Chapter Text
Tobirama hated fighting Sand ninja. It wasn’t the wind jutsu or the puppets—his sensory abilities mitigated much of their threat. (Half of wind’s danger was that it attacked invisibly, but he could sense the chakra of the jutsu. Likewise, chakra strings were easy to pinpoint and thus interrupt, making puppets fall lifeless to the ground.)
No, Tobirama hated fighting Sand ninja because of their poisons.
Sealing away the bodies and gear of their attackers for later inspection—morbid, but forensics could tell you a lot about an enemy, even Hashirama conceded to the wisdom of that, if reluctantly—Tobirama inwardly cursed the fact that Hashirama had sent him out with Madara of all people.
(“If Wind is pushing the border, it could mean war,” Hashirama had said. “It’s not a threat to take lightly, so I’m deploying our strongest.”
And maybe, maybe Tobirama would have believed him… if not for the beaming, smug look on Hashirama’s stupid face.
He’d given his brother the flat, unimpressed glare that deserved, the threat of ‘I will tell Mito’ unspoken but no less loud for it, until Hashirama faltered, falling into a dramatic pout. (Really, marrying Mito was the wisest thing his brother had ever done—she was miraculously able to keep him in line, something Tobirama only managed a third of the time.)
“I just want my brother and my best friend to get along!” Hashirama had wailed. “Is that so wrong? You’re more alike than you know. If you just stopped arguing for two seconds and got to know each other better, I know you’d see it too!”
Unfortunately, whatever else Hashirama was—an undignified, overly optimistic fool for the most part—he was still Hokage, so Tobirama had had no choice but to obey.)
Well, Tobirama reflected ironically as he rerolled the last body scroll, it looked like Hashirama would be getting his wish—of them ‘getting to know one another better’—if in a far more intimate way than any of them wanted. Because that little shit of a poison specialist had gotten him with what he recognized as sex pollen, and then the battle had dragged out too long for any hope of extracting it before it took root.
“Done?” Madara asked, gruffly impatient.
Tobirama glared at him and bemoaned his fate. If he had to be sent out with an Uchiha, why not… Hikaku or something? Hikaku was a perfectly sensible man. He would have preferred Hikaku. (Except Hikaku was also happily married, with an adorable son called Kagami who Tobirama was pondering apprenticing, so maybe not. Fucking one’s future student’s parent seemed like tempting fate—it would come out one day, and it would be unspeakably awkward.) (Also, Hikaku was utterly straight.)
“What?” Madara demanded, twitching under Tobirama’s glare.
“Nothing,” he snapped back on instinct, and regretted it immediately as Madara scoffed, turned, and set a swift pace back towards Konoha.
As he hurried to catch up and fall in step, Tobirama silently cursed his pride. The village was at least two days away, and they had no hope of reaching it before Tobirama succumbed to the poison. What he should have done was admit to the poisoning and discern whether Madara was even willing to help him through it. He didn’t think the man would deny him. For all their antagonism, they were allies, and unsated sex pollen poison was an agony unlike any other—a torture that even skilled torturers avoided, because it rendered the weak-willed insane, and how could you extract reliable intelligence from a madman?
So no, he didn’t think Madara would deny him, not with that on the line. But Madara was also an arsehole—Tobirama ignored that most would say he himself also fit that descriptor—and would most definitely be difficult about it, wasting time that Tobirama couldn’t comfortably afford.
As if the gods were looking down on him and laughing—the malicious shits—it was at that precise moment of thought that Tobirama felt the first wave of heat and faltered, falling to his knees.
Madara made it a good hundred yards before noticing.
“What the fuck, Senju? Are you— are you hiding an injury?” he demanded in outrage, arms flailing.
Tobirama glared, unable to find breath to speak. His dick had gone from soft to rock hard in approximately point five of a second and holy shit was that distracting. He wasn’t sure if it was desperate arousal or burning pain he was feeling, but he knew, if something wasn’t done soon, it would definitely be the latter.
At his silence, Madara crossed his arms and glared. “No. Seriously. How fucking dare you!? We’re on the border of possibly enemy lands—depending on whether Sand backs the fuck down—and you’re my only backup! If you’re injured, I need to know, because you’re useless to me! Worse than useless—you’re a liability!”
