality, really, relaxing into his brother’s talented hands and sighing with relief as some of the tension began to ebb in gentle waves, the pain lessening.

Tobirama switched to the brush some time after it had begun to fade away, his touch still gentle as anything, and while Hashirama’s head still throbbed with the remnants of the headache . . . but they were only remnants, compared to the horrible pain he had come to his brother with. It was no longer a nexus of . . . of awfulness lancing through his brain, though it was still painful and unpleasant. Tobirama made a thoughtful noise, getting distracted and twirling the brush between his fingers as he rubbed Hashirama’s head, pressing firmly at the nape of his neck just below his skull.

Hashirama moaned, sagging into his brother’s hands appreciatively, still not quite checking in with whatever he and Madara were talking about.

Perhaps that was why he noticed it - why he could notice. Hashirama opened his heavy-lidded eyes fully, looking at Madara. His tone was even and measured, businesslike. His face. . .

Hashirama frowned slightly, the contented, comfortable warmth Tobirama’s familiar, gentle caresses had wrapped around him like a cosy blanket ebbing a little. There was a dull hurt showing in Madara’s eyes as they drifted to Tobirama’s hands in Hashirama’s hair, and his lips twisted as he watched, looking. . .

Wistful? A little confused hrm rose in his throat, and Tobirama hummed soothingly, leaning closer and brushing his cheek against Hashirama’s hair. Hashirama sighed softly, leaning into his brother’s hands, and Tobirama’s knuckles gently nudged at his shoulders.

Hashirama shivered and then winced as it proved to be a little too much movement or tension or both for his head, which throbbed warningly. Tobirama hummed, rubbing lightly and then going back to running his fingers through Hashirama’s hair, slow stroke by slow stroke, letting the strands slide through his fingers and tickle against Hashirama’s neck. Hashirama shifted a little and-

He glanced up at Madara, whose expression had shifted from wistfulness to-

It shuttered quickly, and Hashirama tensed, blinking. He searched Madara’s face for any trace of- of whatever it had been, but Madara looked . . . like himself. Calm and maybe a little huffy, but not impatient even as he prompted Tobirama with a question.

Hashirama frowned, wondering. . .

“Feeling better, Anija?” Tobirama asked, voice low. Hashirama smiled, wriggling his shoulders - his head didn’t throb quite so hard with the movement this time, but it was still an unwise choice - and nudging closer. Tobirama laughed softly. “Good.”

He didn’t push Hashirama away, winding Hashirama’s hair around his fingers, then pulling it back and beginning to twine it into a braid, fingertips pressing briefly against Hashirama’s head as he wove it into place. Hashirama hummed quietly with pleasure, eyes drifting closed once more as he basked in his brother’s affectionate touches.

“Ah, Madaraaa!” Hashirama greeted cheerfully, swanning through Madara’s office door with an armful of scrolls and trailing his brother.

Madara took a breath, bracing himself a little. He had a screaming tension headache, but he also had work to do; they all did. He was a grown shinobi, he would be fine.

He winced a little as Hashirama launched into speech, Tobirama spreading out several scrolls and one map of their village on his desk, but nodded and responded as he should.

He barely reacted when Tobirama approached him - he didn’t notice until Tobirama was almost at his side. He looked up with wide eyes, then winced.

“What is it?” Tobirama asked, his voice softer than usual. Madara shook his head gingerly. “Is- Madara, do you have a headache?”

“It’s fine.” Madara said, although his voice might be a bit thinner than usual. “We need to get this done.”

“Oh! Madara!” Hashirama exclaimed, his voice considerately low despite his effusive reaction. “You should have said!”

Madara shook his head again, a little more firmly. “We need to get this done. Today.” He smiled a little sourly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But- You’re hurting!” Hashirama frowned miserably. “You look it, I should have realised, I’m sorry. . .”

“I’ll live.” Madara said shortly. “Come on, the sooner we get this done the sooner-” he faltered, tensing. That- His breath caught.

That was Tobirama’s hands in his hair. His hair. Gently brushing his temples and combing back the long fringe framing his face, somehow not pulling enough to even mildly sting, even as Tobirama’s fingers caught on snarled knots. “Tobirama?” Madara said thickly, eyes stinging.

“Let me help?” Tobirama asked softly, fingertips pressing gently at his temples. “It helps Anija. We may need to get this done today, now, but there’s no need for you to be miserable and in pain if we can help it.”

“I. . .” Madara couldn’t refuse. He should, but- He couldn’t, closing his eyes and nodding and just- Soaking in the feeling of a gentle touch brushing his throbbing temples, sliding through his heavy hair, light tugs at the roots that made tingles slide down his spine. Made him want to shiver and go boneless at once.

Madara took a breath, enjoying the feeling while it lasted. It never did for long, even on the rare occasions a past lover had managed not to hurt when they tried - before they grew frustrated with his mane and gave up. Or simply grew bored.

“Thank you.” Tobirama said softly, leaning closer, his body warm as it came so near to Madara’s. He swallowed. Thank you. To Madara. For-

Madara’s throat tightened.

Madara lifted his gaze and saw Hashirama directing a concerned expression at him, glancing at his brother over Madara’s head. Tobirama ruffled his hair with a light touch, hands careful and confident . . . the touch was warmer, softer than Madara had imagined it, when he- when he’d watched Tobirama playing with, tending his brother’s hair.

Madara had tried to forget that he had imagined it at all, had never meant to, hadn’t wanted to think-

He took a rough breath, his eyes burning from the pain of his headache. Not from the touch or the gentle care he was being offered that he never would have expected. He closed them.

“Tell me if this doesn’t help, or it makes you hurt.” Tobirama said, fingers rubbing through Madara’s hair. “What makes Anija feel better may not help you.”

“It’s- It’s good.” Madara said as Tobirama stroked, pressing against his head near where the throbbing was worst, his voice a little unsteady.

Tobirama hummed acknowledgement, both hands sinking deep into Madara’s hair, straightening it over his shoulders and the back of his chair. Tobirama lightly stroked down his neck and across his shoulders from time to time, but his hands stayed high for the most part; fingertips rubbing Madara’s temples and across his head, fingers combing through his hair, letting the weight of it slide over his hands.

Madara wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there, carefully still under Tobirama’s caressing hands - longer than he’d expected to be given - before Tobirama directed his attention to the map. He twitched, embarrassed to have forgotten, and tensed as he pulled one of the scrolls closer. It proved to be the Hyuuga’s demands for their compound, and he felt a stab of irritation-backed pain.

. . .Tobirama didn’t stop.

Madara remembered, of course, working on things with Tobirama while he was brushing and braiding his brother’s hair; even working with both of them while they did . . . this, but he hadn’t thought. . .

Madara bit his lip and caught his breath, focusing on the work. They had to get a few of the planned clan compounds redistricted today, before Konoha’s next groups arrived tomorrow. Tobirama rubbed his neck and kneaded his shoulders, just firmly enough to loosen the muscles with a brief flaring ache and gently enough not to make Madara tense.

Tobirama hummed softly, and Hashirama traced out a suggestion on the map, his voice never rising above a murmur - just enough to be heard, but not painful. He smiled softly at Madara when their eyes met, and he managed a smile that felt a little wobbly in return, hoping his eyes weren’t actually damp with tears. Both tears and unsteadiness would be ascribed to his headache, he was sure, at least. Maybe they even were due to the headache. He wasn’t usually so . . . easily put off balance, but he’d been labouring under the stabbing pain for hours and it had . . . weakened him.

They finished a little sooner than Madara would have thought they could even if he hadn’t been pressed by a headache. He was glad of it, but he also. . .

Madara sighed mournfully as Tobirama’s hands dragged down the length of his hair, feeling pleasantly tingly from the attention and sorry to see it go. He reminded himself not to be foolish; he never could have expected such attention anyway, to have gotten it at all, let alone for so long. . .

“Anija, would you please- Yes, thank you.” Tobirama murmured, and Madara hummed, raising his eyes just in time to see Tobirama accept a- a wooden brush from Hashirama’s hand. His eyes widened.

Tobirama hummed softly, shifting behind him, and began to brush his hair. He made no move to step away, even as Hashirama began to roll up the scrolls they’d been referring to and tidy the mess they’d spread across Madara’s desk. Instead he ruffled Madara’s hair between his fingers, painstakingly separating out sections of the wild locks and running the brush through carefully.

