Chapter Text
Madara awoke feeling warm and safe, with a heavy arm wrapped around his waist. It stirred as he did, as he turned to face the man sharing his futon. In the dim light of dawn, Tobirama's face was like the setting moon. His eyes blinked open, a smile gracing his lips as soon as he saw Madara.
"Good morning, my love," he said and leaned forward to capture Madara's lips in a kiss.
Every morning had been like this—quiet bliss and easy companionship—ever since Madara had given in to his desires. Forbidden or not, immoral or not, it felt far to good to let Tobirama pull their naked bodies closer, until their already hardened lengths could rub together. It was easy to let his young lover stoke their arousal, to bring them both over the edge.
What had not gotten easier was the pang of guilt afterwards, whenever Madara remembered that these moments were stolen. And someday soon, he feared, one of them would have to pay a price.
But not today, he thought some time later, after they had both washed and clothed themselves for the day. Now he was standing at the stove, stirring some kelp and miso soup while rice was steaming. He'd firmly taken back control over his kitchen since the first time he let Tobirama cook resulted in irrecoverably burnt pots. Madara didn't mind. He liked cooking for his loved ones—had enjoyed cooking for his cousins and his nephew. Even for his brother and sister-in-law, back when Tajima had not yet been consumed by war and grief, and Mizume had not yet succumbed to her illness. To be able to provide like this again, now for Tobirama, soothed some kind of gentle instinct in Madara.
They ate quietly and peacefully on Madara's engawa, overlooking his courtyard and the sun rising above the Hokage monument.
It had only been a month or so since they began this tradition of watching the sun rise together. But already Madara would despair if he lost it.
"Hashirama has called me to his office today," Tobirama broke the silence.
"Mm? What for?"
"I don't know." An adorable wrinkle appeared between Tobirama's eyebrows as he poured them both more tea. "It might be about my next mission assignment. Perhaps something else."
"Tell me later?"
"Of course."
And so they parted for the day, Tobirama off to the Hokage tower, while Madara stayed busy in his own clan for the morning. After lunch he also made his way over to the administration building. As soon as he set foot in it, however, he felt an ominous atmosphere. Clerks hurried past with quick steps, conversation remained hushed. And the pulsing chakra above, in the Hokage's office, felt gloomy and brooding.
Madara sighed and directed his feet towards that depressive cloud of chakra that could come from none other than Hashirama himself. The Hokage's secretary sent him a plaintive look before admitting him inside.
"What crawled up your ass and died?" he said immediately upon entering, raising an eyebrow at the sight of his friend sitting at his desk like a half-rotten mushroom.
Hashirama let out a sad moan, head dropping onto the desk with a dull thud.
"It's Tobirama."
Madara's heart seized. But no—Hashirama couldn't know about their relationship. He wouldn't be gloomy about it. He'd have tried to rip Madara's head off the second he came within range.
"Oh?" he said, sounding more nonchalant than he felt. He leaned against Hashirama's desk with one hip, poking his friend's shoulder. "What did he do this time?"
"Nothing. It's what he refuses to do that's the issue."
"I don't understand."
Hashirama sighed deep and long, then picked himself up.
"He yelled at me. Well, there might have been a lot of yelling. From both of us. But mostly him."
"Because …?"
After rubbing his face tiredly, Hashirama said: "He barely respects me some days. Oh, he follows my orders well enough, and I'd never doubt his loyalty to Konoha or me as the Hokage. But as his father?"
Still not understanding what this was about but getting more worried by the second, Madara made a gesture to encourage Hashirama to continue talking.
"Well," Hashirama sighed, "all I did was suggest that perhaps it might be time for him to marry. To settle down and start a family. It's long past time for it anyway! He'll be twenty-one soon! At that age, many are fathers and mothers many times over. And besides, I know he'd enjoy it—he's so lovely with children."
Heart racing, Madara bit his lip. Tobirama did not agree, did he? Surely …?
"How do you do it?" Hashirama piped up suddenly, eyes alight. "You are not married. Sure, Izuna is your heir, but he is not married yet either. Has your clan not put pressure on you or your heir?"
"Has your clan?" Madara deflected.
"Of course. It's just how things are done. They wanted Tobirama married years ago, but he was adamant. And I gave him time, hoping that he would find someone that he wanted to be with on his own."
"He is still young," Madara said weakly. "Besides, you have Kawarama and Itama."
