This is just a little drabble fic dedicated to my favorite underappreciated yaoi couple ever. May ya'll read this and be inspired to write your own. They won't be in order, but they'll all be related to the same story…I don't know, if I like this enough I might put in order.
Also, I'm searching for a beta; if you're interested, just pm me and we'll suss out the details, yeah? (I've picked up that dialect thing from Deidara on accident, please tell me how to get rid of it, as it is seriously annoying)
There are many things that Naruto appreciates about his lover, but the silliest one, the one that wild horses wouldn't be able to drag from him, is his hair.
He's fascinated by untamed ebony that cascades down Madara's back, and when they're in bed together, and the other is asleep, he'll often run his fingers through it, or lean close and inhale deeply, committing it further into memory. Madara smells like smoke, wood smoke, like the earth, like nature itself, and it calms him enough that Naruto usually falls asleep, not that he realizes it.
Of course, Madara knows it (how many times has he woken up to find Naruto's face buried into his shoulder, a peaceful smile on his face? Too many to count), but he doesn't call the skittish boy on it; there are too many things that Naruto is too insecure about, even after so long of being together.
Honestly, though, Madara doesn't mind. No one's played with his hair since his mother passed on into the next world, and despite the shame that it brought his father, he'd been very attached to her; she'd doted on him, and he'd basked in the attention. His brothers had thought it amusing, and had teased him lightly on the subject, but for the most part they were unbothered by the attention that he'd gotten.
Likewise, he's fascinated by Naruto's hair as well.
Since the blonde had defected from Konoha, he'd grown the spiky blonde locks out some, and although they were reminiscent of his father's, somehow they weren't; the Yondaime's hair had been a darker shade of washed out blonde, a gentle color that suited him, whereas his son's looked like it had been dyed in golden sunshine. Despite it's appearance, that sunshine hair is soft to the touch, like fur, and Madara often combs his fingers through it when the blonde boy is dead to the world.
It isn't a surprise that Naruto's smell is ingrained in his memory as well; Naruto smells like the wind, like the rain-he smells like freedom and long forgotten summer days spent with a boy on the river bank, throwing stones and planning the future. Naruto smells like comfort, and, though he refuses to admit it-Naruto smells like Home.