Awakening
Chapter 3
"Gather the ones posted on the left wing and bring them here. I'll go collect the rest." Madara stood up from the branch they were perched on and adjusted his weapon belt.
"Why? They are supposed to monitor the enemy's movements and report to the war council."
"The Fūma have set up a camp and there will be no movement until dusk. We can retreat and face them tomorrow on the battlefield, or we can deal with them now. By the way they camped, they've created a perfect opening for us."
"It's not what the plan was, aniki…"
"Opportunity is presenting itself, that's far more important than some plan. Just do how I've told you."
Izuna sent him a grim look and hesitantly got up on his feet.
It was clear that he was conflicted between the official orders and his brother's directions. 'Ah, Izuna, being obedient isn't easy, eh? You have to keep choosing whom you will obey.' Madara realized he needed to push him a bit more. "Izuna? Just be careful," he said.
Izuna snorted and jumped into the branches. 'Works each time.' Not that Madara wasn't genuinely concerned about his brother safety. Only that telling him to be careful always worked as the best incentive. Izuna would get aggravated and do whatever was in question.
This strategy had also an additional, hidden benefit – Madara could voice his worries without feeling ashamed. It was so good to say what he felt from time to time.
.
There was a good dozen of Fūma shinobi guarding the perimeter, but they were quickly eliminated. It was enough to take one of them down, and copy his appearance. Madara thanked the gods that he had a man skilled with realistic genjutsu in his squad. He put the exact appearance of the killed guard on several of his squad members. They easily got into their range of Sharingan genjutsu to eliminate the remaining enemy ninja.
With his squad perched on the viewpoint over the camp, Madara waited.
He hated sending Izuna so close to the enemy camp, but his ability was unique and crucial for the plan's success. All the others were Fire users.
Just the same, he had Izuna constantly within eyeshot, and watching from the above Madara was sure he would be able to detect any opponent approaching his brother.
Izuna reached his designated position. Madara counted to ten in his head, focused his chakra and gave the signal. Six jet streams of fire exploded from behind him and joined his flame. Like one column of fire they fell down onto the enemy's camp.
Flames reached first tent and were quickly spreading. They kept feeding the fire, but their power alone would not have sufficed to do the job fast enough. That was Izuna's function. Madara saw his brother forming the seals. The fire exploded. Gusts of wind swept between the tents, powerful yet skilful enough not to blow any of the smaller flames out. Wind fanned the flames and made them burn white. And then blue.
Tents, bushes, tree branches, all was disintegrating in the inferno. Those ninja who managed out of the tents were already in flame and the fire guided by Izuna was chasing them down. Most didn't even manage out.
"I want to see how you look like."
"No way I'm letting you put the light on."
Komachi let out a displeased snort. "Afraid you won't be able to run away fast enough?"
"I have enough of being on my guard during the day. Is it so hard to understand?"
She fall silent and Madara would swear she was pouting. "And I don't want to be going just yet."
"Alright. Come here, you jerk," she spat out at last.
Madara moved towards her so that he was crouching right next to her. Komachi grasped blindly to find his shoulder, patted it to get an idea what body part it was and moved her hand towards his face.
"Don't move. Maybe this way I will get an idea." Her second hand followed. She was moving her fingers methodically across his forehead, along the eyebrows. Madara clenched his eyes shut just in time for her to brush over his eyelids. Komachi slid her thumbs across his cheekbones while her other fingers went along his jaws. "It's not working at all! That's bullshit! I cannot imagine how you look like…" Disappointment was peeking through her irritation. She moved her hand towards the middle of his face so that her fingers brushed over his mouth.