Madara hid a wince, saying nothing as the brush didn’t . . . quite move smoothly, feeling it snarl a bit. His hair wouldn’t be happy for the treatment, but Madara wasn’t going to complain when Tobirama had been so far beyond kind already.

The brush clicked onto the surface of his desk, and he sighed.

“Anija, I need one with thinner bristles.” Tobirama said, holding out his hand. “And more space. This one won’t work.” Madara blinked, glancing at Hashirama and then sideways as best he could at Tobirama as Hashirama gasped and muttered apologetically, then frowned thoughtfully and produced another wooden brush with a flicker of chakra.

Tobirama accepted it and separated out one thick lock, using the brush with entirely too judicious care. It ran smoothly, and Tobirama’s fingers followed it down as he made a satisfied sound. “Still feel good?” Tobirama asked as he began to brush properly, gentling the pull of each stroke with his free hand above it.

Madara didn’t quite manage words, and he pinked, embarrassed, but the sound he made was definitely affirmative. Tobirama stroked the nape of his neck and continued working with the brush, and Madara’s toes curled as he leaned into the touch with a little thrum building in his chest, eyes closing.

“Oh. . . Oh, he’s . . . lovely like that.” Hashirama breathed, and Tobirama looked up, pulled from his almost meditative attention to Madara’s hair. It was taking much more work than Hashirama’s did, partly because it was entirely unfamiliar and partly because it was so thick and wilful, Tobirama thought.

Tobirama’s hands stilled for a moment as his brother’s words sank in, and eyed Hashirama dubiously. “What?” he asked, and then looked down at Madara, leaning forwards a little around him, and-

“. . .oh.” Tobirama swallowed. Madara’s eyes were closed, a faint pink blush dusting his cheekbones, and his whole face was relaxed as Tobirama had rarely - if ever - seen it before. His full mouth was soft, slightly curved, and the lines of his neck were relaxed as he leaned back in his chair - closer to Tobirama. “Oh, you’re right. He is.” he said, lashes fluttering in a few rapid blinks as he wondered how he had never quite . . . noticed it in this way before.

He glanced at his brother, and Hashirama’s face assured him he wasn’t the only one looking at Madara in a new light. Perhaps it was the softness - Madara was an attractive man, Tobirama had absently known before, but like this it was. . .

Madara had been all but begging for attention, wordless and restrained as it had been, too, Tobirama thought with a fleeting frown. He had gone so still he was nearly trembling beneath Tobirama’s hands at first, then pressed into them with careful little shifts. Tobirama hadn’t expected anything more than to be allowed to help, if even that much; the reaction had been more than a surprise.

“Tobi. . .” Hashirama murmured, and he met his brother’s eyes again. Hashirama glanced down at Madara, then up at him, fidgeting.

Tobirama hummed, realising with surprise that his hands were not only still buried in Madara’s hair but toying with it absently, twisting the heavy locks between his fingers and letting them slide through, silky and incredibly soft. His hair always looked so spiky and wild, Tobirama wouldn’t have guessed the thick mass would be so . . . touchable. He didn’t want to withdraw his hands.

“Yes, he is, Anija.” Tobirama said again, licking his lips and thinking. They’d never done this as more than sharing pleasure before, never something serious, but if they were ever to have Madara. . .

Tobirama’s heart leapt and he bit his lip. He hadn’t realised, but now he thought about it, about him. . . Madara who was strong and smart and loud, but surprisingly compassionate, who threw everything he had into their village and caring for his precious people without care for himself. . .

He met Hashirama’s eyes again, tilting his head at Madara.

“. . .mm, what?” Madara asked, voice thick and words a little less clear than usual.

Tobirama stroked his shoulder absently. Hashirama leaned forwards on the desk on his elbows, smiling. “You’re lovely, Madara.” he said openly, and Madara must be worn out, because he barely twitched at the compliment.

“Anija.” Tobirama not quite scolded. “Will you let us take care of you?” he asked, pressing his fingers a little further through Madara’s hair to stroke his cheek. “We’ve finished all we must for the moment, and a proper rest would help your head, I’ve no doubt.” he suggested, leaning to a point where he could meet Madara’s eyes.

“Oh. . . It does- But, work.” Madara gestured. “We have things to do and I can’t just head home and-”

“I can flash us across the village,” Tobirama pointed out, and Hashirama made a soft sound; Tobirama couldn’t flash them to Madara’s home, no, as his brother knew, “and back after. Take no time at all, and we wouldn’t have to pass by anyone else. Wouldn’t you work better if your head were clearer?” he coaxed.

“I. . . Yes.” Madara nodded slowly, rubbing his face.

“You look like you’re feeling better, but a nap would probably clear out the rest of your headache, wouldn’t it?” Hashirama offered, smiling encouragingly. Madara sighed, then nodded again as he lowered his hand.

Tobirama smiled, stepping back just enough to round Madara’s chair and extend a hand to him. Madara moved to rise but didn’t take it, and Tobirama reached for his hand instead, slow enough for him to avoid easily if he wished. He didn’t try.

When Tobirama pulled him close - a little closer than necessary, perhaps - Madara all but sagged against him, brow perilously near resting on his shoulder. Tobirama glanced up to find Hashirama already rushing towards them, reaching out to slide a hand over Madara’s back. He trembled under the caress, leaning into them both.

He really oughtn’t to be left alone right now, Tobirama thought, looking at his face with a pang of concern. Whatever the reason, he . . . wasn’t looking quite himself. And he was yearning into the contact with both of them.

Tobirama curled an arm around Madara’s waist and smiled at his brother as Hashirama moved to touch them both, then reached for the hiraishin seal left in his brother’s house.

Madara felt heavy and warm, a little groggy. He was . . . so comfortable, though. He sighed sleepily, shifting and stretching lazily, muscles bunching and relaxing as he drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

He vaguely recognised the feeling leftover from a headache, but it was faint and he felt far better than he’d have expected. He remembered- The Senju brothers coming to work on redistricting new clan compound lines, Tobirama moving to him as though it was natural, offering Madara the same help - comfort, touch - he did for his brother. . .

Madara opened his eyes, shifting again as he remembered agreeing to take a rest in the middle of the afternoon, sleepy and lazy with the pleasant feelings left behind from having his headache rubbed and petted away and his hair brushed. He turned his head and froze as he saw Tobirama stretched at his side, face peaceful in sleep - he was curled on his right side, and his left hand was stretched towards Madara, fingertips just shy of his ribs.

As Madara watched, he mumbled in his sleep and his fingers twitched and curled, his arm flexing. Madara swallowed and reached out, nudging his hand a little further away.

Tobirama sighed and reached for him, going still again as his fingers brushed Madara’s side. A soft, warm laugh made Madara jump, and he turned his head to look the other way.

Hashirama was propped up on one arm, smiling at both of them with a warm look in his deep brown eyes. “Hi.” he said quietly, and reached out himself. Madara eyed his best friend. Hashirama’s hand settled on his chest, rubbing lightly. “Are you feeling better?”

Madara nodded, then cleared his throat. “I- Much. Thank you.” he said, voice a little throaty from the hard sleep. Hashirama squirmed closer, and Madara laughed at the silly movement.

Hashirama grinned, unperturbed at being a source of amusement, patting Madara’s chest low over his diaphragm and sliding his left arm down to lie at Madara’s side almost properly.

“Ah. . . Hashirama,” Madara began as Hashirama settled there, and Hashirama hummed, giving him another soft smile, “why . . . am I here? Where. . .” He glanced around.

“My bedroom.” Hashirama supplied, then yawned, flopping onto his back instead and stretching lazily, cosying up even closer to Madara’s side as he relaxed again. “You didn’t want to take a break even though you needed one,” he gave Madara a soft but disapproving look, and he cleared his throat, looking away, “or walk back home across the village and then have to come back, so Tobi offered to use his jutsu. He’ll take us back too, if you insist on it-”

“We have work to do!” Madara protested instantly, and was faced with a familiar pout. He huffed at his best friend.

Hashirama sighed. “He’ll take us all back once he wakes up.” he finished, meeting Madara’s eyes with a pitiful look. “If we have to. . .”

“We have to.” Madara said, rubbing his face, and wondering when ‘once he wakes up’ would be, since he evidently hadn’t woken to have Madara in- in his bed, or touching him, or. . . Madara shivered and put the thought aside. “Honestly, Hashirama. . .” he continued, frowning at Hashirama.

“I know.” Tobirama’s voice startled him a little, more so for being so slow and deep, a tone Madara had not heard from him before. “He’s dreadful, isn’t he?”

