10.
"Was it all right?"
Madara snorts. "If that was all right, then the warring states period was a minor scuffle. If that was just all right, then a volcano is just a lukewarm hill."
Hashirama is laughing weakly. "You're saying I'm a better lay than a volcano?"
Madara scowls, curling up more tightly around him. His cheeks are pink. "You heard me."
11.
"We should tell Tobirama," Hashirama says late one night, as they are starting to fall asleep on each other. "It's only fair."
Madara blanches. Instantly he is completely, unpleasantly awake. He props himself up on one elbow. "Right now?" he says, incredulous.
Hashirama laughs so hard he moves the futon. "Definitely not," he gasps, after a long while. "But sometime."
Madara groans and tugs Hashirama's arm over his shoulders. He laces their fingers together. "Please don't make me think about your brother right now," he says. "I'm still in such a good mood."
"I won't," Hashirama promises. He laughs softly. "While we're on the subject, though, aren't you glad you got the good-looking brother, Madara?"
12.
"You are drunk, Hashirama," Madara says, shoving him away.
"Maybe," Hashirama slurs, acquiescing, "but that doesn't mean you're not beautiful."
Madara blushes. "Let's get you to bed. To sleep," he clarifies quickly, but Hashirama is already passed out in his lap, long hair spilling over his thighs.
13.
"Here are the latest groundwater quality reports," Madara says stiffly, handing over a neat folder. Tobirama glances through it briefly before setting it aside on the desk.
"Thank you," he says, with barely-concealed venom.
"I also got word from the daimyou, who is saying we can't build on the east side of the river, so all the plans for the second district will have to go elsewhere for now, and the Shimura clan has requested an audience with the village leaders, so expect to have representatives contacting the office sometime later this week. Also, I am sleeping with your brother," Madara says, as quickly as he can—as if that will lessen the blow—and he slams the office door and sprints down the hall before Tobirama has a chance to figure out what he's said.
14.
"Did Madara say anything else?"
"Hmm." Tobirama sips the last of his tea. "The Shimura clan's sending someone to negotiate this week. That should be good for the village."
"Oh!" Hashirama says. "That's great news!"
"Yes," Tobirama grinds out. He takes a breath, frowns, reconsiders, and crosses his arms over his chest. Hashirama drinks his cooling tea in silence.
"Hashirama," Tobirama says at last.
Nobody scowls quite like Tobirama does. Hashirama watches the muscles working furiously in his brother's jaw and is worried for a moment that his head is going to explode from excess pressure.
"What is it?" Hashirama says.
"Are you happy?" says Tobirama after a long pause.
Hashirama is taken aback. "Of course I am," he says, and he means it. "I've never been happier."
Tobirama's face visibly relaxes, and he uncrosses his arms as he stands up to leave. "Tell Madara to keep it down in the future," he says over his shoulder. "Does he honestly think he's being subtle?"
15.
"I already apologized! I apologized multiple times! For fuck's sake, Hashirama, it was an accident!"
Hashirama hugs his knees tighter and puts his head in his arms. The floor is very cold. The fact that he is naked doesn't help. "My own lover," he whimpers, "putting me under a genjutsu…I'm not sure I'll ever recover." He looks up at Madara, very gravely. "Did my face look funny when I passed out?"
Madara smiles his crooked smile. "You did drool a little."
"How humiliating," Hashirama says, and he makes his voice go all low and serious and important, the way Madara likes. "There might be—" Madara shivers— "consequences."
"You could always blindfold me," Madara suggests. Hashirama watches him with keen interest. Madara realizes what he's just said, and rapidly turns vermillion.
Hashirama tilts his head and grins innocently, and slick green mokuton tendrils curl up from the floor. "Yes," he says, "I most certainly could."
16.
"Come back to bed, Hashirama," Madara croaks.
Hashirama puts his tongue between his teeth and scribbles through a line in the mission terms he's drafting. He frowns, writes something on the side of the page. "How are you feeling?" he says. He taps the brush against his chin, frowning harder.
"Better. Come over here."
Hashirama gives up on the mission terms, blows out the candle on his desk, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Madara crawls over to him, sniffling slightly. He gathers Hashirama's hair up from his back and twists it into a loose knot at the nape of his neck. "You're tense," he says, and he presses his fingers into Hashirama's shoulders.
Hashirama sways slightly on the bed, sighing a very long sigh. "Busy week," he says. "Glad it's over." It's hard to move sometimes, hard to walk, hard to stand. It is as if the mokuton is putting down roots. He wants to be still.
Madara kisses the back of Hashirama's neck and kneads his shoulders and Hashirama thinks he could stay here like this forever.
17.
They move together, and Madara rolls his head and arches his back and makes a surprisingly soft sound. "Oh fuck, come on, Madara, ohh come on,Madara, come for me," Hashirama moans. He probably sounds ridiculous. He kisses Madara hard and whispers about a thousand other senseless things against his skin. He doesn't know what he's saying and he doesn't care; all he knows is that Madara is powerful and lithe and dangerous and lovely, all clenched muscle and tangled black hair and glowing eyes, and Hashirama is very, very in love with him.