When she was about to move away them Madara caught one of her fingers with his lips. Just the tiniest resistance but it stopped her movement. He didn't expect that, he wanted only to rile her up a bit more. But her touch put his mind onto surprising tracks. He parted his lips just enough and touched the tip of her finger with his tongue. She didn't withdraw her hand. He ran his tongue across the fingertip. She still didn't move away. He could taste her - a curious taste, Madara didn't remember ever consciously tasting human skin. Blood - yes; sweat obviously as well; he liked the salty taste of both. But this was different, the taste wasn't anything special, rather tart but the awareness where it was coming from was exhilarating. He sucked, catching the fingertip between his teeth. Komachi made a strange sound, something between inhale and a whimper. Quite a change from her usual stand-offish attitude. It seemed like he finally gained some upper hand, though it wasn't entirely clear for him why it was the case. More confident now, he ran his tongue along her finger and then back to the tip. Komachi's other hand fell limply to his shoulder. Madara licked another of her fingers and then maneuvered it into his mouth. Komachi gasped and gripped at his shoulder. He didn't stop sucking and she dug her nails into his shoulder blade with a strength that surprised him. It spurned something in him, he wasn't sure if it was annoyance or something else, but he grabbed her wrist, easily breaking her grasp on him, and twisted her arm the way she fell on her back as her body reflexively avoided injury to the joint.
Madara landed on top of her, as not letting go her wrist suddenly seemed like a good idea. She wasn't struggling at all, whether it was because of that grip on the wrist or that deal with the fingers. For once Madara wished she would move. He had an inkling that feeling her body moving under him would be very pleasurable. But she didn't, and she only lied there breathing heavily. Even without Sharingan, even with eyes closed he could tell where her lips were by the breath he felt on his face. He didn't know exactly what he wanted from her at this moment, so he leaned down and kissed her.
This was when she reacted - she bucked back trying to shake him off but Madara just became sure what it was that he wanted. He felt a nipple through the thin robe and now he wanted to get to it.
He tugged at the belt, but the knot only tightened up, so he pried open Komachi's robe and kissed down her chest all the way to the nipple. It was mesmerizing – such a hard pebble in the middle of all that softness. He put it in his mouth and ran his tongue across it. Komachi tried to push him away, but it was erratic, as she was jolting one time after another in synch of his kisses. The sides of her robe were all open so not stopping the sucking on her breast he reached below her waist. Now, that was an unknown territory, Madara scrambled with his fingers in a place that was hot and moist in the same time. Komachi doubled her efforts to get away from his hand.
"Tsk! Careful!" she cried out finally, when she must have realized that he was not letting her go. Madara halted his hand and looked up to her.
Komachi took a deep inhale. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"
"I'll figure it out along the way."
"Hey! Wait up! What do you mean with 'along the way'?!"
But Madara paid her no heed as he busied himself with his trousers.
She tried pushing him away, but he took better hold of her waist.
"Don't struggle. Please. Just don't." He peppered kisses along her neck in an attempt to calm her down. "It won't bring anything except for making it difficult."
Komachi took a deliberate breath as if letting something go. Then she moved her arms so that they were resting on his back and stilled.
He had indeed no idea, but how he was lying, nestled between her legs, it felt perfect, it felt just right. So he pressed against her and at some point there was no more resistance, only heat and tightness. The feeling of being buried inside her… It was all he imagined it would be like, and more. He planted one more kiss on her lips and set a rhythm.
Komachi's breaths were coming erratic, uneven and accompanied with strange little noises. Because of those noises, it seemed to Madara to he was too heavy, that he was crushing her. He wanted to tell her to endure just a moment longer so he lifted his head and through the Sharingan saw her half-opened lips and face contorted in a grimace that looked partly like effort and partly like… concentration? And it was then when his orgasm hit him.
It felt as if he shattered into pieces, got disassembled and spread and lost. When he sobered up enough to pick up the parts, he had impression that some of them went missing. That some parts of him went into her to stay there forever.
He was breathing heavily, waiting for his heart rate to normalize. Komachi wasn't inclined to grant him a moment of respite, though. "Got what you wanted?! Then get off me and get out!" She moved under him, trying to budge his weight.
Madara re-focused on her face. Flushed, angry, and… was there something else?