Hashirama whined pointedly as Madara looked at Tobirama, finding a lazy smile on his face and fond warmth in his eyes.

“Madara appreciates me! Don’t you, Madara?” Hashirama asked, wheedled, pressing his whole broad, solid body against Madara’s side, hand sliding almost completely across his belly and chest to curl around his other side. Madara tensed, but-

But he was so warm and solid, a gentle pressure against Madara’s side that made him want to melt into the contact.

“Don’t be like that.” Tobirama huffed and rolled gracefully closer. “I appreciate you. I’m the one who has to deal with your ridiculousness all the time, I’d damn well better.” He sighed sleepily and tucked his head down until it was all but resting against Madara’s on the pillow, his body lean and supple as he curled around Madara a little. “Do you feel better, Madara?” he asked, his voice soft and his breath tickling Madara’s ear.

“I. . . Yes.” Madara admitted, shifting slightly and then going still. Moving felt more awkward than remaining where he was, even if he . . . was nearly pinned - gently - with one broad-shouldered Senju cuddled up to his right side and the other snug against his shoulder and nearly blanketing his left side.

“Are you comfortable?” Tobirama asked, and Madara startled, meeting his eyes. There was something unreadable in them, but also concern and hope. Madara hesitated, but nodded slowly. He wasn’t . . . entirely sure how he felt about where he was, but he couldn’t deny he was comfortable . . . physically and not. He trusted them both - perhaps more than he had realised, to rest so well caught here between them - and they were close and steady. “Are you all right . . . here, with us?” Tobirama asked, long fingers splaying over Madara’s upper chest, almost his shoulder. “I - we - didn’t want to leave you alone, either. And,” he paused, lips quirking at one corner, “a rest sounded wise for all of us.”

“Ah. . . Yes. Yes I’m . . . fine.” Madara said, nodding. It was . . . practical. He supposed. Although- Didn’t want to leave him alone? He was fine alone. He was always fine.

Tobirama hummed. “Good.” he said, voice low and warm, his sharp mouth curving into a gentle smile. He sighed, closing his vivid eyes and shifting to rest his brow against Madara’s hair, which brought Madara’s arm to rest along his chest, shifting a little with every breath he took. Madara opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Tobirama looked . . . peaceful. Content. And Madara was . . . he’d been honest, he was comfortable here, strange as it was to be here, and he didn’t truly want to move, even if he had a nagging awareness he should - they all should - get back to work.

“He looks sweet like this, doesn’t he?” Hashirama observed, and Madara’s eyes widened as he darted a look back at his best friend. Hashirama grinned and clung to him, one leg hooking over Madara’s own, arm draped over his waist and brushing Tobirama’s stomach on his other side. “Tobi never rests enough, on his own. Sometimes I can get him to come and snuggle with me and he’ll fall asleep, though. Or at least let himself be quiet and rest for a while.”

“I can hear you.” Tobirama observed, and Madara could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. He suppressed a shiver.

“Good! Maybe you’ll listen and take better care of yourself!” Hashirama’s wail was rather restrained, for him, and he tightened his clingy grip on Madara. “Or let me take care of you. . . You’re always doing things for me. . .”

Tobirama opened his eyes and smiled slightly, leaning up to look at Hashirama across Madara. “You take care of me just fine, Anija.” he said soothingly, reaching out and squeezing Hashirama’s wrist, then allowing his brother to keep hold of his hand in a light clasp. They rested on Madara’s stomach, a small weight he was entirely too aware of . . . but wasn’t really uncomfortable under.

He had reached to push them away, but he wound up just letting his fingers rest against theirs, not quite holding on but not breaking contact. Hashirama made a soft purring sound and nuzzled Madara’s shoulder - though he had to crunch himself down to reach without pulling away, and Madara may not have smothered his laughter quite well enough. Hashirama only gave him a warm, happy look and settled into stillness at his side once more.

Madara pushed away the nagging voice in his head reminding him of the height of the ‘to be handled’ stacks in his office and . . . let himself just enjoy being warm and . . . held.

He stirred, eyes snapping open from the half-doze he had sunk into, when Tobirama trailed a light touch up his forearm and squeezed, calling his name.

“Mrm?” Madara said vaguely.

“We probably should actually go back to the office now.” Tobirama said with a sigh, thumb rubbing Madara’s forearm.

“Grm.” Madara huffed, nodding, clasping Tobirama’s hand absently by way of thanks. Tobirama smiled and kissed his cheek, then rolled away and slid out of bed. Hashirama, sighing, was already on his feet, stretching, back to the bed.

Madara rose and slid out of it himself, taking a moment to take in exactly how big Hashirama’s bed was . . . and wonder why. He eyed his friend, just as Hashirama turned and smiled at him again.

Madara shook his head, taking Hashirama’s hand and rising to his feet, jumping when Hashirama wrapped an arm around his shoulders before leading him out of the room on Tobirama’s heels. Tobirama’s fluffy white hair was even fluffier, Madara noticed, a little amused, after he had slept on it. He reached up, as though he’d heard Madara’s thoughts, and started trying to neaten it, but it didn’t have much of an effect.

Madara laughed quietly as he stepped away from Hashirama to reclaim his sandals, and Tobirama sent him a pouty look he wouldn’t have thought would fit on that face, but. . .

Madara looked down, putting his sandals on and only looking up when Tobirama wrapped a hand around his arm, offering a smile and then transporting them back to the Tower in a rush of chakra and pressure.

“Madara. . .” Hashirama almost sang, leaning in through Madara’s office doorway.

He looked up with a faint scowl.

“Do you have a few minutes?” Hashirama asked hopefully, undeterred.

Madara glanced at the table beside him, then sighed. “Not if you’re going to try and wheedle me away from work, no.” he said, mouth twisting.

Hashirama frowned a little - less because he had wanted to coax Madara away, although that would have been . . . lovely, and more because Madara looked very stressed and uncomfortable. He had looked so . . . beautiful, yesterday. Beautiful and relaxed and warm, and he’d been content. Both under Tobirama’s hands, which Hashirama knew were magic with headaches, and lying in Hashirama’s bed between himself and his brother.

If we want him, Anija, we have to want something serious, Tobirama had said softly over Madara sleeping between them, something to last. He, we, are all too important to do anything less. Not. . . Not like this.

Hashirama had nodded - he knew. And he’d . . . well, he’d known Madara was pretty, handsome, but he’d always kept Madara framed in his mind - in his heart - as his beloved best friend, never thought about building it into more. Seeing him looking so hurt and stubborn and stressed, and then just . . . softening under so little care. . .

Hashirama had never realised Madara was lacking, nor how lovely he could be when properly cared for; he never wanted Madara to be the former again.

We’ve never shared like this before, Tobirama had said, lips pursing, eyes careful.

Hashirama hadn’t considered that, but it was true. All the times before, though, it was . . . different. You. . . You want him, too, don’t you?

Tobirama had not bothered to answer that in words, and Hashirama grinned at the thought.

I. . . I think he needs us both, Anija.

Hashirama looked at Madara now, slipping into his office with a warm smile and presenting the tray he’d been hiding behind the doorframe as he approached. He thought Tobirama was right and Madara very well might - he’d looked so overwhelmed and so confused by something as simple as being cuddled, it made Hashirama sad and angry at once - and he was more than willing to share Madara with his brother, if it made them both happy.

“I noticed you always seem to like both sushi and sweets with flowers in them,” Hashirama said, putting the tray on a sort of free corner of one table, “and I saw this tea this morning and I know you love sencha, and I had to bring it for you!”

Madara blinked, then glanced at the tea, lifting his chin a little. Hashirama grinned at his curious expression and opened the jar, letting out a rich scent of fruit and flowers. Madara’s nose twitched and he took a deep breath.

“Will you have tea with me?” Hashirama wheedled. “We can work too!”

Madara smiled slightly, nodding, and Hashirama hummed happily, then lifted the little iron pot he had already filled with water. It was cold. “Would you. . ?” he asked sheepishly.

Madara laughed, and Hashirama grinned even before he beckoned for it to heat the water. Hashirama could have gone to find a brazier, if he’d wanted to make tea in here - it was possible he could even have managed the katon for it himself - but. . .

Hashirama watched Madara carefully control the little breath of flame, bathing the iron pot, and had to shake himself and get back to sorting out the teapot.

A tap on the open doorframe preceded his brother into the space. “Hello. . . What are you two doing?”

