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There were few joys in life that Madara liked to indulge in. His kiseru, and smoking in general, was one of them. It allowed him to slow down and relax, to take the time to think. Something he had not been able to do much—not since his elder brother Tajima died, leaving Madara to fill the clan head position.

Some members of the Uchiha clan had celebrated this. Expecting Madara to surpass his brother in combat aggressiveness, finally turning the tides in their conflict with the other shinobi clans. Some hesitated to break the tradition that demanded the clan head position should be passed from father to son. But Izuna, Tajima's only surviving son, was still too young to take on the mantle at the time.

Madara had gladly taken it. To protect his nephew. And to finally put an end to this senseless conflict.

Now that Konoha was thriving, the Uchiha were thriving. And Madara finally had time to slow down. Though that came with other expectations as well.

"When will you pass on the clan head position to Izuna?" was an often-asked question.

Or on the flip side: "When will you find a wife and produce your own heirs?"

Never, to both.

Izuna did not want the position, felt himself ill-suited for it. If he had wanted it, but simply felt unsure, then Madara would have gladly mentored him and supported him. But his nephew did not. He enjoyed his freedom far too much, and had found other ways to serve their clan and find fulfillment.

And as for a wife and children of his own … Madara was under no illusion. He had never felt any interest towards any of the women presented to him like chattel. The mere thought of such an arrangement nauseated him. He had seen his own parents' marriage, and that of his elder brother. He had no wish to end up in a similar position.

Which was why this situation was … simply baffling.

Izuna was the apple of his eye, the son as well as the little brother he had never had, all at once. And anything that his nephew wanted, he could get. When their clans were still feuding, Izuna had often begged Madara for new weapons to throw at his Senju rival, new explosives, poisons and anything else that might give him an edge. And now? Izuna had asked Madara for permission to use his courtyard for taijutsu practice, which he granted before realizing that Izuna was going to invite Senju Tobirama to spar with him.

Madara had no idea what young people did for fun these days. But it should certainly not look … this provocative.

First, when Tobirama knocked on his door and Madara reluctantly let him in, the boy had ran his eyes up and down Madara's body as if their positions were reversed—as if Tobirama was guarding a client and assessing whether to let Madara in. Those eerie red eyes felt like glowing embers burning paths along Madara's body, from his throat to his bare feet.

The boy was at least smart enough not to meet his eyes. Yet.

When Tobirama squeezed past him with a murmured "'tsurei shimasu", Madara was hit with the sudden, terrifying and absolute clarity that this boy was in fact taller than him, and almost as broad in the shoulders.

He swallowed tightly, slamming the door shut, before stiffly pointing out where the guest slippers were—to which Tobirama only smirked and said that he knew from visiting Izuna other times—and then hurriedly stomping away to leave the young ones to their devices.

And now, hours later, he was trying to enjoy his kiseru, packed with the finest tobacco from Cha no Kuni. Yet he was failing to, unable to inhale the soothing smoke through his throat, suddenly tight with unnamed emotion as he watched his nephew talking animatedly to an audience of one. Namely Senju Tobirama, who lounged shirtless in the grass, muscled body on full display as it glistened in the late afternoon sun.

His neck, thrown back in laughter, showed a prominent Adam's apple. Tight veins and tendons led the eye to broad shoulders, an ample chest that tapered to a fine, trim waist. That lean abdomen carrying a fine layer of silver hair that disappeared below— …

"Oji-san?"

He coughed, startled, the next draft of smoke irritating his lungs. He pressed a fist to his mouth, blinking rapidly.

"Yes, Izuna?" he rasped, once he regained his bearing.

"Oji-san," his nephew whined, "you have to show Tobirama that our grappling technique is superior to the Senju's!"

"Do it yourself, brat."

"But you're better at it than me. Please, Madara-oji?"

"I'm smoking," he said weakly, knowing that once Izuna deployed his big eyes and wobbly lip, he'd crumple like paper.

And there it was.

"Please, oji-san!"

"Alright, alright, stop making that face." He waved his hand, sighing as he put his kiseru on its stand. What a waste of good tobacco. "What is it you want me to show?"

"Tobirama has been pinning me to the ground the whole afternoon," Izuna complained. "I know that we have techniques to counter that, but I'm just not fast enough, or strong enough. If we were allowed to use chakra— …"

"But that's against the rules of this exercise," Tobirama interrupted him sternly.