"Yes. But …" Hashirama's expression twisted into a grimace. "The clan would prefer Tobirama to inherit. Since he is a full-blooded Senju. They worry that the mokuton might not be passed along the line to my younger sons."
"Bullshit."
"We don't know that."
"The mokuton doesn't even manifest every generation. Besides, Mito-hime's own bloodline is surely compensation enough. The Uzumaki's talent with fuuinjutsu, those adamantine chains of theirs, their ridiculous chakra stores …"
"You'd think so, yes," Hashirama chuckled. He rallied himself with a sigh, then continued: "In any case, I'd have preferred to see Tobirama married soon, too. For his own happiness' sake, if nothing else. Perhaps to a Sarutobi, or even an Uchiha. Is there anyone in your clan that might be suitable?"
Face now aflame with both shame and jealous fury, Madara shook his head.
"I would not dare present a candidate for Tobirama to rip into shreds if he does not wish to marry them."
"Fair enough. Argh, this is so frustrating. I only wish the best for him, but he makes it so difficult sometimes. He refused to live in the annex next to my house, instead opting to build his own hovel on the outskirts of the Senju district. He didn't want me to give him a position on the council. And now he refuses to let me arrange a marriage for him." Hashirama raised his hands to shake them at the ceiling. "I'm trying so hard to be a good father to him, but it's like he has a personal vendetta and attempts to make it as difficult as possible!"
"Izuna is that way too. I think he lives just to spite me sometimes," Madara offered.
"Hah! Well … In any case, I have sent Mito to speak with him. Perhaps she can talk some sense into this hard-headed son of mine. I swear, he likes her more than me, even tough she's not his mother."
"Maybe that's why."
Hashirama just laughed at that, but Madara had not really been joking.
From what Tobirama had hinted at in private, the younger Senju did love Hashirama and respected him deeply as a shinobi and clan leader. However, certain old wounds from Tobirama's childhood made it so that he did not really trust Hashirama to truly have his firstborn son's best interests at heart.
"He is well-meaning," Tobirama had said in private one night, when the topic of his tenuous relationship with his father was brought up. "But well-meaning does not mean right. And he doesn't understand that things that worked for him won't work for me."
Madara had not poked further into these family troubles, trusting that they were either handled by the Senju themselves, or Tobirama would tell him more whenever he was ready. Besides, he was able to piece together enough by himself.
Back when he first met Hashirama, when they were both children, he had quickly found out about this quality of his friend's himself. Well-meaning, but not always right. His big dreams of peace between their clans were well and good, but not so easily put into reality. It took tempering and a lot of patience, even some arguments between them, to steer Hashirama right. If the mushroom-head had been allowed to do as he willed, he might have even made things significantly worse.
Over the years, as their friendship solidified in secret, Madara came to know Hashirama very well as a person—as someone emotional and optimistic, with a big heart and strong dreams and the power to back them up. But he never found out much about his personal life. Not what his relationship with his father, Butsuma, was like. Not who his friends and confidants were in his clan. Not what he liked to do when he wasn't training or dreaming up what would one day become Konoha.
When they were both nineteen, they decided to travel together, away from their clans' conflict. Under the guise of further training and gaining power, they left on a journey through the elemental nations together—their blasphemous travel companions unknown to both their clans.
Two years they traveled together, finding their senses of self, information about their clans' past and about the nature of chakra, fighting tailed beasts and in the case of Hashirama, falling in love. During their trip south to Uzushio, Hashirama met and fell for Uzumaki Mito, and she for him. Madara was there when they first laid eyes upon each other, when Hashirama made a vow to return and marry Mito-hime.
He was there when Hashirama confessed that he already had a son, but that he was certain the child would accept Mito as his step-mother.
"You have a son?" Madara asked him later, incredulous.
"Oh. Yes. His mother died giving birth to him, though. I am free to marry again, if that is what you're worried about. Ah, Mito-chan! I cannot wait to bring her home!"
No, that had not been what shocked Madara, at all. Knowing that his friend had agreed to journey with him for multiple years while his young son was at home, alone, without even a mother to care for him, had appalled him. Even more so when he found out that said son was roughly Madara's nephew's age.
If Madara alone had been responsible for Izuna's care, he would never have left his home and clan to travel with Hashirama. But perhaps Hashirama had trusted friends and family to care for his son in his stead, he reasoned at that time. Thinking that surely Hashirama would love his own son equally as much, if not more, than Madara loved his own nephew.