“Tea and work.” Madara said dryly, gesturing towards the tray and then startling as Hashirama passed him a cup. “Oh. Thank you. You’re familiar, aren’t you?” he directed the last at Tobirama.

Hashirama smothered a laugh and Tobirama actually smiled slightly at the teasing, eyes warming. Madara stilled for a moment, licking his lips. He’d noticed the difference, then. Hashirama’s smile widened. He opened his mouth, then stopped, glancing at Madara. It was his office.

Madara met his eyes, raising an eyebrow, then-

“Tobirama, would you like to join us?” Madara asked. He breathed in his tea, leaning over the steaming cup, and let out a soft sound of pleasure that had Hashirama wanting to go to him and press close.

“I. . .” Tobirama looked mildly distressed, distracting Hashirama. “I have a meeting with Inoya-san.”

“Aw- Wait, did you need me for that?” Hashirama realised abruptly, stiffening.

“No, Anija, you’re fine.” Tobirama soothed, with an amused lilt.

Madara moaned quietly, and Tobirama twitched, both of them looking at him. His attention was on his tea cup, his eyes closed, his thumb rubbing the rim of the porcelain.

Hashirama peered down into his own cup. Tobirama was fond of tea, and he knew Madara was - it was why the colourful, flowery tea had drawn his attention this morning - but Hashirama had never been that enthralled by it himself. It was good enough, that was all, it inspired no particular love in him. He could learn to appreciate it more if it came like this, he thought, eyeing Madara.

“Thank you, Hashirama.” Madara said softly, lips curved. He looked up, and his expression shifted.

“Tease.” Tobirama said lightly.

“You can come and have tea with me after your meeting.” Madara said just as lightly, smile growing, and Tobirama murmured appreciatively, giving an almost shy nod, before he strode away again.

Hashirama hummed and turned fully to Madara, holding up his cup. “You like it?” he asked, and Madara’s smile softened. He took another sip, making a low sound around his mouthful of tea, and nodded.

Hashirama grinned and sipped his own. It was nice tea, but it didn’t move him to the same degree - not that he had expected anything else. Still, it had made Madara happy, and that had been his sole hope when he bought it. Hashirama inched his chair closer to Madara and leaned against his desk, smiling and watching Madara savour his tea.

“It’s just so nice out today!” Hashirama said happily, drawing Madara further through his house and out onto the engawa that overlooked his . . . beautifully laid out garden. Madara wondered a little when he had time for maintaining this expanse, but it was certainly lovely. “If we have to work-”

“We have to work.” Tobirama’s voice came from behind them, dry and warm.

Madara turned to look at him with a smile, and he returned it before crossing the engawa and putting the tray he held down on a low table. He sat on the engawa itself beside the table, crossing his legs. Hashirama squeezed Madara’s arm and went to retrieve an annoyingly tall stack of scrolls while Tobirama poured tea, glancing at Madara in question.

Madara nodded, crossing to take a chair near the table, then reached out for the tray, hesitating. Tobirama smiled at him again, encouraging, and he selected one of the sweet-looking dumplings and found it to be full of cherries. He hummed happily.

Still chattering a bit, Hashirama chose a chair as well, nearby enough that while Madara couldn’t feel the warmth of him at his side, their arms brushed easily when Hashirama reached for something on the table. Tobirama remained on the floor, though he shifted and let one leg dangle off the edge of the engawa, the other crossed beneath him.

Madara passed him a writing kit and stack of blank paper, and he inclined his head in thanks.

It was more pleasant to work out here, with Hashirama’s lavish garden before them, and Madara found himself more relaxed even as they dug into the complicated language of the restrictions they needed to refine. The first of many - too many - things to tackle today. Laws for a village made up of many clans - and clanless - were . . . more complicated than those of a sole clan by perhaps a higher degree than Madara would have anticipated.

Madara wished, faintly, that he could work out here, like this, all the time. Or even merely spend days off like this. He sighed, thinking of his usual routine for days off without much enthusiasm.

But for now, they had work to do, he reminded himself. They worked easily together, as usual . . . perhaps more than had been usual until recently, but Madara was comfortable with it.

He had also spent more time with the Senju brothers recently, he thought. Not that he minded - it had been pleasant - but he wondered. . .

Some of it had been hardly worthy of note - time spent with all three of them piled into one of their offices was anything but new, even if it . . . felt slightly different, some of the time, now - but some had been strange. Tobirama’s invitation, which Madara had hesitated over until he realised how . . . hopeful Tobirama looked, to go swimming with them, their cousin, and her favourite sparring partner. Hashirama dragging him off to ‘survey’ the parks in Konoha, though they had laid them out carefully and overseen their development personally and they didn’t need checking.

Tobirama hadn’t protested, had even joined them a few times. Tobirama had also asked Madara to help him test a new suiton jutsu he was working on a few times, and been warmly grateful when Madara did. He had been bright and energetic as Madara had almost reluctantly offered a suggestion - a consideration - while helping, and immediately jumped on it to refine the jutsu further.

Hell, the time Tobirama had tended his headache, without being asked and far beyond what would have been reasonable to ask. And then. . . The brothers taking Madara to rest, which had been so warm and startlingly relaxing, lying between the pair of them.

Madara sighed, running his fingers through the longest part of his fringe and refocusing on the paperwork in his lap.

Tobirama had shifted after a little while, still at the edge of the engawa but not quite so close, settling to lean back against the front of Madara’s chair on one side. His shoulder brushed Madara’s leg from time to time, and he was warm and close. It was . . . oddly relaxing, and Madara smiled faintly down at Tobirama’s tousled head before turning to pass a draft to Hashirama.

Tobirama left to bring more tea, eventually, and Madara got up and stretched. After a brief mental debate, he moved through a short series of kata, loosening up his muscles and focusing his mind as he concentrated on breathing and the flow of his own chakra.

Both Senju brothers were watching him when he finished and opened his eyes again, and he cleared his throat, ducking his head. Tobirama was seated once more, but he had his legs spread wide and was bent down over one of them, arms folded beneath his cheek. He straightened, shifted how he sat, and bowed forwards once more, then straightened, and lay back against the boards of the engawa with a sigh.

Madara moved past Tobirama and retook his seat, pouring a cup of tea. After a moment he poured a second, passing it down to Tobirama when he sat up and retook his place by Madara’s chair. Tobirama smiled a little weakly, dipping his head, and sipped it carefully before taking up the scroll he had left on the floor.

Madara dug into plans for outposts and patrol rounds along the border, and possibly waystations scattered in the forests of Hi no Kuni, getting lost in the work that was far more familiar and comfortable than the laws he had been reading over earlier.

Hashirama brushed a hand over his arm and Madara looked up to find at some point he had gone and retrieved a platter of onigiri. The thought of food made Madara’s empty stomach complain, and he took one gratefully, finding it had mildly salted, flavourful chicken in the centre.

Madara polished it off quickly and reached for another, then paused. “Tobirama?” he asked, and Tobirama looked up, wincing and then shaking his head slightly. Madara frowned, but offered the snack anyway, and Tobirama sighed, letting his pen drop and leaning back as he reached up to accept it with a murmur.

Hashirama wheedled and pouted and distracted them while they ate, and . . . in truth Madara was hardly loathe to take a bit of a break. Tobirama smiled faintly and didn’t protest, though he was still oddly quiet as he had been most of the day. Madara cast a concerned look his way, but he looked much the same, though he now had his eyes closed and he was rubbing his brow.

Though he had dragged them off-topic, pushing aside work, when they finished their meal Hashirama was also the first to sigh and pick up his abandoned pen. Madara smiled at him and his pout smoothed away a little, eyes warm.

Tobirama rolled his shoulders, head bowed, and shifted how he sat, spreading his legs and laying out a scroll between them. Madara glanced over his shoulder at it, then got back to his own work.

When next he glanced up Tobirama was rubbing at his neck. He slid his hand down to the top of his shoulder and squeezed hard, letting out a barely audible sound before he shifted again, crossing his legs and leaning back. Madara frowned, watching him, and didn’t quite let all his focus return to his own work even as Tobirama chipped away at his.

Tobirama never stopped working, exactly, but he kept rubbing his neck and fidgeting, never quite settling again. It was very unlike him.

The quiet had been hard to pinpoint firmly as wrong, though his expressions had been off as well, but this. . .

Madara realised his hand was in the air, halfway to Tobirama, and paused. He swallowed, glancing reflexively at Hashirama to find that he was clearly focused on the paper he was reading, though he didn’t look very happy about it.