"Yes, yes, I know. But you wipe that smug smirk off your face! Mada-oji is the strongest in our clan, he'll best you!"

"Hmm." Tobirama made a low humming sound in his throat, those dangerous eyes sliding across to once more trail along Madara's body as he stood. "We'll see about that."

"Brat!" Madara blurted out against his own will. He wiggled his toes in the grass, circulating chakra to activate his bloodstream and musculature. "I have fought your father to a standstill before."

"I know," Tobirama said, rising smoothly to his own feet with all the fluid grace of a predator. His sharp face, enhanced by those red markings, took on a hunter's focus, not unlike that of a bird of prey. "But I am not Hashirama."

"That much is clear," Madara agreed. He shed his haori but kept the mantle, widening his stance as he raised his hands in a loose defensive position. "Your turn."

Tobirama moved like lightning. Despite his height and bulk, he moved faster than Madara had expected. He fought back the instinctive urge to use his Sharingan—this was a taijutsu spar where doujutsu had no place. Instead, he met Tobirama's strike head on, blocking the blow with his forearm, a mere inch away from his face.

"Not bad," he conceded. "Let's see what else you've got."

They exchanged more blows, hands and feet flying as they each explored the other's strengths and weaknesses. As for Tobirama, the boy moved beautifully. He was no real match for Madara's strength, not yet. But his speed, agility and quick thinking were a boon onto themselves, exploiting any openings Madara might leave with precision and zero hesitation.

It got his blood pumping, faced with a challenge such as this. Normally, only sparring with Hashirama ever truly captured his attention. But this … was a true dance.

"Come on!" he taunted, hitting Tobirama's hip with a blunt foot. If he wanted to, he could have broken bone. "Show me more!"

He laughed in delight when Tobirama's eyes narrowed, the speed of his movement increasing until he was a mere blur. But even without the Sharingan, Madara's instincts were honed to perfection. He met Tobirama blow for blow, cackling whenever he was able to bypass Tobirama's defenses to tap his shoulder, flank or thigh.

"Your defense is shoddy!"

But Tobirama did not let himself be distracted. He kept up his furious offense, even forcing Madara to yield ground from time to time.

Somehow, they ended up on top of the roof, balancing atop the uneven ground while they danced.

"What now?" he laughed.

"Now," Tobirama growled to his surprise, "you're going down."

Before he could say anything in response, Tobirama was in front of him, one hand fisted in the front of his mantle. An almost manic grin tugged at the boy's mouth.

"How?"

He was sent flying, hopefully in the direction of his courtyard. He hit the ground hard face first, unable to recover because Tobirama was instantly upon him. Once he managed to get his bearing, he was already caught like a fly in a spider's web.

"Yield," Tobirama demanded, pressing down on his back with his entire weight. Between them, Madara's arms were twisted and trapped in such a manner that trying to break out of this grip would only use his own strength against him.

"Ah," he panted, spitting out a bit of grass. He laughed again. Fire coursed through his veins—what a beautiful trap he'd fallen for. "Well done."

"Oji-san!"

With a start, Madara suddenly remembered their audience. Izuna ran towards them with wide eyes.

"Brat, step away," he growled, tugging at his arms uselessly. Tobirama's grip was unfaltering.

"Oji-san, that's what he's been doing the entire time with me too. I can't get out of this lock myself … Can you show me how you'd break it?" his nephew begged.

He catalogued his own body, and Tobirama's in relation to it. The heat and weight of his body atop Madara's. The hard press of his hands, like vices around Madara's arms. His rapid, hot breaths washing over Madara. His scent—clean and fresh, like a sea breeze.

"Oji-san?"

Madara blinked, snapping back to attention. He tensed his leg muscles, noting that Tobirama was sitting on top of his hips, but it left his lower half free. He huffed, then without warning lifted up the weight on top of him until he was able to get his knees under him. Like this, he was able to flip their positions, with Tobirama now lying on his back in the grass. He quickly captured his opponent's hands, and did not make the same mistake of letting his legs remain free. Instead, he trapped them between his own thighs.

"There, that's how," he panted. "Yield."

It was only when he met Tobirama's gaze—direct and challenging, likely against any Senju's instict to avoid an Uchiha's eyes—that he realized the position he put them in. Because Tobirama was taller than him, he was stretched flat, lying nearly chest-to-chest with the younger man. Their faces were inches apart, breaths brushing against cheeks. And between his legs, he could feel Tobirama's body, his barely contained strength. And their aligned hips, dangerously— …

"I yield," Tobirama purred, the tiniest smirk tugging at a corner of his mouth. There was a faint sheen of pink on his cheeks, emphasized by his red markings.

