.
.
There was violence in his every movement, in how his hands tangled into hers and pressed her knuckles flat, the tender skin scraping back and forth against the cavern floor as his weight ground down and rocked with his movements. The cave was cold and there was the sound of dripping water and flesh smacking against flesh, the soft wet sounds of his thrusts and their heavy breathing. All he could focus on was how good she felt, the pleasure building until he came with a stuttered gasp, pulsing hard and sinking against her torso.
Regret. It washed over him as soon as the last dregs of his orgasm faded, and as he pushed himself upright his heart stilled as he saw it: Hashirama's head turned sideways, the tender line of her neck bruised and the fabric of her shirt bunched up from when he had mauled and pinched her breasts. There were angry red marks and indentations from where his shirt had wrinkled and pressed into her skin.
His voice cracked, shaky. "Forgive me," he said, and he was filled with self-loathing, humiliated. She turned her head to look at him, then gently touched his cheek.
"Why?" she said. She smiled, searching his eyes. "I love you."
His eyes grew dark and wet, and he buried his face into her neck lest she should see them. He felt her slender arms wrapping around his back as she murmured soft reassurances, words breathed softly between gentle kisses, holding him still inside her.
They parted after a long moment, and silently he pulled back on his clothes.
There was nothing but awkward, untouching silence. He took his perch by the corner of the cave as he watched his old enemy slowly fix herself. A tugging of her shirt, the adjustment of her breast plate. The leather arm guards pulled up beneath her armor.
"I think I need to wash by the river just to the south of us," Hashi said. She stooped over, picking up her sword. "I can't until we get out of here and go somewhere indoors.
"Anata?" she asked, and she turned, a splash of brackish sunlight cutting a swath against her face. "What's wrong?"
The question caught him off guard. How could he explain it? The sudden awkwardness, the halting awareness of her body in their physical space.
She grinned at him. "You're embarrassed."
"What?"
She trotted over, then wrapped her arms around him. "I can tell, you're really embarrassed."
Madara glared. Hashi giggled, kissing him.
The way back to Konoha would be at least a day's trek, and Hashi and Madara stood, looking out at the craggy landscape of a forest that had been leveled and razed flat. Madara strapped his battle fan across his back while Hashi hitched up her weapons scroll, which was almost the same length as her body and just as heavy and wide, but Madara glanced down at her, and wordlessly took it from her.