Years later, Madara pieced together that it was in fact Butsuma who had taken over Tobirama's care and education. And he had never known the man personally, had never spent time in proximity to the old Senju patriarch outside the battlefield. But he could not imagine that man lovingly caring for a four, five, six-year-old child. Even if he was a grandson of his.
By the time Hashirama returned to the Senju with a bride on his arm, Tobirama had already become a bloodied shinobi. And the rest was history.
To be truthful, Madara had never begrudged Tobirama his lack of filial piety when it came to Hashirama. If he had been in Tobirama's shoes, he'd likely have done worse than simply talk back every now and then. He was glad for it, now, in fact. If Tobirama were a better son, he would have accepted whichever bride Hashirama assigned him, regardless of this … arrangement between them.
He found Tobirama not much later, perched atop one of the tall trees lining the training grounds. Below, his younger brother Kawarama, freshly turned genin, was training with his teammates and jounin-sensei. Of course. What Tobirama may lack in filial piety he was certainly making up by stepping up as the most diligent elder brother there ever was. If you asked Kawarama and Itama, they would tell you that their Tobira-nii had hung the damn moon. And Madara was certain, no matter where he himself ranked in Tobirama's eyes, it must certainly be below his younger half-siblings.
"You talked to Hashirama," Tobirama greeted him grimly, not averting his eyes from Kawarama below.
"Yes."
"And?"
"And what? Do you need me to tell you I'm glad you didn't let Hashirama marry you off to one of the Sarutobi daughters?" Madara scoffed, coming to sit on a branch next to Tobirama.
"I didn't even wait for him to tell me who he had in mind," Tobirama said, crimson eyes glaring at Madara for a moment. "It doesn't matter. I'm never letting you go."
And with that, Tobirama turned back to watch his little brother train. Madara took that as his cue to shunshin away, brushing some pine needles off his mantle as he left the training area. Only to stumble over none other than Uzumaki Mito.
"Madara-san," she said, smiling politely as she stepped into his path. "What a surprise to see you here. Thinking of taking on a genin team of your own?"
"Perhaps."
Her smile fell a little, and she shuffled even closer. Her eyes flitted over Madara's shoulder—to the tree where Tobirama was hiding.
"You spoke with him?"
Madara crossed his arms, letting his hands rest in his sleeves.
"We have some things in common," he said.
Mito thankfully took whichever meaning she liked from this and nodded, the tension around her eyes easing.
"My husband sometimes expects miracles from me," she chuckled. "His relationship with his eldest son is … complex. It helps, sometimes, that I am a more independent party. But I am still Hashirama's wife. And I am not, nor have I ever aspired to replace, Tobirama's mother."
Madara grunted vaguely.
"I am glad he has you to confide in," Mito said, her voice wavering into a question towards the end.
Deciding to take a gamble, Madara said: "He won't change his mind on this, Mito-hime. And perhaps he shouldn't have to. But that might be my own bias speaking."
Her face softened and her gaze strayed towards that tree again.
"Perhaps you are right, Madara-san. I will take your wisdom into consideration."
She bowed then and Madara hurried to mirror her, before she left in a swirl of wind that smelled of sea salt and the ocean.
Later that evening, Tobirama found his way back to Madara's home, where he cornered him in the kitchen as he was cooking dinner for two, having expected this welcome intruder.
"You talked to Mito."
"Yes." He turned to the side, holding a spoon to Tobirama's lips. "Taste."
Tobirama reluctantly sipped the broth, tongue smacking. Then he said: "It's good."
"Hm. Of course it is. Family recipe." He turned back to the stove, but allowed Tobirama to wrap his arms around his waist.
"Mito … She seems to be under the impression that you are the nenja to my chigo."
Madara, who had been in the process of tasting the food for himself, summarily spit out a mouthful of broth.
"What?" he coughed.
"Right? How ridiculous. If only she knew how sweetly you sing for me."
Madara punched sideways with his elbow and kicked his foot out at the same time, but Tobirama was not hailed one of the fastest shinobi alive for nothing. The rascal simply stuck himself to the ceiling with chakra and laughed like a monkey.
"Shameless! Ridiculous!"
"I know. I'm way too old to be a chigo in any case."
"You— …!" Madara screeched, tossing a spoon at Tobirama's head that was dodged effortlessly and thus left to bounce off the ceiling harmlessly. "How can you joke about this?"
"Because it doesn't matter." Tobirama rolled his eyes and dropped back down to the floor. "I told you. You're mine. I don't care what they think. I'm not letting you go."
