☆HashiMada OneShots☆

Trust

The light of a single candle casts long shadows that dance on the walls to the accompaniment of heavy breathing and the wet noises of three of Hashirama's fingers at work. He swallows each of Madara's soft sounds as their tongues slide against one another. His hands are tight, almost too tight, on Hashirama's shoulders, but he'll be happy to wear tomorrow any marks Madara leaves on his body tonight.

They break apart for air, and sensing that it is time, Hashirama lets his fingers slide out of Madara's hole, pulling a small noise from Madara's throat that he would have been embarrassed about all those months ago when they first began warming each other's beds. It brings a small smile to Hashirama's face to see him now, wearing his desire so openly, trusting Hashirama enough to let his guard down. He gazes up at Hashirama impatiently, his pale skin flushed a lovely shade of pink. Dark hair spilling all over the pillows, he looks so beautiful that Hashirama hates to look away for even a split second.

Reluctantly, Hashirama extracts himself from between Madara's legs, just long enough to find the jar of oil that's a bit farther away than his arms can reach. He slicks his cock generously and turns back, ready to pick up where he left off.

He's surprised to see Madara is switching positions. He turns his body to face away from Hashirama, resting his weight on his hands and knees.

For a moment, all Hashirama can do is stare. Madara hates having anyone at his back and, as much as he has grown to trust him, Hashirama is still no exception. Madara turns his head and, wary of the dark eyes watching him, Hashirama hurries to disguise his surprise. If he comments, questions, or hesitates, there is a good chance that whatever rare mood has taken Madara will be fleeting.

Madara tenses when Hashirama takes his place behind him and lines himself up for entry. He doesn't push yet, however. Instead, he lets the hand resting on Madara's hip trail up along his side and back again. He lets it slide further down, smoothing across the ridges of his abs then back up to caress his firm pectoral. He takes a nipple in between his thumb and forefinger and pinches, not too roughly, but enough to make Madara gasp and arch his back.

"Hurry up," he complains, his patience wearing thin after so much waiting. His voice is too breathy to be as authoritative as he would like. He presses backward until the tip of Hashirama's dick finally, finally slips in, but it's not enough. "Hashirama... move."

Inch by inch, Hashirama pushes his hips forward. He takes his time; Madara is still tense, undoubtedly from feeling someone behind him. Left hand holding Madara's hip, Hashirama uses the other to gather his hair and bring it to the side, giving him access to his neck. He lowers his lips to the flushed, sweaty skin, and Madara shudders as he plants a trail of kisses up to his earlobe.

"You feel so good," Hashirama whispers when he reaches his ear. "So, so good for me."

Madara bites back a moan. The rigidity is slowly beginning to bleed out of his shoulders, little by little. Hashirama kisses the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades, all while his hands rub soothing circles into the skin of his lower back. He finally bottoms out, hips flush against Madara's ass, and he pauses, giving Madara plenty of time to adjust as his hands trace his back and sides.

His back is largely free of scars, in comparison to other parts of his body. There's a crisscross one on his right shoulder. Hashirama doesn't remember giving him that one, but he doubts there have been many others able to mark Madara's skin in such a way. He traces it with his fingertips, the white flesh raised slightly higher than the skin surrounding it, then leans forward to press his lips against it.

Madara shudders at the touch, and his walls clench tightly around Hashirama, who can't help but to thrust his hips slightly forward. The movement makes Madara gasp, but not in discomfort. He rocks back and forth on his hands and knees, which Hashirama takes as permission, at last, to move. Slowly at first, he fucks him with deep, measured thrusts as he admires the tapestry of muscles that make up Madara's back, carved from a lifetime of hard work and dedication (and, unfortunately, necessity).

"Sage, you're beautiful," Hashirama blurts out.

Madara gives him a sharp look over his shoulder, but he doesn't have to believe Hashirama to make it less true. He's beautiful and sexy and strong and Hashirama can't believe he's his. That he trusts him enough to bare himself, body and soul, for no one else but Hashirama. His vision blurs as tears gather in eyes. He tries to blink them away, but a droplet or two falls onto the small of Madara's back.

His eyes narrow as he looks over his shoulder. "Why are you crying?"

Hashirama scrubs at his eyes with the back of his arm. "I just love you is all."

He curses himself as Madara pulls away. Madara lies on his back.

"Idiot," he mutters. There's no real derision in his voice, only fondness. He pulls Hashirama closer, and they both groan when Hashirama sinks into him once again. "It's best if I can see you."

Crossing his ankles at the small of Hashirama's back, he tangles one hand in his silky, chestnut hair as he urges him on. Hashirama could deny him nothing at this point, so when Madara breathes faster and harder, he does just that. He lowers his head to kiss him again and again, messy and urgent. Madara chases his lips as he pulls away, and he kisses him again, briefly, before raising himself onto one hand.

He takes Madara's throbbing, dripping cock in his hand and strokes it in time with his thrusting hips, watching in rapt fascination as Madara's hand gets buried in his wild mane of dark hair. His eyes squeeze tightly shut-another sign of trust that makes Hashirama's heart flutter-as he topples over his peak. Ropes of come splatter his lower belly, and his ring of muscles clench so tightly around Hashirama's dick that he lets go, too. He doesn't take his eyes off the man below him, the man he loves.

When they've cleaned up and crawled back into bed, Madara surprises Hashirama again. He rolls onto his side, once more giving Hashirama his back. He glances pointedly over his shoulder, and Hashirama is grinning from ear to ear as he brings his chest flush against his back, wrapping an arm around his waist as sleep takes them.