"Yes!" Izuna crowed to the side. "Hah! Take that, Senju bastard! You can't beat Madara-oji!"

Madara jerked back with a gasp, jumping to his feet. His palms tingled, where he had touched Tobirama's bare skin.

"I, uh, have to go," he mumbled, turning tail and hurrying back indoors like a beaten dog. He only remembered to grab his still smoking kiseru and putting it out as he was halfway to his bedroom. When he stepped back out onto the engawa to ensure that he wouldn't burn down his own house due to carelessness, his eyes strayed to Tobirama, who coolly let Izuna chat his ears full.

Red met black, and the spark in Madara's belly ignited again. He furiously slammed the shoji door shut, cutting off the truly obscene view.

Back in his bedroom, Madara pulled off his mantle and his pants, feeling that they were somehow contaminated. Yet that did not improve things. It only emphasized the hardness in his soaked fundoshi, his cock straining to find release.

What had he done wrong to deserve this? He buried his face in his hands, breathing deeply and willing his arousal to abate. Why did he lust so after his friend's son?

Even if he were anyone else's—if Tobirama's father was not Hashirama, whom Madara respected more than a brother—there was still the shame of desiring another man. Yes, it was not quite taboo. But drunken fumbling or keeping young male lovers on the side while officially entertaining a respectable wife was one thing. Tobirama, however, was not one who could be kept like that. He was the Hokage's eldest son. He was a powerful, accomplished shinobi in his own right. There was no future to this … infatuation.

It did not stop Madara's cock from twitching at the memory of pressing himself against a matching bulge in Tobirama's pants. Or the feeling of finding his body so restrained, Tobirama atop of him.

No. No, he needed to banish these thoughts from his mind. If he were any other man, perhaps he'd find a warm body in some brothel to bury himself in. However, he had never been touched or touched anyone else sexually in his entire life. He would not start now, just because he was too weak to withstand the sight of bare, muscular pecs and the firm grip of calloused palms.

And resorting to self-service …

He had nearly convinced himself to undo his fundoshi—it was soaked anyway, with sweat and the desperate, sticky fluids of his lust—when he felt a ping of chakra nearby. He hurriedly cast out his own sensing, worried perhaps that Izuna had gotten hurt. But he only found a cool-feeling, deep well of suiton-natured chakra at his window.

Madara froze, wondering in a panic what Tobirama was doing. Had he felt Madara's distress? Was he here to gloat or accuse him of impropriety? Or perhaps something was wrong with Izuna, and he had come to get help?

Deciding to investigate despite his own misgivings, he threw on a loose yukata that he sometimes wore in the comfort of his home, and went to crack open the window.

"Tobirama?" he asked.

The young man turned to face him, now blessedly dressed from head to toe in loose, comfortable shinobi gear. His face gave away nothing, except for the glint in his eyes that appeared when he saw Madara's appearance.

"Madara-sama. I apologize for the intrusion," he said in his smooth, even tone. "Earlier, I— …"

"It's fine," Madara hurried to say.

Tobirama blinked, not unlike an indulgent cat.

"That is good to hear. But perhaps we should speak more privately?"

Madara looked around, realized that he was standing in his own bedroom with Tobirama at the window like a spurned lover serenading. He cast out his sensing again, noting with some relief that Izuna must have left the house, as he was nowhere nearby. But this particular window faced outwards from his courtyard—anyone could pass by and see them conversing thus.

"Do you … want to come inside?"

There was a faint tilt to Tobirama's lips as he approached the window and said: "Thank you for the invitation."

He then jumped up and over the windowsill in silent, smooth movements, as befitting of a shinobi. But when his feet touched down on Madara's bedroom floor, the resulting silence was deadly.

"So …" Madara cleared his throat. He surreptitiously tugged his yukata closer. "What was it you wished to, um, discuss?"

"Why," Tobirama said, in a tone that could only be called purring. He took a step closer, and Madara retreated an equal distance. "Surely Madara-sama knows?"

Madara squeezed his eyes shut, withholding a whimper.

"I apologize for my behavior. It—I was entirely inappropriate. It will not happen again."

"Oh? How disappointing."