"You might change your mind," Madara said, turning back to the stove. He stirred the pot a little with a new spoon, then pulled at Tobirama's elbow to get him to stand next to him rather than behind. "I'll likely go blind in a few years. How will you feel then, being with me, when I can't realistically keep up being a shinobi, hm?"
"What?"
"The Mangekyou Sharingan." He flashed his eyes at Tobirama, then went back to stirring. "It deteriorates its wearer's eyesight. Of course, before that happens, I'll donate my eyes to Izuna so that he can achieve the Eternal Mangekyou."
"What."
"You're still so young, Tobirama," he sighed. "I'm grateful that you … decided to reciprocate my feelings. If not for your forwardness, I might have never experienced this joy. But when I am old and useless, you might not feel the same way anymore. And it will happen sooner rather than later."
"I don't care," Tobirama announced stubbornly.
"Sure, you say that now, but— …"
"I have loved you since I have known what love is. You have burned yourself into my heart. I don't care if I have to wipe your ass for you or spoon broth into your toothless mouth, I'll love you regardless. I won't simply stop loving your for some asinine reason like that."
"Did you have to say it like that," Madara grumbled, attempting to hide behind his hair and collar, but Tobirama wasn't having it. He grabbed Madara's jaw, forcing him to look into those fiery, crimson eyes. They searched Madara's own gaze, before dropping to his mouth. The kiss Tobirama pressed to his lips was forceful, a stamp of ownership.
"Give me a few months, and access to your clan library. I'll figure out a solution to your Mangekyou deterioration."
Madara chuckled incredulously, pulling his chin from Tobirama's grip.
"Sure, you'll find a way to fix something that my clan has been struggling with for centuries." He sighed, then leaned over to kiss Tobirama himself. "But thank you. I'm not looking forward to … not being able to see at some point."
"Hmph. Your clan hasn't had me in it for all these centuries. Of course you haven't figured it out."
"Arrogant ass," Madara laughed, then pulled the pot from the fire. "Come. Let's eat."
He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop as the days went on. Even if Mito had gamely accepted a version of events where Madara was in an arrangement with Tobirama as his kept boy, surely she must have shared some of her impressions with her husband. Surely she would have mentioned something. Surely Hashirama would not tolerate it.
But even Tobirama himself seemed unconcerned, brushing off Madara's worries whenever he spoke up, simply saying: "It doesn't matter who knows what or what nonsense they imagine in their heads. You're mine. I'm yours."
Yes, but, Madara wanted to say. Instead he kept quiet, allowing Tobirama to smother his anxieties with kisses and lovemaking. In public, he kept it together by sheer force of will, especially whenever he was in the same room as Hashirama. Which was tragically often.
Even worse were the hours-long meetings where both Hashirama and Tobirama were present. Of course, Tobirama was professionalism poured into human shape. He never even hinted at anything, sent no stray glances Madara's way, tone exactly the same as it had always been in the past. Just like Madara asked for.
It did not make their proximity without being allowed to reach out and press himself against Tobirama's side any less torturous.
After said meeting, regarding something boring like irrigation rights for non-shinobi farmers in the vicinity of Konoha, Tobirama approached Madara while they were filing out of Hashirama's office. There were other high-ranking shinobi who worked in the village administration both behind and in front of them, so Madara did not expect Tobirama to say: "May we speak in private?"
"Oh," he breathed, meeting Tobirama's eyes. "Sure. Your office?"
He walked down the corridor and up a winding set of stairs with Tobirama at his back. In his mind, scenarios whirled as to what Tobirama wished to speak to him about. Surely it wasn't about that meeting just now. Perhaps something regarding the genin training regiment? Or maybe … Maybe he wanted to have a few moments to themselves too.
"What is it you wished to— … Hmph!"
He was ambushed as soon as he stepped into Tobirama's office, a hot mouth on his to steal his breath. Madara's back collided with the door, slamming it shut.
"Your damn mouth," Tobirama panted, then pressed in close for another kiss. "You kept biting and sucking your bottom lip."
"Because you— … Ah! You bit it last night. It's sore."
Tobirama just growled and bit that place again, drawing a bit of blood. But the pain was negligible, compared to the pleasure of their cocks rubbing together below. While Madara's was quick to get with the program, Tobirama's was already fully engorged and heavy.
