Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun burned into his eyes so intensely, it was impossible not to frown. Madara still kept his eyelids shut, grounding himself against the blinding light. The kiss of Amaterasu usually felt warm against his skin—but today, for some reason, it was too heavy. He raised a hand to shade his eyes, only then cracking them open to focus.

Leaves shimmered before him, dancing on the branches of tall trees. A single golden beam—Amaterasu’s smile—cut across the sky. A gentle breeze touched his bare arm, awakening long-forgotten sensations.

How long had it been since he’d felt anything like this? So much time had passed since he’d truly experienced life. Madara couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken in a full breath of fresh air. How long… had he not really been alive?

How good this feels.

He inhaled slowly, savoring the sensation he had long been without, then pushed himself upright. His body felt heavy, but the chakra flow remained intact. He took another breath—then jerked in place as realization struck. Something was off with his body.

What the...?

He frowned, forcing his mind to grasp what his instincts had already sensed. Madara reached for his chest—bareer than it should’ve been—and lowered his gaze to confirm.

Gone…

His face darkened as his eyes fell on smooth, unmarked skin. His palm brushed against his chest, gliding over what should have been altered flesh.

They were gone. Hashirama’s cells were gone.

He remembered perfectly how he’d transplanted them. The integration process had been far too painful to forget. Years of work—erased without a trace.

Madara exhaled hard, redirecting his focus inward. He scanned himself carefully. His eyes pulsed with steady, powerful chakra. Sharingan intact. Everything was as it should be—except for the missing cells he had once implanted.

From the sensations running through his body, he could say with certainty: He was alive. Not a soul summoned by Edo Tensei. No, he was truly, physically alive. His heartbeat nudged gently from within his chest. The wind teased his skin. The scent of the forest after rainfall calmed his nerves. There was no external control, no technique restraining him.

Undoubtedly—he was more alive than the living.

Madara slowly stood, trying to stay balanced, brushing dirt from himself.He scanned the area with practiced instinct.

No immediate threats. The world looked just as he remembered it.

Could it be that Obito had succeeded—without his help? That tiny Uchiha brat had grown into a proper shinobi. A late-blooming genius, finally come into his own.

Madara’s lips curled upward. A satisfied smile tugged at his face as he thought back on the troublemaker.

If this really is…

If this really is the Eternal Tsukuyomi—he was curious to see what kind of dream he’d been given.

It felt so real. The physical sensations especially—nearly flawless. He nodded to himself, oddly pleased with the believability of this world of dreams.

It was exactly as he remembered—long before hatred had eaten him from the inside.

A burst of laughter broke through the stillness. Oh, Kami—how much he had missed this.

Madara stretched his stiff back, then disappeared in a shunshin, racing toward the area where the village should be.

The massive concentration of chakra along the perimeter told him he was close. He moved swiftly through the forest—one he knew too well to mistake. This was that forest. Even the scent brought him back to distant days. Nostalgia ran cold and deep through his bones.

This had to be near Konoha. He was sure of it.

So, the war is over… he thought, and the idea made his heart flutter.

He had to know— Was Izuna still alive?

It has to be real. Otherwise… all of this was for nothing.

Before his eyes stretched the Nako River—just as grand, just as familiar. Sunlight shimmered in the ripples like flecks of gold, casting a glow so bright it looked as if the river itself were shining.

In the water’s reflection, something odd caught his attention. He stopped midstream, eyes narrowing to study the image. A violet haori with the Uchiha crest on the back. But the cut… was unusually revealing.

His chest was nearly bare, as if he had intentionally dressed to show himself off. A tempting look—exposed collarbones, bare abs, not a thread hiding them. With a quick, irritated motion, he pulled his robe tighter, securing the sash properly.

Studying the reflection, he noticed something else—he looked younger than expected. Maybe around thirty. His messy black hair was tied into a high ponytail. That explained why it had felt so strange brushing against his back.

Madara smiled faintly at his reflection, now less indecent-looking. The previous image didn’t suit a dignified shinobi.  Now, at least, he looked more like the warrior he truly was.

As the wind rose again, he vanished from the water’s surface, leaving nothing but a trace of ripples behind.

Tension stirred in his body as he drew close enough to see the outline of Konoha. He couldn’t help it—he couldn’t stop the pull in his chest, the need to find Izuna. He had to be alive. He had to.