"Was it really that horrible for you?" He was looming over her, careful now to keep his weight on his elbows.
Silence answered him as Komachi turned her face to the side.
"Did I hurt you?" Something must have been wrong with his throat because it felt clenched.
"No," she deadpanned.
"Then why are you so furious?"
Komachi took a deep inhale. "I didn't struggle, did I? I made it easy for you. So now do something for me and leave."
"I have a bad feeling about this mission Madara just got. What is it supposed to be?" This was already the fourth stone Izuna kicked off the path. This one hit the wall of someone's house. Izuna couldn't care less. "And I'm sure he's been assigned with it only because the higher-ups got pissed about that action with the Fūma."
Waraku laughed. "You bet they did. I was standing close enough to see their faces when you guys returned. That was kind of funny, the whole troop prepared for the battle, everyone excited, or, at least in my case, shitting pants, and then instead of the Fūma, you guys appear! Shibu was furious! He looked like a fool in front of the entire clan!"
"And that's why I worry. That this messed up mission is some sort of payback."
"Don't worry. He'll manage. He always does," Waraku offered a consolation.
"I just hate that he is going alone. I want to know that someone is there to watch his back."
"Watch his back? Even if someone tagged alone it wouldn't be possible. You know how he is."
Izuna's shoulders slumped.
Waraku considered, wanting to relieve his friend's worry. "Would it be enough if 'something' was protecting back instead of 'someone'?"
"Maybe… It would be better than nothing."
"How 'bout an armour? We can get him a better armour."
"He would never wear it. He barely tolerates our standard armours. He says he doesn't need it. That no one is good enough to land a hit on him."
Waraku snorted. "At some point he will meet an opponent that will make him reconsider."
"Then he will probably wear it. But not now."
"Let's go to my father's workshop. Maybe we find something that will catch your eye."
"Really?" A small smile broke through the gloom on Izuna's face.
The workshop was cluttered. Half-finished kunai and shuriken at were lying in open chests, sorted by how advanced they were in the production process. Scraps of metal, chains and other things Izuna couldn't even name were filling other boxes. On the wall katanas, tantōs and other longer blades were hanging carefully arranged, separated from the chaos.
Izuna looked around. "I don't think we'll find anything useful in here …"
"How about this?" Waraku pointed at a large gunbai hung on the wall.
"A war fan? Who would even use it?"
"Who? A war lord to command his troops."
"Which Madara would never do. So much not his style."
"I meant it was its original purpose. The noble that commissioned it, wanted to have it carried around him to be more visible."
"What a moronic idea."
"Isn't it?" agreed Waraku. "I don't understand how those people are thinking. But no matter – Madara can use it differently – to add wind to his flame. It's a fan, in the end…"
Izuna's eyes lightened up. "That would be great! We've just learned the combination jutsu! You should have seen the damage we inflicted on the Fūma! Their camp was annihilated! Things were simply dissolving in flame!"
"You see! Then he can have a little of it even when you are not around."
"Right, but how would it add to his protection?"
"That's the catch. If we convince him to take it, he will need to carry it on his back. On his back, you get it? This gunbai is solid metal – it's better than any armour. And he won't complain."
Izuna jumped up. "Waraku, you're the best!"
Waraku grinned. "No problem. Then let's do it." He took gunbai off the hooks. "I'll add Uchiha symbols on it. Just in case my father wants us to give it back… With our tomoe engraved, there will be no way to sell it to the customer."
"Wait. We can't take it. You will get punished for that. You will get your bones broken from the beating."
"Eh.. Not the first, not the last time. I'll survive. Plus then mother will fawn over me. She will prepare mochi and let me have most of it… Maybe she'll even give me some sweets…" mused Waraku with a dreamy expression on his face.
"We can't do it, your father will get into trouble."
"Nah, he won't. That noble doesn't really need it. I bet he's already forgotten that he had even commissioned it. Plus, mother pesters father all the time that he made the fan too simple. That it should be more ornate to impress all those lords. So that we get more commissions from the court. Mother is concerned with the money, you know?"