Madara closed his eyes and took a breath, reaching out and pressing his hand to the back of Tobirama’s neck, just under his hairline. Tobirama’s breath caught and Madara rubbed lightly, biting his lip. The muscle beneath his hand was tight and stiff, it felt like pressing on it would hurt. He let his hand shift, curling a little more around the back of Tobirama’s neck with slightly firmer pressure.

Tobirama made a soft sound, head bowing forwards and shoulders dropping.

“. . .is this all right?” Madara asked tentatively, fingers splayed on one side of Tobirama’s neck, thumb pressing against one of his vulnerable vertebrae.

Tobirama made a weak moaning sound and nodded shallowly. “Please?” he said, soft and almost plaintive.

Madara moved the scroll across his thighs and slid to his knees on the engawa, reaching up with his free hand as well. He rubbed Tobirama’s neck gently and felt the twitch of too-tight tendons beneath the pressure of his hands, but Tobirama was sagging under the gentle touch.

Madara rubbed soothingly, squeezing his shoulders and working back up to his neck, and he made a few little muffled sounds of pained relief. He didn’t so much as tense with Madara at his back, hands on his neck, his head. Madara swallowed.

He had known - had seen - that Tobirama trusted him, but not quite . . . like this, perhaps.

Madara kneaded gently at his shoulders and rubbed up the nape of his neck to the base of his skull, ruffling his hair. He gave a thrumming little purr of a sound that made Madara shiver, pushing into his hands. Madara tentatively slid his hands higher, fingers raking through Tobirama’s wild hair, finding it thicker and fluffier than he’d expected.

Tobirama made the sound again, leaning heavily into Madara’s touch, far enough back this time that Madara could see his eyes were heavy-lidded and hazy.

“Feel- Feel better?” Madara asked, splaying his palm over the nape of Tobirama’s neck and concentrating his chakra to warm his hands.

Tobirama opened his mouth, then let out a breathy moan as Madara’s hands splayed wider and sank down until he was almost lying against Madara’s chest. Madara made a startled sound of his own, supporting Tobirama’s shoulders and- and slowly letting him rest closer.

He looked up and found Hashirama watching them, and pinked, opening his mouth-

“You’re good at that.” Hashirama said softly, his eyes warm and his mouth curved in a fond smile. “I hardly ever see him relax so quickly.”

“I was- Erm.” Madara said weakly, and squeezed Tobirama shoulders, shifting his grip to support Tobirama at the ribs instead. “I was trying to help?”

“You clearly have!” Hashirama said, as Tobirama made an appreciative noise and moved against him.

“Of course I hardly ever see you relax at all, it seems sometimes, otouto. . .” Hashirama said with a sigh, and Tobirama snorted and flapped a hand at him lazily. “You need looking after and you’ll hardly let me help you!”

“You should.” Madara said softly, rubbing Tobirama’s side and then realising they were still pressed together, that his arm was nearly sliding around Tobirama. He tensed and swallowed, but didn’t move. “You- Ah. You take care of your brother,” he said, thinking of elegant hands moving through Hashirama’s hair, “you should let him do the same.”

“You should let yourself be cared for, too.” Tobirama replied in a low voice, sitting up properly and turning towards Madara, bringing them into contact again as Tobirama’s thigh settled up against Madara’s. He looked at Tobirama, confused, then at Hashirama.

“You should.” Hashirama agreed quietly. “You’re important, too, you know.”

“I. . .” Madara took a breath. “I don’t . . . need it.” he said, spiky and painful in his throat.

“Everyone does.” Hashirama said, his face sad, nudging the table aside and sliding out of his chair. “And you deserve so much more, Madara.”

“I don’t know what. . .” Madara shook his head.

“We care for you.” Hashirama said earnestly, warm eyes almost pleading.

“We care for you, and we want you.” Tobirama said simply. Madara’s eyes widened as they darted to his face. Tobirama reached out and Madara allowed Tobirama to take his hand without really thinking. “We want to be allowed to take care of you . . . to be with you, as we have been, but. . .”

“More.” Hashirama said, moving closer. He brushed a hand over Madara’s cheek. “If- If you would allow it. If you would want it. Us.”

“You-” Madara glanced between them, fingers tightening thoughtlessly around Tobirama’s hand. His thumb swept back and forth over Madara’s hand in a soothing caress. “Both- Both of you? You . . . want . . . me.”

“Yes.” Hashirama said simply.

“. . .want me?” Madara repeated uncertainly. “I. . .”

Tobirama’s jaw tightened, and Madara tensed. “You’re . . . a very desirable man, Madara.” he said quietly, and lifted Madara’s hand to his face. He didn’t kiss it, as Madara wondered briefly, wide-eyed, if he would . . . but closed his eyes and nestled his cheek against the back.

Madara’s breath caught, and Hashirama gently brushed his long fringe aside, fingers brushing his cheek. Hashirama lowered his hand again, smiling a little sadly at Madara.

“You care, so much, Madara.” Hashirama said softly. “You care and you fight for what you care for, what you believe, no matter what. . .”

“Even when it scares you, or those you care for try to stop you.” Tobirama broke in, eyes opening again, sharp and focused, and Madara’s throat tightened. “You’re strong, inside and out.”

“. . .and you’re so lovely.” Hashirama said, and Madara suddenly remembered those same words from his friend when he had been . . . out of it, distracted and worn, relaxing under Tobirama’s hands in his office. And Tobirama’s response . . . and-

“You want me?” Madara repeated, and this time Tobirama did kiss his hand, a feathery caress to his knuckles.

“We do,” Hashirama said earnestly, “even if you can’t see it, even if-”

“Idiots.” Tobirama muttered.

“-you aren’t appreciated properly, you deserve to be! And cared for and- and we want to do that for you, Madara, if you would . . . well.” Hashirama looked a little sheepish, not quite shy, as he tilted his head down, long hair falling around his face as he smiled and looked up at Madara again.

Madara’s heart fluttered. He hadn’t intended that question, but that was- His cheeks warmed a little further and his fingers tightened around Tobirama’s. He stroked them lightly, smiling reassuringly.

Madara nodded and took a breath. “I mean. . .” He paused, lips pursed, looking first at Tobirama and then at Hashirama. Both watched him, waiting patiently. Both were touching him, gentle, easy to slip if he wanted them away - Tobirama’s thigh against his, hand cradling his own; Hashirama’s hand resting near his knee.

But he didn’t want away from them. Their touches were warm and . . . affectionate? They felt. . . They felt good, and Madara didn’t want them to stop, any more than he had wanted the Senju brothers to stop seeking him out and drawing him out with them over the past few weeks when it had seemed to be happening so much more.

“You . . . both of you . . . want me. You both . . . together?” Madara asked uncertainly, suppressing the urge to fidget, searching their faces as they looked at each other briefly, then back to him. “Or you’re asking me. . .” If they were proposing this and wanted . . . expected him to- to what? Choose between. . .

Madara shook his head slightly. “If you’re offering me, to choose. . .”

Hashirama made a soft strangled sound, then bit his lip, whining, eyes gone dark.

“That is not what we were hoping for.” Tobirama said evenly. “We both want you, together, yes. If you would have us both.” he said carefully, a tiny waver in his tone. “I would hope that you. . .” he began in a quieter voice, then trailed off, pressing his lips together.

“You would want me to take you both?” Madara asked, glancing between them. “Without,” he paused, “jealousy or,” he swallowed, “or competition, or-” He broke off, thinking of all the ways he had seen two courting one go very poorly amongst his people, whether intended to be a fierce contest for the one’s heart or not. “Take you both together?” He tensed a little as the thought occurred to him. “Are you-”

“We don’t intend to compete or ask you to choose.” Hashirama said, interrupting him, gently squeezing his forearm. “We,” he glanced at his brother, who wrinkled his nose, then smiled slightly, “do not want each other, no, but you. . .”

“If you would have us.” Tobirama said softly.

“We would share.” Hashirama said with a faintly hopeful, faintly nervous smile. “I do not believe we would grow jealous of one another.”

“We have never shared another like this, however,” Tobirama said, frowning slightly, “I do not believe it either . . . but I suppose we cannot promise.”

Scrupulously honest, Madara thought, smiling slightly, reassured almost more by the warning than the coaxing, which was . . . still leaving him reeling slightly. The pair of them were . . . very close, Madara knew, had seen. Perhaps. . . Perhaps they could. Share.

Share, Madara thought dizzily.