"It's your fault that I'm this hard. Won't you take responsibility?" Tobirama growled, bypassing Madara's curtain of hair and high collar to suck at his neck.
"I could, um …" His sluggish brain, distracted by the pleasurable assault on his body, remembered this morning's predicament, in which Tobirama had delayed him. Instead of their usual lazy frotting and masturbation, the menace had bullied his way into Madara's ass, where he'd deposited a full, thick load of his virile seed. But only after about an hour of vigorous fucking. And because it had taken so much longer, Madara was not given an opportunity to wash himself afterwards.
His ass clenched involuntarily at the memory of their rough, satisfying sex mere hours earlier, and he said: "I'm still wet. From this morning. You could— …"
Before he was able to finish his sentence, Tobirama had already hauled him further into the office and pushed him against his wide, sturdy, mokuton desk. Madara allowed it, body heating up with anticipation and embarrassment at the position. His breath came shorter, chest pressed to the desk's surface, and like this his hips were tilted up perfectly for what he supposed Tobirama had planned.
"Tobirama," he protested, but held still for those talented hands to ruck up his coat and make quick work of his waistband and pants, the fundoshi merely pushed aside to reveal his clenching hole.
"I can't wait. I need you."
"Yes, but— … Aaah," he gasped at the first penetration of two fingers in his hole. "Won't people hear?"
Tobirama grunted in annoyance and reached over Madara for something, thereby pressing him into the desk with his weight. Madara wheezed, then moaned weakly, as Tobirama's movement jostled his fingers still buried in his ass. Vaguely, he felt a pulse of chakra.
"There. Now no one can hear or disturb us."
Behind, he heard Tobirama spit wetly, then the fingers were replaced by a broad, blunt pressure at Madara's hole. He whined, forcing his muscles to relax and allow his lover's thick cock to sink in.
"There you go. Perfect. Open up for me, just like that. Oh, you really are still wet. Is that my cum you think? Did you keep it warm and safe inside your slutty hole?"
"Y-yes," Madara gasped, shifting his stance a little to better receive Tobirama's slow, hard thrusts. "I, ugh, only lost a little. I had to, ahhh, wipe it off in the bathroom. But. Ungh. I kept the rest. Inside. I couldn't— … Ah, Tobirama! There!"
"Hm? You filthy slut. Does it feel good? That wasn't the point, you know? You were being lewd in that meeting, distracting me. This is about me and my pleasure, you sloppy little whore." Tobirama's thrusts crawled to a halt. "Come on. Use your body to make me cum. I'll put another load in your belly if you're good."
Whimpering, Madara turned his head to the side to get some relief for his overheated face. With his hands, he clung to the edge of the desk, and then he slowly rocked his hips back—fucking himself on Tobirama's fat cock.
"Slut," Tobirama chuckled. "Hole still stuffed with my seed from this morning, and you already want more."
"More!" he cried. He found a rhythm, knees bent inwards to get that good angle. Meanwhile his own erection was still trapped inside his fundoshi, though the movement of his hips and the thick cloth provided at least some friction.
"Sage, look at you. Fucking desperate." A firm hand slapped him on one asscheek, then the other. "No one's ever seen you like this. No one else has ever made you this wanton, have they? You don't want any other cock. Just mine. My cum."
"Yes! I want it! I want your cock!"
Tobirama laughed mockingly.
"Listen to yourself. You could barely say 'fuck' when I took your virginity. And now you're openly begging me so lewdly. What a depraved whore you have become."
"'M your whore," Madara cried, panting with exertion as he kept bouncing his hips, spearing himself on Tobirama's hard length. "Your slut. I'm a slut … for you."
Tobirama groaned then, hands suddenly grabbing Madara's hips to fuck into him in counterpoint to Madara's rocking motions. Whenever Madara pushed himself back, Tobirama slammed his hips forward, punching his cock deep.
"Yeah you are. Look at your sloppy hole, swallowing my dick. Like you were fucking made for me," he panted. "You were, weren't you? You waited for me. So I could be the first to fuck your whorish body."
The desk rattled from the force of their fucking, though it was nearly drowned out by the sharp slap of skin on skin and their combined moans. It did not take Madara long to cum, not under such an onslaught. It was like his body craved it, making it easier and easier to give in to the wave of pleasure whenever Tobirama fucked him.
"Selfish," Tobirama chided, though his tone was undercut by a fond chuckle. He thrust again, ignoring Madara's cry of oversensitivity. Thankfully, it didn't take Tobirama long to reach his own peak, filling Madara to the brim again.