Waraku lied the fan on the work table, and lowered a metal stamp to gunbai's surface. "What do you think? Here?" He squinted his eyes, considered the design and re-adjusted the stamp. "Alright, here will be fine. Izuna, hold the fan still."
For a good while nothing but monotone hammering was heard in the workshop. Waraku worked his way through the symbol on the left side and was searching for the perfect spot to place the other one.
"Waraku, I think it won't make sense for Madara to use it to fan the flames. He would need his hands for forming seals or holding weapons…" Waraku stopped his hammer mid-air. "But I was thinking… If I could imbue this gunbai with my Wind chakra… Maybe he could learn to release it when needed. Maybe the fan would serve as some form of storage."
Izuna pressed his hand to gunbai's surface and molded his chakra. He directed it into the metal and have it sink into it. His palm tingled as the energy was leaving him in quick bursts. Izuna glanced up. "I think it's working!"
"Great! Then let me just finish this last tomoe and…" Waraku held the stamp, swung the hammer. And the hammer flew back, hitting his face. Waraku jumped away, holding his cheek. "Shit! What the heck! It almost hit my eye." He rubbed at his cheekbone inspecting the damage. Finding nothing that would justify further fuss, he picked up the hammer from under the wall, where it landed. "Izuna, hold it better, would you? I think it slipped."
Waraku stroke again. The hammer wrenched out of his fingers and tumbled on the floor.
"Waraku, are you alright?"
"I cannot believe it! I think this shit just twisted my thumb!" Still holding fingers in his mouth Waraku squinted his eyes. "This is really weird. Izuna, channel your chakra into the fan again."
Madara was just putting his shoes on, when he saw Izuna and Waraku stumbling through the gate. They were presenting a pitiful picture. Waraku sported a huge bruise on his right cheek, while Izuna… Shiver ran down Madara's spine. Izuna was so white that it was borderline green and had to be almost hauled by his friend.
"Aniki! You're still here! We've managed in time! And here I thought we will need to chase after you."
"By how you look, you wouldn't be able to chase down even Waraku." Waraku shoot him a look, but it was just for convention's sake. All three of them knew that Waraku was so much below Madara's and Izuna's skill level that such remark was more of a joke than a sign of real contempt. "Where have you been and what have you done to yourself!"
Izuna beamed at him. "We've got you something!" Waraku, who was until now fumbling with straps wrapped around his torso, finally succeeded in whatever he was doing, and simultaneously with Izuna's exclamation, presented him… a thing. Madara stared.
He must have looked severely unimpressed as Izuna hurried with explanation. "It's a gunbai!"
Madara was rarely lost for words, but this was one of those times. For all the gods he couldn't imagine what would he need that thing for.
Izuna glanced up. "I know what you're thinking, but let us show you something!"
Waraku showed him all his teeth in a cheeky smile and swung the fan. Thankfully, he had enough sense to swing it in direction of the fence and not the house. Because otherwise Tatsu would have skinned all three of them alive. The ground was rendered smooth and devoid of any structure in radius of twenty meters. What was left from the railing was now dangling from sakura trees branches in neighbors' ornamental garden.
Madara arched his eyebrow. "Alright. Not bad."
"You like it? It's my wind chakra! I imbued the gunbai with it."
"Ah, so that's why you look like death."
Izuna shrugged. "Wait, it's not all. There is a funny side effect we discovered." Izuna sprinted to the middle of the yard, looked around considering his position, formed the seals for Fireball jutsu and directed the flames towards Waraku. Waraku responded only by holding the fan in front of him. The fireball didn't swipe around him, didn't part to engulf him from the sides. Instead, it jumped away as if was a physical ball bouncing off the wall. It became suddenly clear to Madara why did Izuna choose his position so carefully. Fireball hit the sand where his brother was standing a split of second earlier.
Madara activated his Sharingan. "Repeat it. I want to see how it works."