And then—there they were. The village gates. Madara smiled without hiding it, recognizing the familiar chakra signatures. But that smile quickly vanished. He didn’t know yet—was he friend or foe to Konoha?

But none of that mattered. Izuna was here. He could feel him now—his chakra, unmistakable and clear. It was him.

Madara walked forward slowly— as slowly as he could manage. He didn’t want attention. As much as he ached to look into his little brother’s living eyes, caution had been carved into him long ago.

He passed through the gates with quiet confidence. His senses were so sharp that he didn’t even notice the smiles blooming on the guards’ faces until they moved.

Madara hadn’t intended to draw attention—but who would’ve thought that simply existing would make people stop and stare? The smiles that greeted him weren’t hostile. The shinobi on duty today practically lit up. Madara could feel their restraint as they held themselves back from stepping closer just to get a better look.

“Ah, Madara-sama. You’ve been away a long time this time,” one said with a bright grin, a Sarutobi pendant glinting around his neck.

The other looked… Senju. Chestnut hair, warm brown eyes, tanned skin, and the earthy chakra of a Doton user. Maybe he had seen this one on the battlefield once.

Madara’s sharp gaze swept over them—old habit. But when a smile bloomed on the Senju’s face, something in his chest twinged. No Senju had ever smiled at him like that.

“Welcome back. The Shodaime might faint when he sees you,” the young man laughed, chakra calm and steady.

He truly seemed happy to see Madara return. Despite the easy tone, Madara’s fingers had already curled into a fist. Something was wrong. He just didn’t know what.

And when he moved on, no one stopped him. The shinobi at the gate even waved him off—as if sending him off with warmth .

Not wasting time, Madara headed straight for the Uchiha district. Did it still exist?  Yes. If the friendly Senju and Sarutobi at the gate were anything to go by, and the familiar chakra signatures from that direction… And Izuna.

Even as he walked with purpose, he kept his pace calm and measured. He didn’t want to draw too much attention by using shunshin. On the way, he gauged the situation by the peaceful expressions of the villagers.

Madara would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed Konoha.

So he walks, quietly, letting his eyes brush over the people, the familiar streets, and the shops. Everyone looks so happy. So carefree. When he notices the clan crests on the backs of laughing Uchiha, he slows down to listen. A frowning Hyūga taps nervously on the table they’re sitting at—probably drinking after a shared mission—while an Akimichi gestures wildly, telling some story that sends the two Uchiha into another round of laughter.

Hiding a smile, Madara keeps walking. Suddenly, a group of Konoha Military Police officers wave at him cheerfully, cheeks flushing, sighs escaping. They look like they’re about to faint. When he raises a hand, two young women squeal, and the man beside them freezes, his face so red it barely seems healthy.

Madara frowns. That strange feeling of wrongness seeps in again—but he ignores it, keeps moving down the street. Yet he barely takes a few steps when he sees it—Izuna’s face, as soft and radiant as he remembers, suddenly appearing right in front of him. Madara’s eyes snap toward the person his brother is clinging to a little too familiarly. It’s too close.

That—Is that Tobirama Senju ?

“Found him,” Izuna says, letting go of Tobirama, while Madara’s left not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

On one hand—It’s fucking Izuna. Alive. More alive than anyone. But on the other… Why is he smiling like that at the White Demon?

What the actual hell is going on?

Madara doesn’t even register Izuna leaping at him from above, catching him in a tight armpit-lock hug.

“You bastard! You disappeared out of nowhere! How dare you just show up here like this?!” Izuna’s glare is sharp, his chakra rumbling with confused anger—like thunder laced with fire.

Was this really his Izuna? He felt… stronger. Less restrained. But the chakra signature—undeniably his. It couldn’t be anyone else.

“Now, now, Izuna. He just got back—leave him alive for my sake,” Tobirama smiled, tucking a loose strand of silver hair behind his ear and letting those red eyes gleam freely in the light.

And that was it. Madara’s entire world flipped upside down. He wasn’t just shocked—he was… Fuck. He had never, in his entire life, seen Tobirama smile like that. Hell, he’d never even considered the man was capable of a genuine human expression. Not once. Was he caught in another genjutsu on the way here?

But that was impossible.

