.

.

There was nothing but the sound of his breathing in the dimly lit dark, and furtively Madara stroked himself, crouched over the tatami mats that were laid out haphazardly at the corner of the room. Already, his eyes had gotten used to the darkness, which was inky and black except for the feeble haze of dull moonlight, and Madara had to close his eyes, already distracted by the shapes of things that seemed to leer out at him in rebuke: it was a point of pride that he rarely did this, indulging himself like a mindless animal. Though there were whores and spoils of war, Madara himself had kept his physical desires firmly in check. He had always prided himself on his self-control.

The head of his cock slipped against the moistened palm of his hand, and Madara swallowed, letting the weight of his shaft glide in one closed fist. He was stiff and aching, the head of his cock weeping with pre-cum, and already the muscles in his groin and thighs began to tense. He closed his fist tighter around himself, stroking faster, his breath growing loud and ragged. The muscles in his stomach and flanks strained with effort.

When he came, it was with a shuddered breath, penis twitching into his hand. He hunched over, riding out the last few spasms of his orgasm, before straightening. His heart slowed as he steadied his breathing. Ejaculate oozed like old dried blood in his hand.

He wiped his hand with a handkerchief as the wind outside rose in the darkness, a close-mouthed, quiet sound, before standing. Then he grabbed the nearest chair and threw it, shattering it against the wall.

They were going over a list of suitors, potential allies for a political marriage, Hashi reading off the names while Madara shot them down. "Well obviously no one is good enough for you," Hashi said.

"I think your brother and I can actually agree on that point," Madara said. He looked out the window. "You should just marry me and be done with it."

He regretted it as soon as he said it. Tightening his jaw, he kept his eyes trained at the streaks of dirt smudging the windows. There were Senju guards outside while Uchiha men gathered in the courtyard. He could hear Hashi lowering her papers.

"...Are you asking me?" Hashi said.

Madara looked at her. She was dressed as any woman of her time did, with a loose-flowing robe and a small pendant around her neck. Her hair was long, flowing down the curve of her neck and shoulders like unadorned silk. There were callouses marring the palms of her hands.

"It was in jest," he said, and he looked away from her. "If you ask my opinion, you should ally with the Uzumaki. They are a strong clan. They would complement this village well."

He stood up and left before she could give him an answer.