“How- How would you have me take you, if I were-” Madara faltered, pinking again. “If I- The two of you but apart? Or- Or only when you were both with me?” he asked, curious and not entirely certain his question made sense.

Thinking that his question probably revealed what he wished to say, in answer to their coaxing and touches and-

And how could he not? Madara had never been looked at, touched, spoken to the way that the Senju brothers had. He had loved Hashirama, in one way or another - though it had never occurred to him it could be in this way - since he was a child, and had been unexpectedly caught, intrigued by Tobirama in the past year and more working towards peace and building their village. Madara had taken lovers, certainly, but none of them had ever. . .

“Either. Both. Only. . .” Hashirama said earnestly, leaning towards him, fingers sliding over his forearm.

“We would rather you take us together,” Tobirama said, more thoughtfully, “but we would not have to both be with you at every moment.” He smiled slightly, arching a brow. “We aren’t jealous children or squabbling dogs.”

“To keep apart entirely, though. . .” Hashirama frowned as he looked at his brother, then back to Madara.

Madara wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that . . . although the remembered feeling of being snugly between them was a warm wonder he had longed for in the dark, empty space of his own bed, even if he had not wished to think about it outside those longing moments. “You said you haven’t shared another like this.” Madara said, biting the inside of his lip. “How- How have you . . . shared.”

“Nothing serious.” Hashirama said with a tilt of his head, looking thoughtful. “Nothing like you!” he assured quickly.

“Nothing with . . . emotional depth.” Tobirama said softly, stroking Madara’s hand. “Nothing lasting. We have only shared anyone between us with whom we were sharing physical pleasure alone, and only in brief.”

“So you’ve really never. . .” Madara gestured faintly without thinking and Tobirama released his hand. Madara’s fingers twitched, feeling almost cold without the touch. He paused, then reached out and reclaimed Tobirama’s hand himself, drawing it back into his lap.

Tobirama smiled, eyes warm and soft, and twined their fingers affectionately.

“But that’s what you want, with me?” Madara asked, feeling a little plaintive.

“Something fleeting would never do, with you, Madara.” Hashirama said quietly. “I do not believe we- Well.” He ducked his head.

Madara looked at him, confused and perhaps a touch concerned. “Ah . . . Hashirama?”

“I do not believe, if we had you,” Tobirama answered instead, and his lips tilted, brows raising pointedly, “in any way, that we would ever wish to let you go again.”

Madara squirmed, his face warming and his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Already it-” Tobirama cleared his throat awkwardly. “We will, if you ask- If you do not want,” he paused, swallowing with a faint click, “what we want. But we have yet to have anything but your friendship and some of your indulgence,” he brushed Madara’s cheek with the fingertips of his free hand, “and already I very much do not wish to see you go.”

“Oh.” Madara said softly, blinking rapidly as he looked Tobirama in the eye.

“If you need time,” Tobirama said softly, “we’ll give it to you. We can stop and-”

“Tobi!” Hashirama looked stricken. “Madara, you wouldn’t want us to-”

“And stay away until you decide, if you need time.” Tobirama said pointedly, sending a sharp look at his brother. Hashirama protested wordlessly, then sank down in a mournful slouch, making a reluctantly agreeable sound.

Madara couldn’t quite fully stifle a laugh, and Tobirama caught his eye, then smiled slightly, with a soft huff that was probably a laugh of his own.

Madara. . . Madara didn’t-

“I don’t need time.” Madara said quietly, though perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps he should take the time, should ask them to stay away and not . . . muddle his head or sway him with their affection and care and easily solicitous actions and-

Madara’s throat tightened. He didn’t want it to stop.

Madara hadn’t realised what they were doing, that they were doing anything other than being themselves, his- his friends, for all he hadn’t quite ever admitted it with Tobirama before. Hadn’t realised it was- was courting, flirting, was trying to get close to him . . . and care for him.

It- Madara had been courted like that so rarely, that even if it had not been confused by the both of them working together to do so, by their existing friendship, he might not have realised.

Madara had been courted at all so rarely.

“I don’t need time . . . and I don’t want you to stop. Or pull away.” Madara said softly, squeezing Tobirama’s hand and glancing from him to Hashirama and back. “I want- I-” he faltered. “I need you. Please.” he said quietly, then-

Tobirama’s breath caught as Madara shifted on his knees to lean up, moving into Tobirama, bringing their lips together as he squeezed their twined fingers.

Tobirama’s lashes fluttered as he closed his eyes and he returned the kiss sweetly, his free hand sliding up Madara’s side to rest at the side of his neck. Their lips brushed, gentle and warm, then lingered, noses nudging together comfortably before Tobirama tilted his head a little more and opened his mouth to suck lightly on Madara’s lower lip.

Madara wrapped his free arm around Tobirama’s shoulders, settling close, one knee at Tobirama’s side and the other sliding between his thighs and resting nearly on his calf.

Tobirama shivered and his fingers curled, then slid up, cupping Madara’s jaw. His teeth caught at Madara’s lip and tugged gently, tongue warm against the trapped flesh before he released it again. Madara mewed softly before he could catch the sound back, and Tobirama’s lips curved against his, then slid gently as he almost nuzzled into the kiss.

A heavy warmth coming up against his back made Madara want to purr, relaxing even further. Hashirama hummed in response, a warm, pleasant sound, as he nuzzled Madara’s shoulder and hugged close against him.

Tobirama’s tongue swept gently over his lip again and Madara made another little mewling sound, letting him in. Tobirama deepened the kiss gentle and slow, thumb stroking Madara’s cheek as his tongue explored and almost teased, coaxing Madara until he returned the kiss with equal confidence and purring with pleasure when he did.

Madara clung to Tobirama a little more tightly even as their lips parted, and Tobirama’s fingers swept over his face. He hummed soothingly, nuzzling Madara’s cheek, then kissing his jaw. Tobirama’s eyes were bright with happiness, and Madara shivered, soft warmth curling in his stomach at the sight.

“Your answer, then?” Tobirama asked, smiling widely and not quite seeming able to pull away from Madara.

Madara laughed, startled, and Hashirama hugged him tighter. Madara slid back from Tobirama a little and found Hashirama’s arms curling around his waist, blinking when he was settled into- into Hashirama’s lap. Madara made a little choked sound, cheeks heating, and Tobirama smiled at him, stroking his face before dropping a hand to rest on his thigh.

Hashirama crooned and hugged him tighter, bowed around Madara, face tucked down and all but nestling into his shoulder. Madara fidgeted, then-

He relaxed and let himself be held, leaning backwards into Hashirama’s broad chest. Hashirama shivered, making another soft sound of happiness and lifting his head to nuzzle Madara’s ear. His eyes were soft and a smile different than any Madara was used to seeing him wear was stretching his lips.

Madara twisted a little - Hashirama’s arms tightened as he gave an almost-whine, then eased again - and leaned back and sideways along Hashirama’s chest, tilting his head up to kiss that smile. Hashirama startled, then pressed into it eagerly, despite the less than ideal angle, his lips warm and consuming as he held Madara tight against himself.

A little dizzy, Madara gave himself up to it without moving. He could feel Hashirama’s heart beating against his back.

“Love you.” Hashirama said as their lips parted, and Madara gasped, eyes widening suddenly.

“We do.” Tobirama said, and Madara looked at him, curling up a little and tucking himself incidentally further into Hashirama’s hold, his lap. “We’ve had a little time to think on it . . . to realise.” Tobirama said gently, bringing Madara’s hand up and kissing it softly, lips trailing over each of his knuckles.

“You don’t have to offer anything more than what you have,” Hashirama murmured in his ear, “just . . . let us care for you, Madara.”

“And love you.” Tobirama kissed Madara’s palm. “You deserve to be doted on, indulged . . . spoiled a little.”

Madara fidgeted, twisting to press his cheek against Hashirama’s shoulder, not quite able to hide against his neck from this angle. “That’s all we want from you now.” Hashirama said softly, as Tobirama swept a caress up Madara’s side, over Hashirama’s arms, and closed in around him, kissing his jaw and cuddling warm against his side. Hashirama shifted to allow him to take up more space, and they all but cradled Madara between them, both warm and close, nuzzlingly affectionate.

Madara raised his head and reached out, tugging Tobirama in towards him. He bent easily, purring with pleasure as Madara kissed him again, leaning in closer until Madara realised as their lips parted once more that he was sandwiched between the two Senju.

He also. . .

