Note: This chapter is quite... Explicit. Also: I'm a sadist, I'm a sadist, sadist, sadist, sadist. I do not apologize.
"Madara?..." The soothing tone above him gave a simper to his lips, while the waist he held moved away from the relaxed grip his hand had held it in. The sparkle of enlightened hair shone above him as his gaze was met with bejeweled eyes, a grin to rival the sun resided on the man he held close.
The kiss they shared was one of passion.
Something bound his hands. It came unto him as the first instinctive thought of waking, movement could not be made from his wrists a tight clasp kept them pinned firmly upon the wood of his floor. Equally, his legs were restrained, the clutch of the material which kept him was firm; a twitch would barely form while his body heaved in effort. In glance he could hardly glimpse it to be a form of earth which bound him, though he knew not for what purpose, or, in particular; what jutsu had been used to keep his chakra from flaring extensively as it ought. Moonlight emerged from the shutters the dark of the night still entrapping the room, and his eyes could find little to be of aid. An attempt of force did nothing, for the restraints were hardened, well made, and those upon his legs prevented any significant endeavor to rise.
The quirkful sound of his door drew his attention, though it was lilliputian he could see still the clear glow pale legs made with the moon, walking towards him in measured steps of taunt. Ineffective though the action, Madara felt his eyes shift away from black, anger beholding his emerging feeling of trepidation, already a sneer had formed his mouth, and the sound of his own refrained breathing made the atmosphere of foreboding comprehension shake his mind. The Omega over him stood nude; a woman of whom he could not see within his downheld position. She was pale, enough to reflect the moon's light, near emaciated in mien as her legs appeared to be mere bones, with no scars marking her skin: Madara retained the information as best he might, the lingering understanding he may require it. Keeping his mind from focusing on the purpose for which she had detained him.
As her dainted hands -with elongated nails- grasped at his trousers, running softly down the length of his most pious region, he contained the grunt lingering in his throat at the sensation it caused. He clasped his eyelids shut and forced his head to snap backwards, to slam against the floorboards, as the situation changed and his want for ignorance increased, his teeth grit together. Knowledgeable of the strength required to break the earth around his wrists, he disregarded the knowledge and gave an attempt regardless. Still, as a pale hand pult at the fabric resting on his hips, grinding his teeth further he made an endeavor to cool his chakra farther, to chill the woman -now- attop him so that she may burn in frosted sensation when touching his skin.
Even within his own bid to escape, he felt his body take interest, his mentality screaming already at the acknowledgement. He was erect and she had grasped him bare; her hand was wrong, at least he knew that well though his physicality became intentful at the touch. She stroked him, and once more, he clashed his head against the floorboards beneath, doing so again, as the image would not subside. Though his skin had become gelid. A heated, vehement, dudgeon arose in his chest; his sharingan burnt at the flare of emote it produced within, as his glare directed itself to the Omega who pleasured herself above him.
He could vividly see her hand at her vigina playing uncaringly, prodding, dipping execrable liquid upon him. His head slammed against the wood again, piffling tears emerging from his eyes; fore he could do nothing. Clutching his eyes tightly away from vision, his nails dug -scratching into the wood floor, his body twining itself in an attempt to leave. His own voice came as a hiss unto his ears. "Vulgar woman." Something imbedded within him made him clench his jaw.
She moaned.
Horror infultated him, fore in spite of all self-control he maintained, resounding from his chest; he moaned in addition. It was meager, exiguous, yet it transpired and he nearly screamed in revault.
Madara wished to hit her, to harm her, to bury her within the sands of the desert. He wished for liberation from the situation, to crack the binds keeping him and cut the woman above him to bones. As the moans she made grew lustful, in tandem; they became strident upon his hearing. She rocked upon him fastly, relishing in her pleasure as her sounds turned raucous and licentious in nature.
Beginning now, as orange began to grace his sights and Amaturatsu woke: The Uchiha Patriarch screamed, in an anger he knew not; one that he had never before witnessed or pertained, foreboding in nature. Yet, no sound emanated from his throat as he did so. Detest crawling eerily up his spine.
Within himself, amongst the recesses of a fragmenting, degrading, mentality, alongside the weeping feelings he'd buried; he wished for his hanayome's aid.
After noon bid herself with calm weather and clear, joyful skies. The sun shone unto his face, his hair warmed at her touch while his skin remained cold pale and rejecting the heated light upon it. His wrists stained red in opposition along with his thighs which were sore underneath the fabrics of his trousers and robe, he stared at the skies, breathing deeply as regret began to grasp at his heart. He shut his eyes, sighing and glimpsing instead to the scroll he had left on the table under Naori's name. Vision quaking, the sight shifted afore him, and he pult himself from his lazed lean upon the wall. Making certain once more everything had been made ready before he walked to the towering visage of the Hokage building; nary representing the village now, as time had emboldened it.