"Of course, I— … What?" His eyes flew open, and he gasped, jumping back until his shoulder bumped against a wall. Tobirama ruthlessly followed, caging him in with his arms. "Tobirama, what— …?"

"Do you know how long I have waited for an opportunity like this?" Madara watched, frozen, as Tobirama leaned in until he was able to inhale deeply—taking in Madara's smell. One of his hands came up to grip Madara's waist, near where his belt was precariously holding his yukata closed. "I have wanted you for years. Finally, after all this time and effort, you were receptive. And now you try to deny it?"

He shuddered at the dark tone in Tobirama's voice, squirming a little in an attempt to get away from the possessive hand at his waist. That grip turned punishing, locking him in place.

"Where do you think you're going? Let me see."

Tobirama's deft fingers undid Madara's belt like a katana might cut through bamboo. His yukata parted against his will, baring his body to burning red eyes.

Tobirama laughed, making Madara wish he could die of embarrassment.

"Look at you," the younger man cooed. "So wanton. So ready for me. And still you try to deny it?"

Madara cried out when a firm palm made contact with his cock, albeit through his soaked fundoshi. His traitorous erection jumped eagerly, fitting perfectly into Tobirama's hand as he laughed and rubbed him mercilessly.

"N-no, we can't," Madara tried to protest.

"Can't?" Tobirama scoffed. "What, because we are both men? Cease this foolishness. Or have you truly never fucked another man?"

He had not fucked anyone before, but that was too humiliating to admit, so Madara merely shook his head.

"Not t-that. You— … I'm too old, you're Hashirama's son, I— …"

The hand that had callously given him unwanted pleasure stopped. Another came to grab a thick fistful of Madara's hair, forcing him to look into Tobirama's furiously gleaming eyes.

"Do not," he hissed, "utter his name right now."

"I-I'm sorry!"

Tobirama huffed, and his grip's tension on Madara's hair lessened.

"We both want this, don't we?" he implored, voice suddenly soft. "There is nothing wrong about us wanting each other. About wanting to touch and be touched. See? Your body knows the truth."

Torn between the guilt in his heart, the fading pain of his scalp and the undeniable, overwhelming pleasure of a warm touch to his most desperate body part, Madara blinked tears from his eyes. Some ran down his cheeks, though they were swiftly lapped up by Tobirama's devastating tongue.

"Shh, it's alright. Just let go. Let me in."

That, combined with the grip in his hair slipping to gently cup his neck was enough. He moaned, spilling helplessly into his fundoshi. His hot spend soaked the thin fabric in quick spurts, no doubt also staining Tobirama's palm. The younger man groaned, then blessedly ripped the soiled underwear from Madara's hips.

"Beautiful. Let me see," he growled. His hand returned, now with no barrier between them, to squeeze every last drop of semen from Madara's oversensitive cock. Even though he writhed and cried and beat his fists against Tobirama's chest, the Senju did not relent. "You want me to keep going, I know it. You're the stronger shinobi, you could break out of my hold any time you wanted to—you could make me stop. But you won't. Because you need it just as much as I do, don't you?"

"No," he sobbed—but Tobirama was right, wasn't he? Madara could break his wrist, punch his teeth out, hell, he could put him in a genjutsu or blow katon in his face. But he didn't. He didn't want to. So he admitted: "Yes, yes, I need it!"

Filthy, he chided himself in his mind, even as Tobirama stole his first, tear-stained kiss. Wanton. Shameless. Whore. Lecher.

He let himself be led by his tongue, by his softening cock, until he was draped over the younger man's front. His sculpted body, still covered by a long-sleeved shirt, pressed hotly against Madara's naked skin.

He sought to remedy that, drunk on his earlier orgasm and struggling to keep up with Tobirama's demanding mouth devouring his own. Still, he fought and pulled at Tobirama's shirt, until he seemed to get the hint and slipped it over his head.

"Eager, hm? You're so sweet for me. If anyone else knew, I'd kill them," Tobirama groaned, diving in again to lay claim to Madara's mouth again. And Madara could do nothing but let it happen. He let Tobirama kiss him, peel away the last protective layer of his yukata, and then he let him lay him down on his own futon like a willing sacrifice.

"I have been waiting so long for this," Tobirama muttered in between kisses. His mouth stamped itself hot and possessive over Madara's cheek, his pulse point, under his chin. "I don't think I could have waited any longer. I am glad you finally decided to let me in."