While they caught their breaths and shuffled to straighten their clothes, Madara silently chided himself for this lapse in judgement. How could he allow Tobirama to have him like this in the middle of the workday, in his office no less? It wasn't just reckless, it was actively dangerous. If anyone were to find out, that is.
"What has you thinking so hard over there?" Tobirama chuckled fondly, reaching over to tug at a strand of Madara's hair.
"This was …" He hesitated, hands smoothing over his mantle. Even so, it remained wrinkled. "We shouldn't have done that."
"And why not? I wanted you. You wanted me."
"It's risky! If anyone caught us— …"
"No one did." Tobirama gestured loosely at the seal he'd activated on his desk, still pulsing with chakra. Madara knew it well, though in the past it had been used to conceal shouting matches and killing intent, not clandestine trysts.
"You almost didn't activate it," Madara pointed out.
"I would have, eventually. Or I'd have simply stuffed your mouth with my fingers and had you choke on them to muffle your screams."
Fighting the blush threatening to take over his face, Madara huffed and made a rude gesture. Tobirama just laughed and deactivated the seal.
As soon as he did, there was a knock on the door.
"Tobirama?"
They both froze at the sound of Hashirama's voice. But before he could knock again, Tobirama called: "Enter."
With his back to the door, now slammed open with Hashirama's usual enthusiasm, Madara grimaced at Tobirama. But while his own expression was hidden, Tobirama could only glance at him for a moment.
"What is it?" Tobirama asked curtly, moving to shuffle some papers on his desk.
"Well, it's fortuitous that I find you both here," Hashirama laughed, though there was something tense and unsure about his tone underneath. His arm came to drape over Madara's shoulders, rocking him on his feet. "Mito is cooking a grand feast tonight, and I wanted to ensure that you came, Tobirama. And to invite you, my friend!"
He shook Madara back and forth with the last sentence. Madara let him, fighting consciously not to tense up, despite the wet trickle he could feel trailing from his ass to soak into his fundoshi.
"I'll be there," Tobirama said easily.
"Good, good. And you? Don't tell me you already had plans?"
Madara, whose plans previously had been to cook dinner for himself and Tobirama, read a book, smoke and then probably make love, shrugged and said: "Sure."
"Perfect! Wonderful! I'll see you both tonight, then."
"Later."
As soon as he was gone, a rush of wind in his wake, Madara hissed, knees clenching together. Tobirama just smirked smugly.
"Asshole," Madara grumbled. "You better not pull something like this tonight."
"Like what?"
Madara scowled, remaining firm even when Tobirama leaned in to kiss him.
"I mean it. No teasing."
"I know," Tobirama sighed. "It's just a matter of time, though. Between Mito's preconceived notions and everything else, it's a miracle that my father hasn't caught on yet. He might be in active denial."
"What do you mean, everything else?"
Tobirama raised an eyebrow.
"Like the fact that I have spent every night at your place for the last couple of months, unless I was away on a mission. That you even cooked me lunch, that I ended up sharing with my brothers a few times." His crimson eyes raked over Madara's body, and he stepped closer to wrap possessive hands around his waist. "The ease with which you accept me in your space now. The fact that you smell like me, and I smell like you."
"You— …!" Madara swatted at him, but Tobirama dodged lightly. "In that case, I will need to bathe thoroughly later."
"Can I join?" Tobirama leered.
"Absolutely not! That would defeat the purpose of the bath!"
Tobirama huffed, turning toward his desk.
"Shame. I'll just have to mark you again later tonight."
"Possessive bastard," Madara growled, wobbling his way to the door. He didn't look back, even at Tobirama's answering chuckle. He locked his knees once he was out on the corridor, walking as naturally as he could manage with a massive load of cum leaking out of his ass. He quietly cursed his own weakness, but mostly Tobirama's persuasiveness. He made it to the nearest bathroom without any incident, thankfully, not crossing the paths of many shinobi. No one seemed to notice anything unusual, or perhaps they just thought he had a particularly full bladder that needed urgent emptying.
It wasn't too far from the truth, he grumbled while hiding in a cubicle and wiping the sticky residual fluids from his ass. He was left rubbing at what had already soaked into his fundoshi. Most of it was his own, in any case. That was a lost cause.
You smell like me, and I smell like you. Tobirama's voice echoed in his mind and he blushed. He really hoped that Hashirama hadn't picked up any … suspicious scents earlier.