Work Text:
Madara was deep into an argument with a particularly sketchy young fire demon when his lover came home, but he heard the door - or perhaps he didn’t, perhaps it was only the shiver of the wards and he knew the door had been opened and closed.
Putting it out of his mind, he shouted down the recalcitrant demon until it was quailing and apologetic, then guided it through completing the ritual that had been his entire purpose in summoning the creature. He was happy to dismiss the demon again; he’d held his patience while they were working together, but he tended to forget how aggravating it was when he had to teach the young ones even as he kept them under control and ensured he kept any loopholes they might exploit closed off.
Madara took a breath, rubbing his face, then - though he daydreamed briefly about leaving it for later - set about clearing up the summoning paraphernalia and all the aspects of the ritual that hadn’t been consumed in the process. He took the easy way out at the end and simply breathed a gout of flame across the circle he’d carefully scribed, burning away even the residue of the lines until the stone was once more unmarked. He blessed his lover’s good sense in designing their home - and specifically each of their workrooms - as he made sure all the sparks were out.
Then he headed through into the main areas of the house, triggering the wards to lock up his workroom on his way out. They flared into life with a flash of leaping purple fire.
Madara paused in the entryway of the main room, frowning as he took in the long, lean figure of his lover stretched facedown along the couch. One arm was wedged against the back of the couch and the other draped off the edge, his knuckles trailing on the floor. He hadn’t bothered to remove anything but his shoes - neatly by the door - and his outer coat - flung messily over a table rather than hung up, the books that had been on its surface now toppled over on the floor.
“Hello beloved,” Madara said gently, approaching slowly, “rough day?”
Tobirama tensed, back curving a little and fingers twitching against the floor. He groaned unhappily without raising his head from the pillow, trailing off into a thin, miserable whine.
Fleetingly Madara thought of the surprise - the gift - he had just hidden away for his lover. He shook his head and moved closer. Madara bent, resting a hand lightly on the small of Tobirama’s back. “I’m sorry it was unpleasant.” he said evenly, because that much was clear, and rubbed gently up and down his lover’s back as Tobirama grumbled wordlessly. “What happened?”
Tobirama shifted on the couch, though he neither turned over nor began to rise. Madara nudged him over a little and perched on the edge of the couch by his thighs, reaching up to keep rubbing his back. Tobirama’s groan thickened almost into a growl this time.
“All day, all day, people kept interrupting me with questions about the Harvest Festival, and the Equinox, and what are the steps for a blessing ritual again, and is it really so very important to observe it - if it is, can it not be done on another day, or at least not when it’s dark and cold outside. Three people asked me if someone else could perform the traditional house blessings for them, then hurried to assure me they would pay for it fairly.” Tobirama grit out, twisting his head enough to the side so as not to muffle himself. Madara winced. A house blessing, honestly. “Two of them informed me they wouldn’t trust themselves or any of their family, not over a real mage.”
Madara’s eye twitched. House blessings. House blessings. Home and family; the point wasn’t magical power it was love and bonds and home. How could- He huffed silently.
Tobirama drew a slow breath. “When I finally had some peace from them, one of my students followed suit - I almost suspect there was a dare involved.”
Madara opened his mouth, then closed it before he could speak. At that he was almost a little amused, if he were honest. Although it wasn’t that he didn’t sympathise with his lover’s aggravation. He slid his hand up Tobirama’s spine towards his nape in a firm stroke, then petted gently on the way back down. “Well. . .” Madara trailed off. “I suppose not everyone lives their lives by the path of the world’s cycle.” Somehow. “Leaving it rather late to try and prepare now though,” he said, lips pursing, “the equinox may be further away, but the mundane celebrations are in three days.”
Tobirama went still under his hand, then twisted to look at him. His expression was blank and puzzled, and Madara half-stifled a laugh. “You had forgotten?” he suggested, not terribly surprised. “Three days.” he filled in. “The mundane celebrations are always odd.”