Finally? Madara thought, his mind fighting against the fog of pleasure, fear and all the ways he tried to justify letting Tobirama continue do what he was doing. His cock was already hard again, nevermind the fact that whenever he shamefully rubbed one out by his lonesome he never bothered to bring himself to orgasm more than once. He feebly thrusted his hips, rubbing himself against the soft fabric of Tobirama's pants—against the thick bulge he felt hidden beneath. The mere thought of it, of being this close to another man's erection, of being the reason for it had him lightheaded.

Or perhaps it was the all-encompassing way Tobirama devoured his mouth with his own.

"I'm glad I prepared for this eventuality," Tobirama continued, teeth grazing Madara's throat. He keened, forcing himself not to draw the kunai hidden under his pillow and gut the threat. Instead, he spread his thighs, allowing Tobirama to crowd in closer.

And then, something slippery touched him behind his balls, and Madara could not stop his legs from kicking out in panic.

"Sh-sh," Tobirama soothed. He raised his hand, which had snuck below, showing him fingers coated in glistening liquid. "It's just oil. Relax. I'll make it good, I promise. I intend to prepare you thoroughly."

"Prepare," Madara parroted numbly. He jumped a little when the touch returned, rubbing slickness over his tightly puckered asshole.

He had only seen this once when he was around fourteen or so, in a book he had stolen from his clan's library. It was a mistake, initially. He had meant to read more about sex, because his elder brother, standing in for his father, had finally educated him on where babies came from. His brother had also told him in no uncertain terms that he, as a member of the clan's mainline, was expected to produce babies with his future wife. And young Madara, confused, curious and too ashamed to ask his brother further questions, broke into the clan library, into the section where he knew adult books were kept, and stole one at random.

But instead of husbands making babies with their wives, it showed two men entangled in passionate embrace. Half in horror, half in morbid curiosity, he had studied the illustrations of engorged members, of hands encasing them until they erupted with seed. He had stared at the men's expressions of almost-pain, his own face red with shock as he felt his own body respond to the imagery. He had wondered what it would feel like. How good it must feel, for them to want this.

He had traced the drawings of slender fingers buried between buttocks, of stiff erections following in their wake. He had felt nauseous, had felt a burning in his gut like never before. He had given in to the temptation and touched himself, for the first time, to the image of a burly samurai filling a beautiful noble's ass with his cock.

It was an image that had burned itself into his memory, to be revisited again and again in shame, in private. But he had never acted upon it. Had never touched himself or another … that way in that place.

And now Tobirama was massaging him there, his slick fingers begging for entrance. As if he were the samurai, and Madara his nobleman.

Madara dared to look, to peer between their bodies to the place where he was being touched. Felt himself teetering on that precipice. A boundary that had never been crossed before about to be breached. And then he looked up at Tobirama, into his face drawn in concentration and flushed with desire—and was hit again with the memory of those inked faces and the pleasure they had promised.

"Go on," he said, wrapping his arms around Tobirama's neck. "You can put it in."

Tobirama groaned as he obliged, one finger breaching that place to rub along Madara's insides where no one had been before. It felt … strange and alien, but not bad. So he allowed the movement, letting Tobirama spread the oil and prod inside.

"More?" he then asked, crimson eyes glinting feverishly. He did not wait for Madara's response, a second finger entering him soon after.

It was a bit of a stretch now, not too uncomfortable as long as Madara did not clench. He found himself make involuntary noises, however. Small grunts and whimpers. That … that area began to feel more sensitive, hotter, until it became easy for Tobirama to add a third finger.

"Taking me so well," he mumbled, kissing Madara's face like a drunk man. "So hot. You're going to feel amazing. You already do. Look at you, beautiful."

And Madara looked, stared at that hand piercing him between his legs, below his softened cock. Even though he was not hard anymore, the pleasure still remained, having pooled further below to where he was now open and receptive.

He wanted it, he realized. He wanted to receive. It. Tobirama. He wanted it.

"Please," he heard himself beg. "Please, I want— …"

But Tobirama tore himself away with a growl, leaving him cold and empty. Madara cried out at the sudden feeling, his hands scrabbling uselessly at Tobirama's arms in a bid to keep him. He only stopped when he saw Tobirama fumble to undo his own pants, tented obscenely and smeared with unspeakable fluids.

"You're going to take me so well," he said, as he bared his flesh to Madara's gaze.