The mission started as an annoyance. Traveling with the nobles was quickly working its way up on the list of Madara's most hated pastimes.
Then it abruptly stopped being an annoyance. When he was given the mission, he was told that he would participate in a tournament representing the provincial governor. He thought that it would be settling some honour-dispute or having the governor show of in front of the daimyo. Instead, he was supposed to participate in a circus. Madara was flabbergasted. Apparently, they organized the entire tournament to pit shinobi from different clans against one another and bet on them. He was meant to be an entertainment.
The payment that he was to receive was not even bound to his performance, as the fights were designed to be to death and it was supposed to be incentive enough to guarantee shinobis' high performance.
It was the worse humiliation that he suffered in his entire life.
It took him a long time to talk himself out of idea of assassinating the entire ensemble of high-born spectators. Such act wouldn't be in the interest of the clan. Even if it was the clan who had put him in this position.
Instead, he waited until the lavish opening ceremony was held, and all participants gathered on the arena to present themselves. Then he attacked. With opponents in such close quarters, it didn't take him long to eliminate the first dozen. With his Sharingan and his supreme speed he just took them down as they were standing. After that, it transformed into a melee, every man against another. He couldn't honestly say he killed them all, as for sure some other shinobi managed to get a kill as well. But after ten minutes or so, he was the only one standing.
He was tempted to try out Izuna's gift. But in the end, he resisted the urge. It was strategically unwise to present such a weapon on full display. The element of surprise was only adding to its deadliness.
The fight relieved some of the tension and provided the outlet for his rage. But the meager satisfaction he got from ruining the show for the nobles couldn't wash away the foul taste from his mouth.
The thought that the entire tournament would have lasted another two weeks had it managed to take place, he pushed far away from his mind. Coming back to the village was not the reason he lashed out. Coming back to the village before this month's new moon was not the reason. It was not.
He came again. Took him almost two months but he was back. Not that Komachi really hoped that once would be enough. It was only realistic that it would take him longer to get bored. Nevertheless a smudge of disappointment lingered. Komachi steeled herself; now that the border was breached, it was clear what he was up to.
He sat down and stretched his legs. As if the bed belonged to him. "It was on a long mission." He moved his shoulders and Komachi could hear his joints popping. "Much too long to my liking. Nothing about it was to my liking."
It was funny that he was almost explaining his absence. Was he thinking she had missed him, or what?
"This entire mission should have never happened." He continued as he lied down next to her. "All pointless."
Komachi stiffened.
When he had left the previous time, she had cried. Out anger and out of helplessness. She had cried so much as she didn't remember crying. She had stuffed her mouth with a piece of cloth and screamed into it. She was thankful for the limited privacy of her room. For the fact that she could express her emotions, as this was only expression of emotions she could afford.
Because she knew better not to struggle.
He didn't hurt her, she knew how to deal with the act to avoid the pain. One of the many skills that came with marriage.
But she had to admit it wasn't only "non-painful". His intent and want somehow seeped a tiny bit into her, and at some point she found that the rhythm of his rocking body could maybe kindle something in her. After he was finished, she had a half of mind to say something about it, to have him continue, but of course she didn't. It was a great opportunity to throw him out and, naturally, she took it. He made his move and the ball was on her court. She could shove the deed in his face and relish in her moral upper ground.
But when she was crying that evening, in between of anger and helplessness, there was also a shade of something that could only be described as frustration. The physical one, caused by the strange hollow feeling down her stomach, but also a mental one. She had enough lucidity to recognize that he provoked behaviour that she was ashamed of. His arrogance brought forth arrogance from her side. And Komachi didn't want to be arrogant. Didn't want to be driven by pride and conceit. He was bringing forth all that she wanted to rid of.
He rolled over her, pinned her down and started with to trail kisses across her cheek. When he reached her lips, she didn't turn away. Time was struggle was over and it was never a good idea to begin with. His hands were working under her robes and he was maneuvering himself between her legs. He was quite heavy even if he was trying, as he clearly was, not to put his whole weight on her.