Was this some dream he secretly wished for? No. No way. Sure, maybe in his youth he had fantasized about the White Demon—back before the bastard killed his little brother—but that didn’t mean… No dream would ever dare make Tobirama Senju smile that brightly. That was just… Absurd.

“Tobi-chan, you’re always so soft on him…” Izuna pouted, puffing out his cheeks as he let go of his brother. “Only because you asked. You owe me for this.”

But before Madara could fully process his thoughts, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Madara!”

The trembling call, on the verge of tears, made the newly returned Uchiha snap to attention. He looked past the others—And saw. A thin man, dark circles under his eyes.ьSo pale, so gaunt, he looked like a ghost of the eternally vibrant Hashirama. But despite the shock, Madara knew— It was him. His eternal rival. His former friend. Hashirama Senju. And he was crying. Nearly white from the effort of holding it all in.

“I’m so glad you’re alive! Your ghost used to visit me in the worst nightmares, blaming me for letting you go, even though I knew it was a suicidal idea in such a dangerous world—yes, even if you’re strong…”

He didn’t even catch the rest, because the whining turned into a mess of words, and the speed at which they poured out—like spoken all in one breath—was starting to get on his nerves.

Then he felt it—a sharp gaze burning into his side. Izuna. Madara’s eyes snapped to his younger brother, who looked thoroughly displeased. Unlike the overemotional mess of Senju beside them, Madara was still holding himself back, standing stiff as a statue, stony-faced, desperately trying to make some kind of logical sense of it all.

Where the hell had he landed?

Was this really the Eternal Tsukuyomi? Because Madara wasn’t sure how long he could endure dealing with Hashirama if the man was always going to be this... idiotic.

“You’re lucky there’s a Senju here, or I’d have knocked the stupidity out of you by now! You don’t appreciate your poor younger brother at all, making his heart worry like that,” Izuna grumbled, arms crossed, frown deep—but he looked just cute enough to pull Madara back into the memories of their youth.

So without even realizing it, the elder Uchiha softened his gaze.

“I’m sorry…”

That was all Madara could manage. Because, swear to his goddess Amaterasu, he was using every ounce of his strength not to cry and throw himself into his brother’s arms.

Even if Izuna had… changed. Even if his personality now felt strange—he was still Izuna. Wasn’t he?

But the younger Uchiha didn’t wait for the right moment. He opened his arms wide and grabbed his brother into a tight hug himself. And that—

That was all Madara had wanted. He nearly trembled from the contact. From the touch he had dreamed of for so many years…

“I missed you, dumbass,” Izuna muttered into his ear. And it didn’t bother Madara at all.

If only Izuna knew—How deeply, how unbearably Madara had missed him, too.

But then—

Suddenly, Izuna’s arms were no longer around him.

He’d let go so quickly that Madara almost grabbed him back—almost tried to stick him to his chest just to never let him go again.

But then his brother’s words and look shattered any hope of more closeness. This… this should’ve been a tearful reunion. Apparently, that wasn’t happening.

“Alright. Now you two lovebirds can finally hug each other too.”

Lovebirds?

Madara looked at Izuna in horror, barely managing to keep his face from contorting. His pupils shrank as the full weight of what had just been said hit him.

Wait… don’t tell me…Shit.

This wasn’t the Eternal Tsukuyomi. This was a parallel reality.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

That weird hairstyle. The revealing outfit. Why the Senju and Sarutobi had smiled at him, and why the Uchiha had swooned at his arrival. Hashirama—depressed. Izuna—confident. And Tobirama…

Shit.

He was going to lose his mind. Were they… a thing in this world?

He’d read about stuff like this in ancient texts, but never believed it. Never believed reincarnation or soul displacement could be real.

Is my goddess really that powerful? he thought.

But all the signs were there—Changes in behavior, shifts in relationships, small details out of place…

And no more Hashirama cells in his body.

“You’re acting weird. Not like… yourself,” Tobirama narrowed those crimson eyes at him, studying Madara carefully, while the latter couldn’t find a single place to rest his anxiety.

What was he supposed to say? Sorry, I’m not your Madara? How the hell was he supposed to explain that, after death, he’d somehow landed in this dimension and replaced their Madara?

Every gaze was pinned on him. They all must’ve noticed something, because Tobirama’s words triggered a shared sense of tension and confusion.