He was comfortable there. Both of them were big, and broad, and with or without that they were powerful figures, but Madara . . . trusted them completely, knew he was safe with them. His breath caught shakily. It was a startling revelation, for a shinobi.

“Are you all right, Madara?” Tobirama asked, a little husky.

. . .and yet, at the same time, it truly wasn’t. Not with them. Somehow.

Madara shivered, shifting a little and nodding. He stilled again as he felt- Hashirama was hard against him, erection pressing into the top of his thigh, almost against his ass. Madara looked at him, and he grinned, perhaps a little sheepishly, and kissed Madara’s cheek, sloppy and sweet and silly, not sexy.

Madara laughed, curling his fingers into Hashirama’s hair. He tilted his head and tugged, nudging Hashirama’s jaw, and kissed him again. Hashirama’s smile softened, one big hand splaying as he slid it over Madara’s back, his mouth warm and wet as he kissed Madara in a slow, deepening slide.

Madara moaned softly, rubbing his thumb over the lock of Hashirama’s hair wrapped around his fingers. He shivered as long fingers pushed through his own hair, almost tickling at his neck and shoulders, and then a soft kiss at the base of his neck made him sigh.

Hashirama hummed happily, nibbling gently at Madara’s lip before pulling away, leaving him breathless. Madara tipped his head to rest on Hashirama’s shoulder, arching as Tobirama stroked his back, nudging into the touch.

Madara was snugly wound between two pairs of stroking hands, Hashirama’s chest solid against him as he leaned into the warmth and support, and Tobirama moved close enough to feel without quite making contact. He thoughtlessly trailed one hand up and down Hashirama’s arm, his mind drifting a little as he settled into the cosy space the pair of Senju had made around him.

Tobirama sighed quietly, his breath tickling over Madara’s neck and making him shiver, barely holding back a soft moan. “We. . . We didn’t finish our work. . .” Tobirama said, voice low. It wasn’t scolding, more . . . regretful.

Hashirama sighed, not voicing a protest even as he cuddled Madara more snugly against himself. Madara elbowed him . . . but not hard enough to try and get free of either his embrace or his lap.

“We did a lot, though. . . And you had a nasty headache, otouto.” Hashirama said softly, his jaw nudging against Madara’s temple. “Don’t you think we can take a little bit of a rest? Finish later?” he wheedled gently.

Madara startled when Hashirama squeezed him around the waist, catching his gaze with pleading eyes. He glanced around at the paperwork spread out over the engawa and the tables, quickly sliding back to mentally review the morning, and-

“We did get a lot done already today,” Madara pointed out, shifting himself away from Hashirama just enough to look around at Tobirama properly, “and even if your headache is gone,” he reached out, brushing his fingers along Tobirama’s brow; his lashes fluttered as he closed his eyes, already leaning towards Madara’s touch, “you don’t want to push it. Given there’s nothing too pressing, we should break for the day.”

“I. . .” Tobirama was clearly wavering.

Madara slid out of Hashirama’s lap towards him. “In fact,” Madara kissed his cheek, then lingered there, lips almost against his cheek, “I bet a nap would help you recover, don’t you think?” he prompted with a smile as he drew back, fingertips drifting down under Tobirama’s jaw. “Wouldn’t want the tension to come right back.” Though he had no doubt, thinking on how Tobirama carried himself as well as the feel of his muscles under Madara’s hands, that it would come back, probably did, often. Madara didn’t quite frown at the thought.

Tobirama gave way, leaning into Madara and resting their brows together. “I suppose we have done much of the work already.” he admitted, and Hashirama rested a hand on Madara’s back, stroking. “As long as we pick it up again tomorrow, and don’t leave it until we go back to the office.”

“We will.” Hashirama promised immediately, reaching around Madara to rest a hand on his little brother’s thigh. “You’ll come rest, though?”

“Mm. . . Perhaps we should.” Tobirama allowed, and Madara’s brows rose as he felt Hashirama all but shudder against him. He glanced over his shoulder at Hashirama. “I-”

“Will you take the dishes back through into the kitchen?” Hashirama interrupted. “I, we, will get the work back together to wait for tomorrow, and then we can all go lie down.”

Tobirama hesitated, but nodded, then uncurled his long legs. Madara caught him by the forearm before he could rise, and he looked back, brows rising. Madara smiled slightly and tugged, and Tobirama’s lips curled as he settled on the floor and leaned closer, taking another kiss from Madara with a soft prr of pleasure.

Madara stroked his jaw as he leaned back, and Tobirama sighed, rising with a languid stretch that drew his muscles appreciably taut and his short yukata up against the sash tied about his waist. Watching Tobirama fall out of his stretch again and move to collect the tea tray and the dishes from their light meal, Madara twitched when Hashirama’s hand slid over his back, startled out of his distracted focus. He pinked as he turned to face Hashirama.

He grinned, and Madara’s cheeks warmed a little more. “My otouto is a very pretty man, isn’t he?” he asked, and Madara stared. Hashirama laughed, hand sliding up - ruffling Madara’s hair; it was going to snarl - to tease over his neck and cup his jaw. Hashirama leaned in and kissed him softly. “Very worth appreciating. He may not notice when you do, though. You should tell him sometime.”

Madara tugged Hashirama back in by a lock of hair and kissed him again. He was warm and sweet and- and he wasn’t talking when he was kissing Madara.

He pulled away after a moment, though. They needed to clear up their work and bring it safely inside to wait for their attention tomorrow. Hashirama kept hold of him, resting their brows together. “Thank you, Madara. Truly. I. . .” Hashirama met his eyes with a slightly damp gaze. “I’m so happy you are willing to have us.” He kissed Madara softly, then pulled away and rose as Madara was reeling from the depth of feeling in Hashirama’s eyes and low voice.

He was used to the way Hashirama put more of his emotions - and they were always so strong - into things and more easily than anyone else, but it could still be. . .

Overwhelming.

Madara rose to help Hashirama collect their scattered papers and writing implements, shaking his head a little. He wondered, just a little, what he had let himself in for, accepting a relationship with Hashirama - with both Senju. A shiver ran down his spine as he considered it . . . and remembered again their behaviour towards him over the past few weeks.

Madara had yet done nothing, and they had. . . They had both, separately and together, gone out of their way to spend time with him, to touch him, to do things for him just to please him. Things he hadn’t asked for and likely never would have, even if he’d realised. Madara settled his stack of papers on the table and slanted a look at Hashirama from behind his fringe.

Madara soon found himself being ushered through the house with Hashirama at his back and Tobirama a step ahead, leading the way into Hashirama’s bedroom.

“I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” Tobirama stretched again, one hand ruffling his own hair at the back of his head. He glanced at them with a lazy-eyed expression. “Especially if we’re done working for the day. . .”

Madara watched as he slipped into a side room, soft sounds of wood on wood and fabric rustling coming from it a moment later.

“Madara. . .” Hashirama kissed him hard, arms closing tight enough around him to nearly take him off his feet, and Madara made a breathless sound of surprise as their lips parted. “You’re a wonder. Thank you.”

“. . .for?” Madara asked uncertainly as Hashirama’s embrace loosened. He licked his lips, which were a bit tingly from all the use they’d seen today, which he’d grown somewhat out of practise for.

“You got Tobi to listen.” Hashirama said with a fond smile. “To take a rest. Into tomorrow, even. Otouto really does need looking after, he just refuses-” he broke off quickly and Madara glanced over to see Tobirama stepping back into the room, wearing a slightly-too-big green yukata-style shirt and loose pants. “Are your clothes not in there?”

Tobirama tugged at the yukata. “I just wanted to wear yours.” he said, and Hashirama darted to him and hugged him tight, making Madara laugh. “Anija!”

“Aww, otouto!” Hashirama kissed his brother’s cheek, cuddling against him and brushing a hand through his hair. “Such a sweet brother. . .”

“Get off.” Tobirama said sulkily, but he leaned into Hashirama’s embrace a little even as he said it, one hand coming up to slide over Hashirama’s arm.

“No.” Hashirama said cheerfully, and Tobirama sighed, closing his eyes. “Madara, if you need something more comfortable you’re welcome to see if anything of mine or Tobi’s will suit you.” he offered.

Madara looked down at his clothes, then at the brothers again. Tobirama gestured encouragingly, and Madara slipped into the closet to rummage. Most of their clothes were . . . probably too big - Madara squirmed; he didn’t exactly mind the way they loomed over him but part of him felt, faintly, like he ought to - but Madara wound up in a cloud-soft blue yukata that was short enough it stopped just higher than his ankles.