“Nine.” Tobirama said, and Madara raised his eyebrows.
“No, definitely three.” Madara repeated, shaking his head slightly.
Tobirama looked exasperated, as though he was the one to remember such things, ever, in their lives. The alchemical formula to creating a spring in a desert? Absolutely. Every point on the wheel of the world and seasons? Without a doubt. The names of every demon Madara dealt with regularly? Why not. The date of a mundane holiday or any event without personal significance? Not a chance.
“Nine imbeciles questioning me today.” Tobirama said flatly, and Madara stilled.
“Oh.” Madara blinked. “Oh I am sorry, beloved.” That was rather more than he had guessed. He rubbed his knuckles at the top of Tobirama’s spine, just below his nape.
Tobirama shivered, shoulders easing slightly.
“Hiruzen is going to be binding twigs, weaving offering wheels, braiding herbs and talismans, reviewing the seasonal blessings and responsibilities, and writing rote-spells for weeks.” Tobirama said with a snort. “If he’s so thoughtless as to forget one of the most major points of the wheel, and so eager to fall in with the mundane views, he clearly needs a thorough grounding.” he added when Madara just looked at him.
His lips curled slightly in a little smirk with a vicious edge. Madara had always loved that smirk - at least, once it stopped making him want to punch Tobirama’s face in - with the sexy little quirk it gave Tobirama’s thin mouth.
“Once his familiarity is thoroughly ground in, we’ll begin on the proper rituals for the world’s cycle.” Tobirama continued, eyes narrowing slightly.
The young Sarutobi might well learn to specialise in such events, Madara thought wryly, by the time Tobirama was satisfied. He suspected his lover might be going slightly overboard, only being able to punish one of the people who had so pricked his temper with their silly questions and views he no doubt found tiresome as well as foolish.
Tobirama’s students, however, should know him better than to pester him in such a way, and only more so on a day when his temper was already tried. Tobirama would never take his wrath out on them, but were they to specifically provoke him themselves?
Madara shook his head slightly, then bent and nuzzled Tobirama’s collar aside, pressing a kiss to warm skin that carried a slightly-too-strong scent of bitter herbs and metal. And maybe a little blood. And fire, though Madara knew he carried that scent himself as well, as he always did to some degree.
It was always best not to think too closely about what might be clinging to Tobirama when he returned from his work in his public lab or even the attached ‘shop’ where his brother had wheedled him into offering services and aid for any who asked. Mostly they could pay, some could not, and, like his brother, Tobirama would never dream of denying someone his help if they needed it regardless. If it was needed. Foolishness was never rewarded in Tobirama’s domain.
Tobirama sighed, a hint of a whine to his tone. Madara rubbed his side gently. “Why don’t you go and wash, then get into something more comfortable; I’ll make you some tea.” he suggested. He pressed another kiss to Tobirama’s shoulder.
Tobirama huffed, then turned to look at him with a little pout. Madara resisted the urge to steal a kiss. “Me get cleaned up?” Tobirama questioned, tone sharp. “You smell like smoke and the place between dimensions.”
Madara arched an eyebrow, and Tobirama huffed again, wriggling in place under Madara’s hand. Madara considered picking his lover up and hauling him through into the bathing room.
Before the thought more than drifted across his mind, Tobirama rolled over properly, bumping into him, then sat up against his shoulder with a sigh, immediately nuzzling his face into Madara’s bare shoulder.
“Tea?” he asked softly for confirmation, plucking at Madara’s high collar with a faintly frustrated air.
“Soon as you’re out.” Madara promised, kissing the curve of Tobirama’s jaw and ushering him up off the couch and towards the bathing room. Being clean would sweeten Tobirama’s temper, and so would surrounding himself in water for a bit. It was a little easier to manage than the searing fires that would calm Madara when he needed it, but the concept was the same. The element ran in his soul, dwelling within it for a time soothed his soul.
