His hair was unusual.
Gravity defying styles were among the many hairstyles fashioned by members of Senju and Uchiha alike but to Hashirama, there was something about Madara spiky , neck long hair that triggered his interest. He would fondly remember the back of the Uchiha slinging stones across the river, hoping to reach the other side. Why, from the back, his head resembled a hedgehog to Hashirama.
There was just something, some unexplainable quality to the then unknown boy that made him want to know him better.
And so he picked up the best stone he could find and hurled it pass Madara, so that when the boy turns towards him, he would be able to flash his brilliant smile; offering his two cents on how to successfully skip stones in the pretense of striking an offhanded conversation, while in truth, he may had spent a good half an hour behind Madara before mustering his courage.
Madara sharply turned towards him.
Nah, not a hedgehog, a porcupine. With his hair strands all going in different directions, the crease between his frowning brows and pissed off eyes. The blackest eyes he had ever seen in his life. Dark, just like the way his hair was, as if the most starless of nights.
….
His hair was wild.
Hashirama had been harbouring a not so secret crush for Madara for the longest time. Perceptive as the other was, he was sure that Madara had noticed his romantic sentiment towards him, although, like the wise clan leader the raven was, he pretended not to. For that , Hashirama was eternally grateful.
It was a week after their, err, not-so-platonic association on top of the hill on the outskirts of Konoha. Hashirama decided to walk around the village,somehow 'accidentally' venturing into the infamous Uchiha compound. He was aware that his presence invited more than a few curious stares from members of the clan, but of course he acted as though he did not. Somehow both Madara and him were so busy with the newly form villages' affairs that the had not had the chance to even chat without one of them tending to other matters.
Or rather, more accurately, Madara did not have time for him.
In truth, he knew that Madara had been purposely avoiding him for the past week, thus when the sight of the Uchiha releasing his ball of fire into water entered his field of vision, he could not stop himself from literally sprinting to his side.
"Madara!"
If he was not such a keen analyser, he may had missed the slight widening of Madara's eyes, but he was not called the God of Shinobi for nothing. He noticed a few young Uchiha standing around Madara, who looked slightly intrigued rather than wary, unlike the adult members of the clan, of his sudden appearance, before their attention was snatched by Madara's thundering voice.
"Pay attention! Kagami! Look here!" Madara refocused his stare into the water. "This is the last time I am showing this to you. After this I expect all of you to memorise the seals." Hashirama observed as Madara's hands expertly formed the seals for Katon Goukakyuu no Jutsu, although the speed was a bit lagging compared to his usual fastness, perhaps so that the kids could memorise them. He noted how the latter's chest swelled with chakra, before the chapped lips parted to release a majestic globe of flames.
'Ah, Madara was showing the youngsters how to perform the clan's signature jutsu, he must not be very busy.' He decided to tag along with the demonstration, ignoring the displeased looks thrown by several Uchiha. He watched as Madara's waist length hair got blown away by the sheer force of his jutsu, revealing the side of his face that was usually kept covered. During that particular moment, there was only one word he was able to think of.
Wild.
…
His hair was coarse.
It was during one of their earliest couplings, after Madara came term with his feelings, that he noticed how coarse Madara's hair was. It was a total contrast to his own, he noted as he tugged at the midnight locks. Madara looked up to meet his eyes, his Sharingan active. Somehow the sight of the mighty Uchiha Madara sama on his knees, indulging Hashirama by fulfilling his selfish sexual needs, aroused the Hokage to no end.
"What?"
Madara's lips were red and moist, and a little bit swollen as well. Trails of pearly white liquid were dripping from the sides of his mouth. Hashirama refused to answer, instead he pulled his lover up until they were of eye levels with each other, before slamming his lips to the other's. One hand buried itself in Madara's hair, while the other travelled to the other parts of his body. He winced when he felt Madara's long nails scratching his back, indicating the Uchiha's displeasure for having his question left hanging.
In their long history of being together, it was one of the infrequent instances where Hashirama did not bother with dragging the act any longer, lifting the Uchiha's legs so the wound around around his waist before immersing himself all the way to the hilt inside the the other, in one quick motion.
There was blood of course, but what is the use of having superior medical skills, if not using them to his advantages, he reasoned with Madara when the other yelled at him in the aftermath for giving him no warning. Although, afterwards there were three new facts about Madara he learnt about. One, sexual intercourse should be performed according to Madara's pace. Two, Madara is quite vindictive, as Hashirama could barely walk without limping after he returned the favour when he held Hashirama, and prohibiting him to heal himself and three, his hair was very coarse.
When he pointed out the third to Madara the other replied by telling him only sissies would spend hours in front of the mirror tending to their hair, like a certain somebody.
"I have never been too fond of conditioners. I shampoo enough. Not everybody is obsessed with his hair." His eyes were mocking as he smirked at Hashirama.
Hashirama would never let Madara know that he paid his hair so much attention because, even though Madara thought his preferentialism for Hashirama's hair is well concealed, he knew that Madara loved his hair. After all, if there is any part of him that would interest Madara in him even in the slightest, he would do his best to perfect the said part.
….
His hair was beautiful.
The was a large scar on Madara's back that was usually hidden by his hair. Hashirama would never forget how regretful he felt when his mokuton sliced through Madara's skin, tearing it open, despite that it was during one of their most heated battles and he was knocked away by the perfect Susano'o soon after. He had countlessly offered Madara to heal the scar, although he knew that if he had truly desired for the scar to disappear, even the most mediocre of the Uchiha medical shinobis would be able to heal it instantly, since it was only a flesh would. Why Madara decided to keep the scar, is not a matter he was prepared to rake his brain for.
Still, Hashirama rued the day his mokuton marred the pale flesh, prompting his semi conscious action of stroking the scar every time held Madara. He knew Madara noticed this, but both pretended not to, although as if to soothe his guilt Madara would momentarily cease with his rough biting and clawing and plant soft kisses and caress instead.
That was Hashirama at the beginning of their relationship. After close to twenty years with Madara, he began to take pride as the only one to have his mark on the shinobi, which was very unlike him, but spending almost everyday with Mada probably had effects both good and bad on him.
"Perhaps his insanity has rubbed itself onto you." His brother would say, however Tobirama had always had this unjustifiable hatred towards his Uchiha companion, so his opinions on circumstances concerning Madara are not always reliable and never unbiased.
It was one of the rare occasions where Madara did not disentangled himself from Hashirama after, behold, an even rarer slow and affectionate lovemaking. He even allowed Hashirama to pillow him with his arm. Hashirama lovingly ran his fingers through Madara's ebony mane, occasionally brushing against his bare skin.
Age was catching up with his Madara, there were lines of silver among the thick coal hair, his eye bags were more pronounced, and even if Madara rarely smiled, there were crinkles around his eyes when he did. Nevertheless, Madara in his afterglow, with sweat beads trickling down his forehead, a small satisfied cat-like grin with strands of his hair damp against his cheeks, was the most alluring sight to Hashirama.
When he peered up to meet Hashirama's eyes from his lashes, the Hokage ceased with his petting, pulling Marada deeper into his hug. Yes, everything about Madara; his black, deep eyes, his scarred skin, his shy smile and even his untamed hair was beautiful to Hashirama. He allowed sleep to overtake him with the love of his life relaxing in his hold.
Outside, the owl hooted at the full moon.
…
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