Madara clenched his fist, nails digging into his palm.

“Well, it’s just that…”

He was about to make some clumsy excuse—anything to explain—

But Izuna cut him off,

“He smells like Madara. And you felt his chakra, Tobi. No way you’d confuse him with anyone else. I’m more likely to believe divine punishment is about to strike from the heavens than to think your sensory skills are that trash you couldn’t recognize your own husband.”

Tobirama burst into a clear laugh at Izuna’s words, while Madara could barely hold back from cursing the entire strange world around him.

He had no idea how to get out of this situation. Burn them all? But was it even worth it?

After all… this was everything he had wanted. Izuna was alive. Tobirama—well, he’d deal with that later.

“It’s definitely him, but…” Tobirama circled around him, eyeing him carefully. “You seem… more commanding. Did you mature or something? You didn’t even cry or jump into our arms like a leech, clinging to each of us the way you always did. And your outfit… When did you start dressing so old-fashioned?”

Am I really that pathetic in this world? Madara threw a glance at Hashirama, who looked like the next gust of wind would blow him away—so pale and lifeless he seemed. The mighty warrior who once bloomed with Mokuton was now a wreck… so maybe it made sense he would be one too.

Shit… you damn pathetic Madara of this world. What the fuck…

“Exactly! My Nii-san might be strong, but he’s always been a whiner and a total pervert,” Izuna chimed in with a huff.

Oh blessed Amaterasu, save him from this torment, or he was going to lose his mind and burn this entire place to ashes as an offering to his goddess—just to be rescued from this nightmare.

“Enough,” Madara hissed. It was hard to speak, especially about this topic. “Could we… go somewhere more private? Maybe have a drink?”

Yeah. He was going to need alcohol for this conversation. Lots of it.

The deep tone of his voice stunned them into silence. Everyone stared at him with wide, stunned eyes, and the look on their faces sent a twitch of irritation through Madara’s spine.

How long are they going to keep reacting like this…?

Surprisingly, though, he didn’t need to explain—everyone agreed to change locations. He supposed he should be grateful… But this was Madara Uchiha. Gratitude wasn’t in his vocabulary.

Barely a minute passed before Tobirama suddenly teleported them all using Hiraishin. Now they were inside a mansion. Apparently… it was their shared home. As in, his and Tobirama’s. Because they’d been married for eight years.

And Madara restrained himself from commenting—barely. His eye twitched at the mere thought of it. Because… what the hell?

He downed a cup of sake, and immediately felt everyone’s eyes locked on him.

“What?” Madara snapped, already irritated. He hadn’t even had time to enjoy the warmth of the alcohol before realizing he was seconds away from slamming his fist into their shocked faces.

Enough already…

“It’s just that… you usually pass out after one cup. And now… you didn’t even blush,” Izuna replied on behalf of everyone, looking genuinely baffled.

Madara slammed the cup down with a loud clack. Well, might as well start with the obvious.

“I’m not your Madara.”

His hand moved irritably toward the sake bottle. In one swift motion, he refilled his cup, and with sharp eyes fixed on the three men, drank again—deliberately.

“What do you mean ‘not our Madara’?” Hashirama asked, voice nearly trembling, eyes wide in shock.

Madara needed more alcohol. So he poured himself another and drank it in one go. It didn’t help.

He let out a long sigh, then started talking. About soul transference after death. About the possibility that their Madara’s soul might just be sleeping inside, or maybe… he had been transported somewhere else.

He decided not to mention the Infinite Tsukuyomi. That technique was far too controversial. They wouldn’t understand the brilliance of his plan anyway.

It turned into a long conversation—marked by expressions that ranged from confused to amused. None of them had believed something like this was even possible. And honestly, if it weren’t for how different he was acting, they probably wouldn’t have believed him now.

Izuna laughed—yet his gaze stayed warm, still looking at him like the older brother he’d always known. And that touched something deep in Madara. Maybe he wasn’t technically his brother… But still—he was grateful Izuna embraced him and said it out loud: that he still saw him as family.

From what Madara had gathered, their version of him had always been a wanderer. After the war, he’d turned into a near-nomad. So it wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he’d accidentally slipped through dimensions in his pursuit of new knowledge and distant places. At least, that was Izuna’s version of the story. It was a decent theory. But Madara frowned.