Fury and lust shot through Tobirama in equal measure, and Madara finally stomped close enough to reach, and really, there was a perfect way to shut the man up.
Tobirama lunged.
Madara yelped as his back hit the dirt, head impacting with a painful thud. And then he yelped again, if for a different reason, as Tobirama caught his mouth in a devouring kiss, straddled his lap, and ground down. Tobirama noticed only vaguely how quickly the yelp transformed into a moan, and also that he definitely kissed back. (He would remember those details for later though, to hold over Madara’s head, a counterattack for if the man tried to hold this against Tobirama.)
“Fuck me,” he ordered and bit Madara’s lip hard enough to taste copper.
And just like that he was on his back, and then on his front a split second later, Madara straddling him now, but not in the way he wanted, twisting Tobirama’s arms behind his back and cursing up a storm.
“What the fuck, Senju? I’m bleeding! If this needs stitches, I’m setting you on fire!” Then, all mortified sensibilities, “Also, what the fuck do you mean ‘fuck you’? You can’t just— We’re on a mission! And in the middle of nowhere!”
Tobirama… stopped struggling.
Hmm, interesting.
“Those are your only objections?” he asked, curiosity briefly overcoming lust.
“What? No! I— That’s—”
“They are,” he purred, smug and rubbing it in shamelessly. “You absolutely would fuck me.”
“THIS IT NOT THE TIME OR THE PLACE!” Madara shrieked.
Tobirama abruptly sobered. “Actually, since that shithead Sand ninja was throwing around sex pollen, this is exactly the time and place.”
There was a moment of silence, then a quiet, “Oh fuck.”
“—me,” Tobirama added.
Madara huffed, partly annoyed, reluctantly amused, and released him. Tobirama rolled over underneath him, and Madara leaned close, hands wisely pinning Tobirama down by the wrists to prevent him from lunging for another kiss or a grope or something as Madara peered at Tobirama’s eyes, no doubt seeing blown pupils and also the tell-tale ring of gold around his irises.
“Fuck. Shit. Godsdammit. You really are—” Madara drew back, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair. He squawked as Tobirama immediately took advantage of his freed grip to go for his belt, and Madara flailed like an offended maiden. “Stop that! You can’t just— STOP!”
Tobirama gritted his teeth and froze. It was perhaps the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he was not a rapist and—
He clawed at the dirt as fire burned through his veins, focussing especially where any man would least want to be set alight, and by some miracle managed to bite back the sob to a pained whine.
“Hey, no, fuck, okay, it’s gonna be fine, just—” Madara grabbed Tobirama’s face and kissed him until the heat eased. Pulling back, he gave an assessing look and nodded. “Better.”
“Are you—?” Tobirama panted. “Kissing isn’t going to suffice. If you’re not willing, you should restrain me.”
“What!? The fuck kind of person do you think I am!? We’re allies, Senju! I’m not gonna just leave you to your fate! I have more honour than that!” A pause. “…Also, your brother would kill me.”
“Or cry on you.”
Madara grimaced, like that was worse. Tobirama… sympathised. Hashirama, when genuinely sorrowful, was even more a soggy, clingy mess than when he was being an overdramatic, manipulative, crybaby buffoon.
Also, snot. Everywhere.
“If I wasn’t willing, I’d at least find you an accommodating whore.” Madara paused, thoughtful. “Actually, that’s an idea. There’s a trading town like fifteen minutes north of here, isn’t there? If you’d prefer that?” Then, hearing Tobirama’s increasingly pained whine, he leaned down to kiss him again.
“Bad idea,” Tobirama gasped when they parted. “Worst idea. I’m a godsdamned ninja, Uchiha. The whores will be civilian. And sex pollen doesn’t leave much in the way of self-control.” He’d probably accidentally kill them mid-fuck or something, and Tobirama had enough emotional trauma, okay—that was not something he wanted to add to the list.
Madara grimaced, taking his point. “Fine. But we’re still near the border, in the open. We need somewhere safe to hole up.”
“That’s a yes, right?” Tobirama demanded.
“It’s… fine, yes. Sex. Okay.”
Under any other circumstances, Tobirama would have glared at him for the put-upon tone, and maybe dumped a water dragon on his head and stalked off. But quite frankly, he was in no position to be picky, and mostly all he felt was sheer, utter relief and impatient, throbbing arousal.
