Well, that was unexpected

Sinful

Waking up swaddled up in strong arms with his head tucked under Madara's chin was wonderful, but also absolutely terrifying. What was even more terrifying was that Tobirama felt fingers threading through his hair and heard soft humming, which meant Madara was wide awake. Yes, he had come to Madara's room last night. Yes, he had happily buried himself beneath the blankets and tucked himself into Madara's side as soon as the opportunity arose. However, he was used to waking up to his brother's screaming, or from the sudden pain of laying on a wound the wrong way (the creation of new jutsu was not kind to his body). Being woken this gently felt like a dream, yes, but he also felt like any minute Hashirama would be screaming in his ear about waking up and getting to work and he would be left aching for the affection of a man who had only ever noticed him in his wildest dreams.
It was very hard to relax in those arms, no matter how comforting they were.  With sweaty palms and heartbeat pulsing loudly behind reddened ears, it was very clear to Tobirama that his body had gone stiff.  The warm body he woke up pressed against left him cold with the growing distance between them and he was sure his soul cried out come back, even though he knew that Madara was giving him room to calm down.  Waking up cuddled together was scary, and realizing Madara was awake heart dropping, but being pushed away- that was a grief beyond description.  Rolling onto his other side was much easier without those broad arms holding him down (holding him together) and he gladly did so, ducking his flushed face into his arms and curling his knees up for security.  Finding a rock to hide beneath for the rest of his life was tempting; anything was better than letting the only man he'd ever loved see him so upset over his conflicting feelings on cuddling of all things.
He flailed when he felt fingers prying away at his arms and curled in tighter on himself to keep his flushed face hidden. Madara, however, wasn't having any of it. In a quick moment, Tobirama was flat on his back with his wrists pinned and a beautiful sight planted in his lap. He was indeed strong and very well could have fought against the hold, but he was too busy staring to even remember what he had been doing anyway.
Madara was a sight. The crumpled nightshirt he had worn to bed had several buttons undone, opened wide enough to expose half his chest. On the battlefield his eyes were narrow and calculating, in private warm and inviting, but freshly awoken they were as wide and curious and sparkling as a child's. The best part, though, that had to have been his hair. From where he hovered half-hunched over Tobirama, his hair formed a dark curtain around them that blocked out the outside world. His hair framed his face charmingly and- though wild and untamed- all Tobirama could think of was running his fingers through that gorgeous hair. Madara was breathtaking at this angle (every angle), and despite Tobirama's deeply ingrained fear of human contact that came from living in the Senju compound, he wanted nothing more than to pull Madara flush against him and make him know just how beautiful Tobirama thought he was.
Amidst his fantasies of love and affectionate words, Madara simply watched his face. Tobirama's expression had gone from embarrassment to surprise quickly, which had been expected, but then his gaze softened and Madara knew that must be how he looked at Tobirama as well. He was so deeply engrossed in studying Madara that he hadn't noticed his wrists being freed, nor that Madara's smile had grown from playful to fond. That hair was still draped around them, and it was clear to see every tangle and knot that plagued those gorgeous locks. He remembered the brush he had bought as a child, the one from his mission in the Sarutobi lands. Madara's hair had just reached his mid-back (he simply hadn't had the time to cut it at first, but his father had hated it and so he adored it), and Tobirama had thought of him the moment he saw the brush. It was silver, with a surface he kept so polished and cleaned it could dual as a mirror. The brush was gentle, and very pretty. But what truly had caught his eye was the red dragon that curled up the handle of the brush. He had thought it fitting for Madara's personality (and natural affinity for fire jutsu) and bought the brush on a whim. Now, for the first time, he thought he might actually get to give it to Madara.
Tentatively, Tobirama reached a hand out to feel the long locks, and a rebel beam of light slipped its way into the little sanctuary that the hair curtain had provided. Madara's hair was just as soft as he had always imagined. It was also ten times more tangled. When was the last time Madara had combed through his hair? Had he ever? His free hand joined the first in the mess of knots in an attempt to untangle it even a little. He quickly realized the task was impossible and laughed quietly to himself. Madara, who had been deeply enjoying the foreign feeling of hands in his hair, grunted in protest when his grooming was put on hold. Tobirama laughed again, to both his pleasure and dismay.
"Have you bothered to brush your hair over the past decade?" Tobirama was feeling a bit bold, and he caught Madara off guard with the question. Two minutes ago, Tobirama had been curled up in a ball, red faced and embarrassed over cuddling, and now the man was laying beneath him without any reaction and was making fun of him. Madara looked away in embarrassment. How had the roles been reversed so abruptly?
"Yes?" Tobirama shot him a pointed look that told him that he was not convinced. "I have! I just haven't brushed it in several days now. There's so much hair, and it gets tangled very quickly between training and battles. Within an hour, it's right back to where I started, so I stopped brushing it as often." He was sure that his face was red by now. The only person who ever touched his hair was Izuna when he needed assistance with untangling the mess, so having someone comment on his hair's unruliness was beyond embarrassing.
"May I? Hashirama was helpless when he was younger, so I often had to help him brush his hair. I could help you." No, Madara didn't feel his heart pound with anticipation as Tobirama rolled out from beneath him and walked to the wardrobe, reached to the top, and plucked a scroll out from the mass where his armor lay in wait. Madara moved to the edge of the bed and waited as Tobirama summoned a lovely brush from the scroll and settled behind him. When Tobirama asked for a comb as well, Madara had to scramble around his room to find one. He found what he was looking for ten minutes later, buried under a pile of scrolls on his desk (he really needed to stop bringing his work to the bedroom), and turned back to Tobirama with the intention of settling back in front of him. He didn't make it five steps though before the sight of Tobirama got to him and he froze in place. Tobirama was seated on the bed in wait, with the smallest of smiles as he ran his hand over the brush (Madara briefly wondered if it had been a gift from someone special and felt a jolt of jealousy run its course through his veins before he was again distracted). The light was gentle on his face, casting soft shadows, and reflected off his white hair in a way that made it seem like it was glowing. Madara found himself unable to look away from the near angelic picture the light painted before him. However, when Tobirama shifted on the bed and Madara watched the way the muscles in his legs coiled, he found the seraphic vision being tainted with sinful thoughts of what it would be like to settle between those powerful thighs. He couldn't decide if he wanted to stay there gazing upon his angel, or to take his place pressed against that hard chest and surrounded by strong legs and let himself corrupt that pure being awaiting him.
Briefly, he wondered if Tobirama would even want that. The man seemed starved for affection, but also entirely afraid of it. It was almost as if Tobirama didn't think he deserved it, and Madara questioned if he'd ever had anyone to show him affection at home. Surely, with how much Hashirama chased after Madara, he would have showed just as much love with his only remaining brother. But wouldn't Hashirama have come back for his brother on that battlefield if that was the case? Now Madara was thoroughly confused. What was wrong with those damn Senju, leaving his Tobirama as conflicted as he was? Madara's quick moment of happiness with Tobirama had quickly switched moods, and Tobirama remained entirely oblivious to the worry etched across his love's face as he traced his finger across the painted red dragon.