How could that idiot leave Izuna behind? Leave their clan?

Even if he hadn’t gone to another dimension—how could he have abandoned Konoha? How could he choose to help strangers while leaving behind everything Madara himself had only ever dreamed of having?

And judging by the looks on the Senju brothers’ faces—who no longer seemed alarmed (Hashirama at least had stopped looking like he was on the verge of fainting)—Madara realized they were used to Uchiha Madara disappearing without warning.

Later, when Izuna had to leave for his shift, Madara watched him go with a heavy heart. He wanted more time with him. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

They parted with the promise to meet again the next day. And Hashirama clapped him on the back, saying—

“Welcome home.”

When Madara was left alone with Tobirama—because this was, apparently, their shared house—he had no idea where to begin. This situation… was getting out of hand.

But before he could even turn to face the younger Senju, Tobirama wrapped his arms around him from behind—gently, softly—and with a teasing voice, murmured,

“You’re still Madara, technically… aren’t you?”

Madara raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more—the White Demon’s flirtatious tone or the hug… because, damn it, Tobirama had initiated contact himself!

Even though he understood he was in another world, the image of the younger Senju, Hashirama’s brother, clashed so violently with everything he thought he knew. He needed time...

“Yes…” he eventually managed to say, as Tobirama’s hands turned him to face him. And gods—they were too close.

He could hardly believe how bold Tobirama was being (something he’d only dared imagine in his youthful fantasies) as the White Demon leaned in and kissed him so passionately that he nearly moaned into his lips.

Instinctively, Madara overcame the initial shock and returned the kiss—because it felt… too good .

But after only a heartbeat, Tobirama pulled away. A thin string of saliva still connected them.

His eyes sparkled, and Madara felt an uninvited erection rise like a stone between his legs.

“Then I wonder… what this Madara is like in bed,” Tobirama purred, his voice brushing over something low and warm in Madara’s gut.

His silver hair was a little longer—almost brushing his shoulders. It wasn’t the image Madara was used to, but it suited him.

Could he finally admit that Tobirama Senju had always been attractive in his eyes?

The red markings were in all the right places. The crimson eyes just as magnetic—perhaps even more alive, more warm , than the Tobirama he once knew.

The pale skin was the same. The scent—even the chakra imprint—was one that always resonated with him.

He looked like his Tobirama in every way. And that thought… it captivated him. Overwhelmed him. Because he—

Damn it.

Let the kami curse him, but how could he not take advantage of this?

Madara grabbed him by the hair and kissed him hard, greedily.

He kept a close eye on the younger man’s reaction, trying—as always—to read every little shift of emotion, every flicker of breath. Old habits died hard.

The way Senju moaned sweetly into his mouth and slid a daring hand down to Madara’s throbbing length, teasing and stroking gently…

The Uchiha moved from Tobirama’s lips to his neck, biting and sucking the pale skin that quickly flushed red.

Madara noticed the flutter of white lashes from the pleasure, from the growing heat, and—

Shit.

He didn’t want to wake up if this was just a dream.

Because here, everything he ever wanted was real: Izuna was alive. Tobirama wanted him. And the village…

Shit.

He let out a low groan when Tobirama’s hand squeezed him through his pants. Instinctively, he bit his lip until he tasted blood.

He pulled back slightly, metal tang on his tongue, and saw Tobirama smirking in satisfaction.

The Senju was breathing hard, his haori slipping off one shoulder to reveal a pale chest. His pink nipple stood out, tempting.

Madara didn’t resist—he leaned in and bit it, drawing a silent gasp from Tobirama. The man threw his head back, clutched at Madara, and said in a hoarse, breathless voice,

“Oh, you’re even more uncontrollable when you see my body than my Madara… I like it.”

Madara shoved him down, pinning him to the floor.

That stubborn red gaze stared right back at him, unflinching—even with the Sharingan now glowing.

“But you’re just as shameless,” Tobirama murmured, “recording all of this.”

Damn it.

Let him burn—but yes. He wanted to remember this. Every second. Every flicker of Tobirama’s body beneath him, trembling with pleasure, begging for more.

He was just about to kiss him again, his arousal pressed against Tobirama’s body, when the younger Senju placed both hands on Madara’s chest, his voice husky and filled with heat.