Grey bled into the grass as he kept his gaze firmly upon the ground. Black had already taken to corrupting the red upon the building standing in front of him, though still, the sight was vivid even unto his fading reality. A moment came upon him then, where he stood below the tower, in rigid stance, bleak express, crossed arms. In ponderance, without one emote to follow along the considerance. Standing upon the steps of the leading building and staring upwards at the sign it held -'hokage'- in complete opposition of his former want to keep his stare firm on the grounds beneath him.
Uncaring, he took notice quite vaguely, the sensation sparking at his mentality as Hashirama's chakra approached him. Though his form to no care to the understanding, he made no movement towards the man coming forth. Only the notice of minimal chilled chakra drew his attention. He cast his eyes away to find his son's figure beside the grey man who walked with him. Madara caught the twinge of happiness inside himself then and held to it as the boy ran to him in joy -a grin upon the small face, the breeze catching at his whitened hair, the rays of sun glinting his black eyes and brightening his slight tan skin. Madara felt the tilt of his lips at the scene, his own form bending down to catch the running boy. He embraced his son tight with clasped arms around the lank frame, with his head bent and his cheek resting in the mess of albino hair. He allowed his vivid vision to fade as the weakened tears betook him then, matting Jiraiya's hair with salted water.
From his own feeling he knew little as most had waned to nothingness, but what he still maintained were so marginal that he could not fathom feeling emotion once again. Yet in seeing his heir, his beautifully smiling child of the sun, his son smiling at him, to hold him: Madara could not withhold the sudden sadness which encompassed all he was -all of him that pulled away, kissing Jiraiya's forehead and cheek in the process, he gained a slight giggle -and much to his own regretful pain, the same onto his own cheek.
"Go play Jiraiya." He got a frown, a child's frown.
"But Daddy-" He interrupted the plead, for he knew his own weakened stance would give to the small demand.
"Please, I need to speak to you Godmother." The pout which he witnessed then made his legs twitch in a cold knowledge of his own indecision. Still, even in begrudgement, Madara noticed well, unwittingly, that as his mother before him Jiraiya could make a grin of the sun without any toil. And as his son fled to play among himself, the Uchiha warrior had to control his arm from gripping and never releasing the small form of his child.
"Madara? Are you well?" He did not remove his eyes from the sight of his bouncing playing-training offspring, happily smiling to himself as he pretended to hit an enemy. Hashirama's voice a meager whisper within his mind. "You were crying, I have not seen you in such a state for-" Bile rose in his throat at the implication unspoken, and he interrupted.
"I am leaving." He stated, breaking the sentence he knew his friend was bordering on saying, injuring himself minimally with the words.
"I beg your pardon." He'd heard, Madara knew well, as Hashirama's tone had fallen into irritation. He forced his eyes to the smaller man.
"Konoha. Tonight, quite soon as it stands." Stoicism clouded at his voice, once more, his emotions were lost upon him. Bleakly, he watched the Hokage's tender gaze shift into his former warrior's stare, hardened and prepared to kill if necessary.
The Omega's voice deepened significantly when angered, Madara noted. "You cannot! What of Jiraiya? And the clan? And- and- myself! Madara! You wish to return to the land outwards?! To be threatened by rogue shinobi hopeful to kill? To confront the Kiniki clan as they hunt for your flesh?! Surrounded continuously by clans of war?!" His bellow surrounded them, drawing some curious attention, but many turnt away at the knowledge of whom had done the familiar yell. Jiraiya included. None paying heed to a common sight.
"You have no say in the matter. I am. That is final. The clan will be maintained by Naori, as she understands its management. As for my son, he will stay with you, or his Godfather. Simple." Again, his mind could not conjure an emotion as he spoke, logic prevailed. Though in a glimpse to Jiraiya, he recalled one of his reasonings. "I do not believe I can properly care for him at the moment, it worries me. My mentality is slipping Hashirama, as you well know. Staying within the village would be a danger unto all." His friend took notice then, to the gunbai and spear attached to his ribbon obi.
"Madara… I- you must, certainly, you must know of my-" The confession to follow was halted as the grey lips snapped together, the Uchiha rose his brow at the unfamiliar shy demeanor of the man. "-I cannot say." However, in the knowledge, the logic beheld within him, an understanding he kept well contained lowered his brow, and forced outwards a heaving sigh.
"Indeed… You need not say Hashi, perhaps-" He was uncertain at the chance himself, "-if Naru hadn't-, and Mito was not a consideration- perhaps then we would have found solace in each other. I am sorry." He held himself steady as his lips brushed against the forehead of his longest friend, a goodbye acknowledged in the action rather then making the words. "Please, see that Jiraiya is happy." Madara could hear the slight, hidden sound of refrained crying underneath him as he asked, and he knew that the Hokage had forced himself into a strengthened visage even as tears streamed his face.
"I will."
