A/N: Mature Content. HashiMada.
Snowflakes still cling to his hair, the winter night so bitter that his fingertips are like ice, and yet the moment he steps foot inside there is this shared look across the room, an indescribable heat between the Uchiha and Senju rising up to suffocate them; and in a half-second he's there, slamming Madara against the wall as if he could drive him through, lips colliding with a force only comparable to the battlefield. A month apart, a month to think, ache, miss, a month to love a little more. Every kiss burns, burns, burns, the winter night forgotten, and nails rack their body. Hashirama sees crimson everywhere — in those eyes, on his skin, and the flashing lights that blind him. A red fire already consumes his existence, getting hotter, hotter, changing further to blues and white-hot bliss, and his cock throbs against his lover as clothes are tossed aside and legs wrap tight around his waist; he wastes no time, desperation taking over as he gives a hard thrust and buries himself within his unprepared lover in full, primal need.
"Fuck—!" Madara nearly screams, clawing at his Senju and almost punching his lights out; but Hashirama pounds him into the wall over and over, making him burn painfully as if in the pits of hell.