“Madara… I’ve come up with a new jutsu. For now, well… it’s strange, because you’re not my Madara. But I can feel you so clearly. And I think you’ll enjoy this.”

Madara let him go—reluctantly—giving him space.

He could guess what this technique was, but held himself back, watching as Tobirama’s hands came together in the familiar seal for Shadow Clone Jutsu.

Oh, kami…

Was he really about to get spoiled by two Tobiramas? Just like that?

A wicked grin spread across Madara’s face. This hadn’t happened even in his wildest fantasies.

This Tobirama was exceeding every expectation.

“Show me what you’ve got,” Madara growled.

And the two men—equally stunning, equally Senju—leaned into him. One kissed his face, blushing and smoldering. The other trailed kisses down his neck.

Skilled and fluid, they peeled off his outer robe, baring his chest.

Madara allowed it all, watching intently as hands and lips worshiped his skin.

He watched. Carefully. Not wanting to miss a thing.

The smile on one of them turned even more wicked as he locked eyes with Madara’s Sharingan—then slowly began to move down. He released Madara’s cock—so thick, so hard, it could almost pass for a concealed weapon.

Still smiling, Tobirama extended his tongue, and Madara shuddered as a warm, wet trail slid along his shaft. The other Tobirama followed, trailing his tongue along Madara’s abs, leaving a glistening path. When he reached the base, he pressed soft kisses there, and then—together, in perfect unison—both Tobiramas licked along the length, their eyes never breaking contact with Madara’s.

They kissed and sucked his aroused flesh, teasing the tip with flicks of their tongues. When they moved together, the sensation was dizzying. Too much. Too perfect.

It was the most intense thing Madara had ever experienced. No matter how many lovers he’d had… this was—

Damn.

He pushed one of the Tobiramas down, guiding his cock into his mouth. The clone’s eyes fluttered, narrowing slightly from the fullness, tears beginning to gather at the corners. Meanwhile, the other Tobirama—already undressed—leaned into Madara from behind, drawing a satisfied sigh from him.

He leaned in close, brushing his lips over Madara’s earlobe, teasing the sensitive skin with a slow swipe of his tongue.

That spot. That same intimate spot. Apparently, it was still sensitive—even in this version of himself.

Madara didn’t reply—only moaned softly, deeper than he intended.

The Tobirama between his legs pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still smirking. Then, deliberately, he began to undress—slowly, sensually.

He reached out—not to Madara, but past him. He caught the other Tobirama by the chin, drew him in close, locked their eyes—then slowly slid his hand down his own body, all the way to his lips… and then, he leaned in and kissed him.

Fuck. That sight alone sent a bolt of heat through Madara. For the first time, he realized just how much he enjoyed watching someone pleasure themselves.

He could watch this forever. And he knew he wouldn’t tire of it.

He turned one of them toward him, grabbed him by the neck, and kissed him hard, leaving a mark.

With the other, he gripped his waist and kissed just below the collarbone.

“Where’s the lube?” Madara asked in a low voice, trying to keep himself from rushing. He could’ve taken them both right then—but he wanted this to be good . He wanted them to feel everything .

Without a word, one of them summoned a scroll and retrieved a small jar from it.

Madara chuckled.

Always prepared, huh?

The two men—who were, in truth, one—got into position, hands and knees. And kami …

They were beautiful.

Their lean waists, toned asses… fair, untouched skin…

Madara had to hold himself back from just plunging in.

Instead, he took his time—painfully slowly, if the muffled whimpers from the Senju were any indication. He slicked one finger, then the other, and gently reached for both men at once.

He slid his fingers inside them, left and right, taking his time, stretching them. Adding more fingers. Driving them mad with slow, teasing thrusts until their soft moans turned wet and breathless.

When he finally decided they were ready—and cursed himself for being so indulgent—he withdrew his fingers, ignoring their needy sounds.

He grabbed the one on his right, pulled him back, and without ceremony, slid halfway into him in one deep thrust.

Tobirama cried out, the sudden fullness overwhelming him. And when Madara began to move, he moaned freely, no longer holding anything back.

Madara groaned. The tightness, the heat—it only made him harder.

Even more so when the other Tobirama lay down in front of them, legs parted, shameless and perfect.