So instead he threw his senses wide, making sure there were no enemies even close to nearby. It was harder than expected, and he inwardly cursed the poison that was eroding his control. Still, though it took a little longer, and a lot more focus, Tobirama was able to scout the area adequately—they were alone. He then pulled his senses in closer, which, while limiting his range, gave him more detail and— there.
“Three minutes to the south. About two hundred feet up that mountain. Two bears denning. Probably a cave.”
Madara nodded and asked no further questions, just got to his feet and set off at a fast pace. He kept a weather eye on Tobirama in case he faltered, but thankfully for the sake of Tobirama’s dignity—and Madara’s, because he would absolutely get petty revenge later if he had to be carried like some sort of damsel—Tobirama managed to keep his feet. The clear intention to find a place to bed down for the much-needed fucking seemed to assuage the poison, ease its burn. (And later Tobirama would find that fascinating, that quasi-sentience, and probably do some research, but he just did not have the focus to spare right now.)
Killing the bears was simple enough. A high-pressure water jutsu then cleaned the cave efficiently. (He was going to pretend that he’d intended to scour the stone for good measure, rather than his control having lapsed.) Madara dried it with a fire jutsu, carefully regulated not to make the stone more than warm to the touch. They then hurriedly laid out their bedrolls before securing the area with traps and genjutsu and seals.
The moment the last seal was in place, Tobirama climbed Madara like a tree.
“Wait, wait, wait!”
Tobirama did not wait. His mouth latched onto Madara’s, his hands tangled in his hair, and he tightened the legs wrapped around the other man’s waist, moaning at the pressure on his dick.
In the next instant, he was once more face down, straddled from behind, not the way he wanted, with arms twisted behind his back.
This was becoming a habit, and Tobirama did not appreciate it.
Snarling, he rolled his hips back, trying to tempt Madara, but the other man just shifted his weight so the movements didn’t stimulate, and Tobirama— he clenched his teeth on a keen. The poison did not care for this deviation from its goal, not one bit.
“Hey, shh, it’s fine—” Madara grunted when Tobirama tried to buck him off. “Stop that! There will be sex very soon, I promise, just— Oh. Good. Calm. Thank fuck. We need to clear some things up quickly first. Expectations, and— What exactly do you want here?”
“Sex.”
Madara huffed. “Obviously. But what kind? How far should I take this? Do you just want my hands? My mouth—?”
“Fuck,” Tobirama hissed, just imagining it.
“Yes, or that. And if that, do you like to top or bottom? And what positions do you prefer? Or really not prefer? I know most ninja wouldn’t want someone they didn’t trust absolutely at their back, but on the other hand—Uchiha. Would you feel better that way because my eyes couldn’t catch yours? I just…” Though he didn’t release Tobirama, Madara gave the distinct impression of flailing. “What are you okay with!?”
Oh, that was… he didn’t want to credit Madara of all people with common sense, but those were actually good questions. Important questions. Damn.
Positions? Well, he wasn’t about to tell Madara—wanted to wrinkle his nose just admitting it to himself—but the fact was he did trust the man. Oh, he could be petty and insulting, stubborn and prideful, not to mention overwhelmingly obnoxious, but… but he was as committed to peace, to Konoha, as anyone.
He wouldn’t stab Tobirama in the back.
“Any position’s fine,” Tobirama decided. Then, before Madara could infer the implication of trust there, he haughtily added, “If you think I need your help to avoid those eyes of yours, after years of fighting Sharingan wielders, you’re stupider than I thought.”
Madara spluttered in offence. That was satisfying.
“Hands, yes. Mouth, yes.” He pressed his forehead to the ground, focussing on the pulsing heat that was waiting for the slightest hint it would be denied to lash out. He considered settling for just that, hands and mouth, and whimpered at the quick flash of pain. Okay, no, that wouldn’t suffice. “Fucking. Needs to be fucking. And… I like both? But…” He grimaced. “I don’t trust my self-control not to hurt you so… you’d better top.”
Madara took a deep breath. “Okay, I can do that. I can— I can totally do that.”
And then he let Tobirama go.