And he was … big. Very big. Bigger than Madara, in any case. It was … a nice cock, he supposed. Standing hard and proud with a slight curve, a thick length and a glistening, fleshy tip. Below, Tobirama's balls were big too, round and neat.

They swung entrancingly as Tobirama shuffled to kneel closer, between Madara's legs. His swollen erection hung there, above Madara's now limp and soft cock, grotesquely exaggerating their differences in size there. But that didn't matter, not when Tobirama oiled himself with that same hand that had penetrated Madara—not when it sounded and looked so erotic.

Madara tensed his thighs, lifting them and spreading them wider to accomodate Tobirama. Pulling him in, beckoning.

"Please?"

"Of course. Of course, since you ask so sweetly," Tobirama sighed. He kissed Madara again, distracting him from the blunt pressure at his entrance.

It was a lot more than Tobirama's fingers had led him to expect. More pressure, more weight, more heat and friction. Madara found himself crying helplessly, simultaneously wanting it to stop and wanting more.

"Sage," Tobirama cursed. "You're so tight. Relax, my sweet. I know you can take me."

He could. He could do it. He wanted it like he had never wanted anything before. So Madara employed all of the training he had put his own body through—to be able to withstand pain, to endure in extreme cold and with little air, water, food—and forcibly relaxed his inner muscles. It worked instantly, allowing Tobirama to slip in so much deeper.

They both moaned at the sensation—of being filled, of being buried within.

He had never been this close to another person, Madara thought to himself. Had never held another's desire in his own body, close enough to feel it twitch and pulse. Close enough to see their expression of awe and burning desire, his own slack face mirrored in their eyes.

"Please," he begged again, crying out at Tobirama's first thrust. His hands fought for purchase, for stability, tangling into his futon, pressing against Tobirama's chest and stomach. "Gods, please!"

"No gods," Tobirama panted, swiveling his hips to deliver fatal friction to Madara's insides. "Only me."

Tobirama placed one of his hands on Madara's shoulder, letting it take some of his weight. The other he clasped around Madara's thigh, holding it up and out of the way as he began to build a devastating rhythm. Each push and pull glanced against something deep inside that sparked, heat rising more and more with every thrust, until Madara was sobbing incoherently.

"Incredible … Sage, you feel so fucking good. If I had known … I should have taken you long ago. I could have had you like this years ago. I didn't know— … Fuck! You're so fucking tight. No one else compares to you. You're— … Ungh. Mine. You're mine now. You belong to … to me. Bet no one has ever made you feel this good, hm? Bet no one even dared to think of fucking you like this. Your slutty, sloppy hole. Fuck, do you hear it? Do you hear how wet you are? How … fucking well you take me? Like you were made for me?"

He heard Tobirama speaking filth, groaning and panting even as he ran his dirty mouth. Heard the wet slap of Tobirama's hips hitting his ass. The slurping noise of his cock spearing through Madara's loose hole and into his channel, where he touched something so deep inside that Madara had never known it even existed.

It grew, bloomed, until it overtook Madara in an explosion so brilliant, so radiant, it rendered him blind and deaf for unknown seconds. But when he came back to himself, there was Tobirama. Holding him close, cock still buried in Madara's ass and rocking gently, scratching on that sensation and keeping it banked.

"Wh-what?" Madara stuttered.

"Beautiful. Magnificent. Was that your first time cumming on a cock? Cumming dry like that just from being fucked?"

Madara squirmed and lifted his head to look—only to see his own cock, still limp and dribbling some small amount of fluid, but nothing like a true ejaculation. He then gazed up at Tobirama, who was smiling, the bastard. Madara whined and pushed at his face, trying to hide himself. But Tobirama only laughed out loud, punctuating with a slow thrust.

"Oh, no, my sweet, that was good. That was brilliant," he then chuckled, kissing Madara's burning cheek. "I told you, I wanted you to feel good. Didn't that feel good?"

"Yes," he admitted shamefully. "But … What about you?"

"What about me? Hm? Don't I get to keep fucking you?"

"Oh!" Madara cried, eyes scrunching shut at the next thrust. It felt … good. Too much. Perfect. "Yes! Yes, oh, please, keep … keep doing it."

"Keep doing you? No, no, ask for it properly. Say it: fuck me."

"F-f … Hngh, I can't!"