Madara made his own way to the kitchen, filling the kettle and putting it over a fire he breathed into being already at searing temperatures. There were few shortcuts to making tea that didn’t ruin the tea, but this was one of them.
So was the simple task of keeping the tea hot once it had been brewed, and by the time Tobirama emerged - wrapped in a rich blue yukata with an indigo pattern of swirling waves dyed at the hem and cuffs, hair spikily damp - Madara had been settled at the table with the cups doing just that for a time. He dropped his feet from where they’d been propped in the chair opposite and smiled at his lover as Tobirama approached.
He bypassed the chair and bent to kiss Madara, warm and lingering. Madara hummed with pleasure, leaning a fraction closer himself and reaching out, hand sliding over Tobirama’s hip. Tobirama drew back a few moments later, eyes heavy-lidded and lips faintly curled.
“Feeling better?” Madara asked cautiously, though it was clear at least some of the tension had left his lover.
Tobirama’s lips quirked and he settled in the chair beside Madara, tugging it close enough he could lean up against Madara’s shoulder and making him smile. “I am. Thank you, darling.” Tobirama said, voice low and throaty.
Madara hummed, nudging Tobirama’s cup of tea towards him, and wrapped an arm around him as he slouched a little in the chair. Tobirama cradled his teacup between his palms, making little swirling patterns dance in it between sips with nothing more than a hum or the twitch of a finger.
When their cups emptied, Tobirama flicked two fingers and ‘poured’ more tea by drawing it - still steaming; maintaining the heat was easily enough done if Madara only kept a tiny fraction of his attention on it - from the spout and twisting through the air into the cups. Then he hummed, nestling against Madara’s shoulder again, and asked about the summoning he had worked today.
Omake:
Madara slipped up behind his lover, wrapping his arms around Tobirama’s waist and nuzzling into the crook of his neck with a kiss. Tobirama made a little surprised, pleased sound, and Madara smiled, nipping gently and then pressing another kiss to the soft flutter of his lover’s pulse before lifting his head.
“Happy anniversary, beloved.” Madara murmured.
Tobirama was silent for a moment, then craned his neck to meet Madara’s eyes. “Hrm?”
Madara stifled a laugh, having entirely expected it to be forgotten, though he had commemorated the day every year they had been together. It was, perhaps, an anniversary that was only truly meaningful to Madara - not the day they’d bonded with one another, or the day they’d moved into their home, or even their first date. Many years ago, on this day, Madara had made Tobirama smile at him for the first time . . . and realised he was in love.
“Here.” Madara brought his hands together before Tobirama, making a seal and murmuring a few jagged-edged syllables not designed for the human tongue. A book, which he had not bothered to wrap, slid into his hands with a puff of smoke and a billow of sparking soot that - mostly - disappeared within a few seconds. “For you.”
Tobirama looked down at it, hands sliding over Madara’s forearms to cover his own on the book, sliding one palm over the cover and murmuring to himself. Then he stiffened, and Madara hid a grin in his lover’s shoulder.
Tobirama spun in Madara’s arms, the book held securely in his left hand. “How- You- Where did you find this? It’s been lost for-”
Madara leaned up the fraction necessary to kiss him, feeling a little - justifiably, he thought - smug. “Lost and hidden away in the demon realm.” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Bargaining and bullying were required,” well, those and pure power, “but it’s easy enough for a demon to get anywhere there, with decent direction.”
It had also taken incredible amount of research, and badgering information out of people and creatures Madara normally wouldn’t have put up with, and all made several times harder by his refusal to ask Tobirama - who never dealt with demons himself, but was unmatched in his skills and talent for research, ferreting out details and putting them together - for help. But the brilliant light in his lover’s eyes was more than worth the trouble he had gone to in the process of acquiring the book, lost for generations and now found, just for Tobirama.
“Thank you.” Tobirama said, driving one hand into Madara’s hair and cradling his head to drag him into a hot, hard kiss.