Clothing disappeared quickly, and Tobirama wasted no time in shoving Madara back, crawling into his lap, and trying to sit on his dick. Madara stopped him, babbling something about, “Lube! Is non-optional! Fuck’s sake, Senju, hold still!” but Tobirama hardly cared… until he found himself face down and pinned again. Before he could express his extreme displeasure with this new habit of Madara’s, fingers slick with what smelled like weapon oil pressed inside him, and he moaned as the fire in his blood went from painful burning to coiling warmth.
“I am not,” Madara snarled against the back of his neck, “going to hurt you—or let you hurt yourself!—any more than I’d let you hurt me. So just— just let me prep you, for fuck’s sake.”
And shit, yes, Tobirama was on board. He arched his hips, rocking back as much as he could on the fingers hastily stretching him, probably moaning like one of those whores Madara had considered getting for him if the man’s breathless, “Gods, fuck, you sound amazing,” was anything to go by.
“Enough!” Tobirama growled. “I’m good. Fuck me already.”
A pause, and then Madara obliged him, and Tobirama shuddered as his dick pressed inside. It was good, so good, and he tried to shove back, to take it all at once. But Madara had apparently been expecting that, because he was still perfectly arranged to pin Tobirama down as he took him. It was almost torture, being held there as Madara pushed in slow and steady—except not torture at all, because the poison was pleased, heating his blood with ecstasy instead of pain.
“Good?” Madara panted, and it was courteous, it was thoughtful, it was considerate… but godsdamn was it misplaced.
“Fuck. Me. Right. The fuck. Now. Uchiha!”
Madara huffed a laugh, and then he did, hips drawing back and snapping forwards. Tobirama cried out in victory—this, yes, this was what he wanted!—and Madara lifted his weight from Tobirama’s back to kneel up, grasping his hips tight enough to bruise as he fucked him hard and fast. Tobirama scrambled to his hands and knees, the better to fuck back, relishing in it, and soon came screaming.
“Fuck,” Madara groaned, shoving hard and finding his own release, and Tobirama whined, distressed, because he was far from done. “Fuck, sorry. Hang on.”
To his relief, Madara quickly pulled out and tugged Tobirama to sit straddling his lap, back to Madara’s chest, and reached for his dick. He quickly worked him through another two orgasms before teasing at a third which just would not come. Tobirama growled, grabbing Madara’s free hand, pressing it low between his legs, and the man obliged, sliding his fingers back inside, fucking where he was oil-slicked and dripping come.
Tobirama came so hard that lights flashed behind his eyes.
By the time he was coherent again, Madara’s strokes had slowed, and Tobirama reached a hand to stop him because it was too much.
“The lull?” Madara murmured in his ear.
“Think so,” he said, voice raspy from screaming.
Madara moved them, easing Tobirama down onto his back. He was oddly careful about it, oddly gentle, and it made something in Tobirama’s chest clench. He pushed the thought away. Mid-sex pollen poisoning was not the time to be having feelings. Especially not feelings for Madara of all people… even if the man had been oddly keen to fuck him right from the start, poor timing and location aside, as if he had thought about it before.
But no—sex and feelings were not the same thing! And Tobirama was sure that, once he was no longer poisoned, or riding the lassitude of a post-orgasmic high, he would be much more logical about the matter.
A water canteen was shoved in his face.
“Here, drink something while you’re still lucid.”
Ah, hydration. Probably a good idea. He didn’t even realise how thirsty he was till he had drained the canteen dry. Frowning, he considered his chakra control—good enough, in the lull, if he focussed hard—and flicked his fingers, forming water from the air to refill it and draining half of that too. He handed the canteen back to Madara, who finished it off, then held it out to be refilled again before tucking it back in his pack.
From what Tobirama had read on the subject, it would be at least half an hour before he was in need again and they could finish this—the lull marked the halfway point. In the meantime, the silence stretched, lingered and grew awkward.
Madara jumped to his feet, declared “I’m gonna check the traps!” and rushed off.
Well, avoidance was one way to deal with awkward social situations. Tobirama couldn’t even say he disapproved, having utilized the tactic many a time himself—people could be complicated. If he wasn’t so fucked-out, Tobirama might have been the one to leave. As it was, he closed his eyes to rest as much as he could while he had the chance… and accidentally fell asleep at some point, which was a grave mistake, because he’d missed the returning heat and instead woke up burning.