"Say it, or I'll stop." As if to prove it, Tobirama halted his hips, halfway withdrawn. "How's that? I could pull out, go home. Jerk myself off. Is that what you want?"

"No!"

"Then say it. Say you want me to fuck you."

"F-fuck me," he whispered, face burning in shame at the lewdness of it. Of asking for it like this, with such vulgar vocabulary.

"Louder," Tobirama demanded, thrusting slowly.

"Fuck me …"

"Again. Louder," he growled, hips picking up speed.

"Ah! Fuck me!"

"Again."

"Fuck me! Fuck me … harder! More! Oh, Tobirama!"

"That's it. Scream my name. Let everyone hear who's fucking you, who's making you feel this good. Ungh. There you go."

Madara came again, limbs writhing uncontrollably as Tobirama kept pounding him through it. Kept fucking him, until Madara came yet again.

"Fuck. Look at you. All fucked out and gorgeous. I'm never going to let anyone else see you like this. Perfect. You're perfect. Fuck, I'm gonna come soon. I'll fill you up like a bride on her wedding night. Do you like that? Do you like being my bride? My sloppy whore. I'll make a proper wife out of you, and I'll promise to be a good husband. I'll fuck you every night, just like this. Don't you want that? Tell me you want it."

"Wan' it … Ugh, want— … Tobirama, ah!" he cried, gurgling when his body contracted again, his peak forcing him to squeeze down on Tobirama's cock.

"Fuck, so tight. I'm gonna come. I'm— … I'm coming! Madara!" Tobirama grunted, hips stuttering as he spilled his seed deep inside Madara. He couldn't really feel it, but he imagined it flooding his insides, marking him with Tobirama's essence. He only felt it once Tobirama pulled his cock from his limp body, as something wet dribbled from his hole.

Madara whined, trying to clench his legs closed, but Tobirama didn't let him. His crimson eyes were set on that place, on Madara's no doubt ruined hole and his own spend leaking from it.

"Fuck, that's hot," he breathed, lifting Madara's thigh higher to get an even better view. He poked at the area, stopping only when Madara's whining became crying. "Shh, I know. It must be so sore. I'm sorry, did I do it too hard? But you were begging for it. Do you need me to heal it for you?"

"No, it's fine." He winced as Tobirama let go of his leg, hips protesting. "I … You're right. I wanted it. And it's just sore, not hurt."

Tobirama leaned back, eyes still trained on the space between Madara's thighs. He tried to hide it from view—he sat and squeezed his knees together, but that only pushed more fluids out of his ass.

"I could heal you, you know. I could fuck you again, right now."

Madara then watched in shock as Tobirama took himself in hand and stroked, his cock filling out again right in front of his eyes. Even if he were to use iryou ninjutsu, he didn't think he could take it again this soon after.

But … He remembered another illustration from that book. One that had intrigued and disgusted and shocked him in equal measures. One that showed the beautiful nobleman swallowing his samurai's length into his mouth to suckle on it, like a cheap whore.

He blushed, peering at Tobirama's erection, still stained with fluids and oil. And then he opened his mouth.

"Here?" he asked shyly, opening his throat wide.

Like any good shinobi, he did not have a gag reflex. He'd swallowed a dagger and a scroll once, storing them in his esophagus where they could not be found on his person. A cock, even one as big as Tobirama's, should be no issue.

What he was no prepared for, however, was the darkening of Tobirama's expression as he stood above him and fed him his cock. Nor was he prepared for the strong smell of pure, masculine musk. And the taste of Tobirama's seed, mingled with what must be the oil and even Madara's own taste.

He opened his jaw as wide as he could—but he had not accounted for the pressure, the deep massage of Tobirama's cock reaching so far into his throat that he could feel it bulge out.

"Fuck, you're so good. That you'd even offer this. Madara, oh, look at you taking it. I'm so deep inside you, can you feel it? How I'm filling you? Ah, I won't last long. Not if you swallow like that. Like you want me to pump you full, like you're hungry, like you're a greedy slut for my seed. Is that what you want? My seed?" Tobirama growled as he mercilessly punched his cock in and out of Madara's throat.

He could not speak. Could not breathe. Could not move. Could only hold himself open and accept Tobirama as he fucked his face. Sounds became indistinct, and it became harder to hold himself up. Tobirama helped, cradling his jaw, but Madara was too numb to really feel it.

Was he going to pass out? Was he going to die?