When he stepped out of the closet Tobirama was batting Hashirama’s hands away from his own hair, pushing at his shoulders to keep him sitting on the bed. “Honestly, I’m not that worn and my headache is gone.” Tobirama scolded, beginning to twine Hashirama’s hair into a thick, smooth braid as he stopped wriggling.

Madara laughed a little as Hashirama hummed and gave one more little wriggle. He . . . made Madara think of a very overgrown puppy.

Tobirama tilted his head towards Madara, already smiling. Tobirama’s brows rose slightly as he looked at Madara, and his smile softened. “Comfortable?” he asked, and Madara tugged at one sleeve.

“. . .yes. Yours?” he asked, and Tobirama nodded. “You don’t, ah. . .”

“I don’t.” Tobirama assured him, looking back down and straightening out a loop of Hashirama’s hair that had gone astray while he wasn’t looking. Madara snorted silently. Try and do anything with his hair without looking and. . . Well, it wouldn’t be so easily neatened, that was for sure. “Help yourself, and I’m happy for it.”

Madara smiled a little, moving towards the bed. Tobirama tied off Hashirama’s hair and lightly swatted his shoulder. “There, now you’re sorted.”

“Thank you, otouto!” Hashirama said cheerfully, twisting and slinging an arm around Tobirama’s waist, leaning against his chest in a light hug for a moment before sitting back. “Aw, Madara, you look so cute!”

Madara stiffened, and Tobirama swatted Hashirama again. He pouted up at his brother, then opened his arms to Madara. “Sorry? Please?”

Madara sighed, rolling his eyes, and went to Hashirama, brushing past Tobirama as he reached the bed. Hashirama almost pulled him down into the bed, and Madara laughed, bracing himself against the tug easily and caressing Hashirama’s jaw when he pouted.

A gentle touch slid over his hair, brushing his back, and Madara shivered.

“Would you like me to braid, or just brush, your hair, Madara?” Tobirama asked, fingertips brushing along his neck and making him shiver again, a soft sound catching in his throat.

Then he registered the question. “Oh. I. . . That is, I wouldn’t be so easy.” he said with a half-smile, tilting his head to look over his shoulder.

Tobirama watched him, silent, arching his brows. Madara felt slightly awkward.

“That’s not an answer.” Hashirama said helpfully, rubbing just over Madara’s hip. “He wants an answer. Would you like it? Either because it would be easier, or because,” he reached further and ran his fingers through the very ends of Madara’s hair, “you just enjoy the feeling? Do you want it?”

Madara cleared his throat, shifting his weight. He was about to say no, but- “I do.” he said quietly. “If you’re volunteering. I,” he paused, cheeks warm, “really enjoyed it when you brushed my hair before.”

“Then I am very happy to do it again.” Tobirama said, kissing his temple. “I very much liked doing it, Madara.”

Madara’s eyes widened and he turned to look up Tobirama, speechless. Tobirama smiled slightly and kissed him, soft and sweet. “Sit down.” he urged as he pulled away. “Anija, could you make another brush like the one I used last time?” he asked.

Hashirama needed to be reminded what he’d done before, but a few moments later Madara was sitting cross-legged on the bed with Tobirama at his back, deftly straightening his hair out with light, confident touches. Hashirama changed into a pale green yukata himself and returned to the bed, stretching out in front of Madara and rolling over on his side.

He looked somehow even bigger and broader in the light yukata. Madara’s toes curled as the thought flitted through his mind, eyes sweeping down the length of Hashirama’s body as he propped his head up on one hand, and Madara tucked his feet more neatly under his thighs. Tobirama’s fingers scritched gently up the nape of his neck and he moaned, shivering and arching his back.

Hashirama shifted a little closer, the yukata pulling tight over his chest and belly as it tugged against the bed. Madara eyed him, and barely an instant later had Hashirama’s head nudging into his lap, one arm winding around his waist. Hashirama made a little contented sound and closed his eyes, lips curled and head pillowed on Madara’s thigh.

Madara eyed him, then tentatively brushed a hand over his hair - pulled smooth and taut down into the braid that fell onto the bed behind him in a loose curl - and down along his neck and shoulder. Hashirama made an approving sound and his arm tightened around Madara’s waist.

Madara absently caressed Hashirama’s face with his fingertips, tracing his cheekbone, the curve from his temple down to his mouth, the slanted line of his jaw. Hashirama almost mewed, tilting his head up under Madara’s stroking hand, and he smiled, ducking his head.

Tobirama hummed behind him and he froze again, but it hadn’t been a scolding sound. Tobirama’s gentle strokes with the brush continued, and he picked out the snarls with patient confidence, sending warmth and contentment through Madara. Hashirama lay heavy against his legs, rubbing his cheek against Madara’s thigh from time to time.

A soft kiss to his ear brought Madara out of a pleasant daze. “Braided or loose?” Tobirama asked, voice low.

“Ah. . .” Madara blinked sleepily. “If you can. . ?” He was a little surprised at the throaty sound of his own voice.

“As you like.” Tobirama replied, kissing Madara’s ear again before straightening, hands still buried in his hair. Tobirama hummed to himself as he ran the brush through Madara’s hair, which fell heavy against his back.

Then he began parting it, still humming the same relaxed, easy notes, and tugging gently to get it woven around itself. Madara marvelled a little at his patience . . . and his surprising skill. And basked in it, shivery and delighted.

“You’re all done.” Tobirama said, tugging gently at the end of the thick braid that dropped to rest down Madara’s spine. It felt . . . strange. Madara leaned back against Tobirama’s chest before he could move away, and he came closer instead, sliding one hand over Madara’s shoulder to rest on his chest.

“Thank you.” Madara said, tilting his head back, pushing against Tobirama’s chest, to look up at him.

He looked down, smiling, eyes warm. “You’re very welcome, Madara. Always.” he said, like a promise, and bent to kiss Madara’s brow. “I really do enjoy it.” he added quietly, and rubbed Madara’s shoulders. “It’s . . . relaxing.”

“For you?” Madara said on a laugh, surprised and a little doubtful.

“Mm.” Tobirama hummed affirmatively, then nudged Madara’s shoulders away from himself with a sigh. “Your hair’s so thick, too. It’s nice.” He ran a hand over the heavy braid, lifting it away from Madara’s back briefly before it fell back. “Anija, are you asleep already?” he asked, and Madara nudged Hashirama gently.

“No. . .” Hashirama said, but he didn’t open his eyes or move.

“Budge up, let Madara get in bed properly.” Tobirama said, snorting. Madara laughed, nudging Hashirama again. He whined, but released his hold on Madara’s waist and rolled away lazily. Madara folded forwards and moved after Hashirama carefully on his knees, and Tobirama slid a hand over his back, nudging him into the centre of the bed before climbing in as well.

Madara eyed the thick braid - thicker than his wrist - that fell over his shoulder. It was almost smooth, despite the spikily wild locks his hair tended to throw out in all directions. He ran his fingers over it as he settled back, then glanced at Tobirama.

He leaned over just as Tobirama was settling down and kissed him impulsively. He made a soft sound of startled pleasure, softening under Madara’s kiss and then sinking backwards, tugging Madara along with him as he lay back.

Madara wound up leaning over his chest, kissing him shallow and sweet. Tobirama’s hand slid up his side to rest at his waist, and when he pulled away Tobirama stroked him there.

Tobirama touched Madara’s face, then brushed his loose fringe out of his eyes. Tobirama didn’t speak, though for a moment Madara had expected him to, only offered a sweet, soft smile. Madara shivered and settled back, lying down beside him.

Tobirama sighed and turned onto his side facing Madara, sliding a hand over his arm.

Madara tilted his head down, feeling a little shy as Hashirama plastered himself against Madara’s back, warm and solid, but tugged Tobirama closer, snuggling into him.

Tobirama purred, winding an arm around Madara’s waist and bowing his head until his nose was almost buried in Madara’s hair. He laughed quietly and squirmed, getting more comfortable. Hashirama kissed the nape of his neck, then sighed, hand rubbing over Madara’s chest.

It was the cosiest place Madara had found himself trying to fall asleep in years, he thought, even with his mind whirling. He bent one knee, tucking his foot back against Hashirama’s legs, and thought about the unexpected - and effusive - affection from both of the men cuddled close around him.

Madara had barely gotten past the surprise of their desire for him, at being here, when the busy day and the snug, comfortable place got to him and he drifted to sleep trapped between his Senju.