She rested her hands on his back, for the lack of better place to put them.
Hand was stroking across her breast and stomach and Komachi willed herself to stay calm.
"You really don't want to, do you?" It kept surprising her, this disappointment in his voice. "I lived my whole live not missing it, and now after last time, I cannot manage without it. Pathetic, isn't it?" She didn't answer. "Komachi, I cannot hold it anymore," he said and it sounded as if something was hurting him.
Was he really expecting a reply from her? A willing participation?
And then, he did something she was not expecting at all. He searched her hand, pulled it between their bodies. Then he took her palm and wrapped it around himself. "Then – like this." He closed his hand around hers and squeezed.
Komachi gasped in surprise. He nuzzled at her neck and moved their jointed hands along his length. "Can you do it like that?" It sounded like a plea.
Tentatively she slid her hand a bit downwards. The man over her let out a deep exhale. She stroked up feeling him stiffen even more in her grasp. She repeated the motion and he thrust into her palm. Since her other hand was against his lower back Komachi could feel which muscles tensed at the movement. Large muscles. Much larger than any in her own body. And with such a small touch she was making them move. She stroked again, harder. The man above her was moving in concert of her strokes, gasping for breath, his forehead propped against the pillow next to her head.
He freed one hand and grasped blindly at her breast. It should have hurt, from how abrupt it was, but it didn't. He kneaded it and Komachi's own breath sped up, though she wasn't quite sure was it from the effort of keeping the pace of the strokes or because of something else.
She turned her head towards his face. Stupid reflex, she couldn't see a thing anyhow. But he noticed it and turned as well. 'It's not fair. Apart of this being not fair on so many other levels, on top of it I cannot see him in this one moment when he is more vulnerable than I am.' Before she could wonder at the thought, the man captured her lips.
It was different from before, there was no trace of restraint or hesitation in this kiss. No trace of thought or intent, just want. It was so violent that Komachi thought he would bite her. She opened her lips a bit to accommodate the impact.
"Don't stop." He let out between the kisses. He thrust harder, to point out what he meant. So she didn't stop. She could feel his tip dragging along her belly, the veins pulsing under her fingers. Her arm was hurting already and she could barely find time to breath. But no, she didn't want to stop.
She must have opened her lips wider as he managed to push his tongue into her mouth. Komachi jerked at the awkward feeling of it. But then the man broke the kiss, groaning pushed into her hand with force that moved her entire body up on the bed and stilled. Komachi felt warm, sticky liquid between her fingers. She slowly opened her grip and let go off him.
The same shade of frustration that haunted her after their previous encounter settled down in her stomach. Komachi sighted and busied her mind with thinking where should she wipe her hand to avoid questions in the morning.
The man rolled off her. Cold night air touched her bare skin heated by friction and effort and Komachi shuddered. Her robe was all tangled between her legs and she had to move her hips to release it. The man grabbed at another flap and pulled it to wrap it around her. She was lucid enough to appreciate the gesture so she smiled even though he probably couldn't see it.
He stalled mid-motion and palmed the fabric. "And now you want," he said.
Komachi jerked and tried wrenching the cloth from his hand. He laughed and handed it to her without resistance – the fabric was slimy-wet. It baffled her for a moment long enough for him to reach with his hand to the place between her legs completely unhindered. "You want it," he reiterated and it wasn't a question. "Let's try again, then."
"What? Why would I even want to?"
"You still feel it, don't you? This thirst that was not quenched." He nudged his nose into the crook of her neck.
Komachi bit her lip.
The man leaned towards her and grabbed her at the waist. "Do it on your own." He pulled her so she was straddling him. "Do it as you want it."
AN: Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think about this chapter!
at MysticNymph89 : Thx for your comments and answering your questions: Madara is a bit younger than Komachi (maybe a year or half a year younger). And no, I'm not planning to mix this story with the present.