Keeping his gaze on Madara’s Sharingan, he reached down and began stroking himself in rhythm with Madara’s thrusts. His other hand slid between his thighs, teasing his entrance—pressing inside, heightening the pleasure.

And through it all, his expression remained innocently wicked.

Shit…

Madara watched the act of self-pleasure closely, the sight only fueling his own hunger. He thrust harder into the Tobirama beneath him, each movement more urgent, more desperate. Words couldn’t begin to capture how much he enjoyed this—how unreal it felt. It was everything .

Still buried inside the first Tobirama, Madara reached up, grabbed a fistful of silver hair, and pulled him closer with a sharp hiss.

“Don’t forget about yourself.”

He shoved him forward—right against the thighs of the other Tobirama, who had been watching, stroking himself with growing intensity.

The Tobirama already taking Madara’s cock inside him parted his lips as the other pressed his own length to them. And just like that—he took him in, swallowing him whole.

They moved together, perfectly in sync, making the Tobirama moan so deeply he nearly blacked out. His body trembled—and without so much as a touch—he came, releasing onto the floor with a loud cry.

“You’re quick,” Madara muttered with satisfaction.

Tobirama was panting hard, eyes glistening with tears, his release still dripping from his lips and down his chin. Barely able to speak, he gasped out,

“It’s… because I haven’t—haven’t had a…”

“You mean you didn’t jerk off this whole time?” Madara raised an eyebrow, already knowing the answer, but enjoying the tease.

Tobirama didn’t respond—just gave him a sly, knowing smile.

But Madara wasn’t finished. Not yet.

He pulled out of the first Tobirama’s exhausted body—though clearly it could’ve taken more—and turned to the other, who stared up at him with eyes full of heat and need.

And who was he to deny such a look?

Despite the first clone’s soft whimper of loss, Madara reached for the other, hooked a leg over his shoulder, and pulled him close. His entrance looked flushed, wanting. So Madara pushed in slowly—almost reverently.

And then, with one deep thrust, he sank to the hilt, ripping a soundless scream from the Senju’s throat.

He moved with power, but not haste—deliberate, steady, overwhelming.

The first Tobirama, now seated beside himself, wiped his chin with his palm, and then… leaned toward his clone.

And kissed him. Soft. Deep. Tongue sliding against tongue. All while watching Madara’s reaction. It hit Madara like lightning—like a genjutsu of pure lust. 

Was he… being teased ? 

A crooked grin formed on Madara’s lips. One that never meant anything good.

(Well… depending on who you asked.)

His hips slammed forward, faster, deeper. His fingers dug into Tobirama’s waist, hard enough to bruise. The Senju arched, eyes rolling back, back scratching at Madara’s skin as his mouth gasped for air, choked with moans.

And still—he wasn’t given even a second to recover.

The clone, from behind, wrapped his arms around him, reached down between them—and found his cock, already glistening at the tip.

He spread the precum over the shaft, and with just one pump—

Tobirama came. Hard. Right onto Madara’s stomach, shuddering through the force of it as Madara continued to move inside him.

Just a few more thrusts—and Madara followed, groaning as he spilled deep inside. And for a brief second, he hoped— really hoped—it was the real Tobirama.

Because no way in hell was he about to accept he just came inside a clone. Teenage dreams, fulfilled after death. He had everything he’d ever wanted.

As the two Tobiramas looked at him with dazed, blissed-out smiles, one of them shimmered—And vanished.

He’d come inside the real one.

The Sharingan still whirled in Madara’s eyes as he stared at Tobirama’s body, at the fluid slowly dripping from between his legs.

Beautiful.

Tobirama smirked up at him through heavy lashes, propping himself on shaking elbows.

“Is that all ?”

Of course not. Madara’s grin deepened.

And—

Tobirama laughed softly, reading the answer in Madara’s fiery gaze. He leaned in, kissed him lightly on the lips, then asked suddenly,

“…What am I like in your world?”

Madara almost said, Unreachable.

But something stopped him. The light dimmed. And then—everything went black.

When vision returned, he almost groaned. He was standing in the middle of a desert. And in the distance—loomed the very center of shinobi chakra. His body tingled. He could feel Hashirama’s cells. The residue of Edo Tensei.

Fuck, Obito!