He immediately sobbed at the pain, curling into a ball, and couldn’t bite back the breathless scream.
“Fuck. Senju? Senju! Tobirama!”
He sucked in a sharp breath, grabbing the hand that was tentatively touching his shoulder, and shoved Madara down, climbing atop him desperately. This time the other man didn’t try to stop him as he sunk down on his dick, just said gently reassuring things between curses, and let Tobirama ride him fast and hard and desperate from one orgasm to the next.
Time lost meaning, and Tobirama couldn’t say how long it was before the heat began to recede, the aching need eased, and he slowed to a stop, panting. His arms trembled where they supported him on Madara’s chest, and his elbows gave way. Strong but careful hands caught him and eased him down, and Tobirama tucked his face into Madara’s neck and his ridiculous nest of hair, body shuddering with aftershocks.
He knew the moment the poison fully left him, as he turned his head to the side, coughing out a cloud of golden spores that would grow the cactus whose flowers produced the sex pollen. Or would have, if not for—
“Fire Style,” Madara said—just that, no actual jutsu—exhaling a carefully controlled, brilliantly burning tongue of white-hot flame that destroyed every trace of spore.
Tobirama flinched a bit at the heat, but it was gone as quickly as it came. And quite frankly, he very much understood Madara’s sentiment, so he hummed in approval as he forced himself to sit up. He winced as Madara slipped out of him—he was going to feel this for a while. It was about then he noticed that Madara was still hard, had been hard ever since Tobirama crawled into his lap.
Eyes wide, he looked from the man’s dick to his flushed face and averted eyes, and blurted, “Still?”
Madara shrugged awkwardly. “Well, you know, you kinda seemed like you needed me to be?”
The words were logical, but the tone was pained, the expression on his face one of suffering, and Tobirama… he felt that warmth in his chest again. It was harder to stifle this time, but he told himself again that sex and feelings were not the same thing. Though speaking of sex—yes, that he could do. He was too sore to get back on, as it were, but…
Tobirama slid down, effortlessly calling up a curl of water to wash Madara’s dick clean—he’d never realised how much he valued his chakra control till it was gone—and then, before the man could do more than startle, took him in his mouth, swallowing to the root.
Madara choked, and then cursed, and didn’t take very long at all to come.
They both lay there for a while afterwards, side by side but pointedly not touching, clinging to the afterglow partly because it was good afterglow, but mostly to avoid having to talk about… everything that had happened.
For the second time, Tobirama fell asleep that way. And Madara too apparently, Tobirama reflected when he woke, because he very much doubted the man had taken his position consciously—curled around Tobirama, one thigh tucked high between Tobirama’s own. Madara lay stiff and still despite the position, or perhaps because of it, as if he’d been trying not to wake Tobirama for fear of retaliation.
The moment he noticed Tobirama’s eyes were open he shouted, “I can explain!”
Tobirama chuckled sleepily and untangled them. “It’s fine.” He laughed outright when Madara kept eyeing him warily, which only seemed to unnerve the man further. But the morning after had always put him in a good mood, and apparently waking up to Madara of all people didn’t change that.
Still… best not to let on too much.
“Get up, get dressed. We’re running late as it is, and you’re holding us up.”
“I’m holding us up!?” Madara shot back with reflexive offence. “You’re the one who went and got poisoned, Senju! You should be thanking me for being such a kind, generous teammate and helping you out!”
“—with your dick,” Tobirama finished dryly, and smirked as Madara flushed and looked away, stomping over to grab his own clothes and tug them on.
Madara continued to fume in silence as they packed up their gear and took down the traps. And as they worked, Tobirama thought of the man’s eagerness, his unexpected consideration, the fact he wasn’t being too much of a shit in the wake of Tobirama’s loss of control, and also the way he had definitely peeked as Tobirama got up to dress.
Sex and feelings were not the same thing, but… that didn’t mean they couldn’t align.
And even if they didn’t, well, sometimes sex was its own reward.
“You know,” Tobirama said ever so casually as they set out from the cave, “you promised me your mouth, Uchiha, but you never did deliver.”
And then he shot Madara a look of pure flirtation.
Madara flushed red, squawked, missed his footing, and tumbled the rest of the way down the mountainside.
Tobirama just stood and watched, and mourned the apparent death of his good taste.