Before his vision truly blacked out, he heard Tobirama groan deeply as he pulled out. This time, Madara felt his spend raining down on his face like glorious, scorching ambrosia. It splattered in his eyes, slid down his nose, over his lips into his still open, panting mouth. He licked at it, blindly found the tip of Tobirama's cock again and sucked. Another burst spread on his tongue, salty and musky. He swallowed it, then licked all that he could from the still stiff shaft and the heavy balls below.

It tasted awful. It tasted wonderful. He slurped it all up, then sucked on the fingers that scraped more off his own face to push into his eager mouth. All that he could smell was sex, and Tobirama. Especially when he was kissed again, their tongues tangling with their mixed taste.

"Fuck," Tobirama cursed, pausing to peer into Madara's eyes. "You have done so well. It feels like a dream, you were so perfect."

He let himself be kissed some more, now held in Tobirama's embrace. Their naked bodies entwined, sticky and hot. But as time passed and Madara's mind recovered from the onslaught of pleasure he had experienced in a short span of time, reality began to seep back in.

"Tobirama," he said, interrupting their string of kisses. He waited for the other to draw back a little. To really listen. "Tobirama, I— … I'm sorry I made you do this. I am not worthy. Thank you for letting me have this, just this once, but … This cannot happen again."

"What?"

He licked his lips, tasting one last remnant of Tobirama.

"I … I mean, we cannot do this. The, the public scrutiny. Your family, my clan."

"They don't matter," Tobirama growled, grabbing his face. "None of them matter to me. All that matters is that I chose you. I want you. And you chose me. You want me too. I don't give a fuck about anyone else's opinion. You're mine."

"But it does matter. You're Izuna's friend. By the Sage," Madara moaned, eyes rolling closed. "You're my nephew's age. I am old enough to be your father."

"That's just because my real father let himself be pressured into a farce of a marriage when he was fifteen. He was too weak to say no, too weak to save my mother—a child, herself—and then he was too weak to raise me by himself and tossed me to my grandfather. Senju Hashirama is no parent of mine. Do not compare yourself to him," Tobirama growled.

"But— …"

"No. He chose you over me, once upon a time. But you … You're going to choose me, aren't you?" Tobirama squeezed harder, squishing Madara's cheeks. "You're not going to leave me. You can't. You love me, like I love you."

"I … I mean, I— …"

"You do, don't you? You love me," Tobirama insisted.

"I don't know, I— …"

"Are you such a whore that you would spread your legs to just anyone?" Tobirama growled. He withdrew his hands as if burned—as if contaminated. "You wouldn't do this with just anyone, right? This meant something."

Madara, shaking and breathing hard, stammered out: "I've never— … I'm not a whore."

Tobirama's face softened instantly, and he embraced Madara again.

"My sweet, of course not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you mean names. You're not a whore. But …" He paused, hands skimming over Madara's clammy skin. "What do you mean when you say you've never—…?"

"I haven't touched anyone. No one has ever wanted me," he whispered. His shivering slowly abated as he soaked up Tobirama's warmth. "I have never wanted anyone like this before. You … You were the first."

"Oh."

"Is that bad?"

"No, no. Madara, look at me." He met Tobirama's gaze, blinking worriedly at the wide-eyed look he received. "Are you really— …? I took your virginity?"

Madara blushed violently, trying to turn his face away, but Tobirama wouldn't let him.

"Madara, please don't tell me that this was your first time."

"But it was," he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. He did not want to see what kind of expression Tobirama was making now. "I have never f-fucked anyone before. B-but you have, haven't you? Didn't you say that it means something? You can't get mad at the thought that I have … when you have touched others too. What am I supposed to think about that?"

"They— … Madara, they meant nothing, I swear. All this time, I thought … surely, you had your secret lovers. Men or women who knew how to please you. Who you'd let into your bed and into your heart before me. I thought I had to compete with them, to gain your love. I … I only slept with those others to gain experience. So I wouldn't be a bumbling fool when I finally found myself in your bed," Tobirama said softly. He sighed. "I had no idea that you were still a virgin. I should not have fucked you like I did, not for your first time."

"But I liked it," Madara confessed.

"I'm glad, my sweet. I have loved you for a long time, have wanted you for just as many years. It would have been a shame, had I scared you away."

"I'm not scared." Madara licked his lips. "You love me?"

"I do. My sweet Madara, my distant moonlight. Now that I have you …" Tobirama kissed him sweetly. "I'm never going to let you go."