Like pieces of a puzzle

That should not have been such a turn on

Madara was experiencing some conflicting feelings: pride, fear, awe, horror, admiration, anger. But most of all, Madara was turned on. That was the most unsettling feeling. Watching a MMA fight had never turned him on. Madara blamed Hashirama for that.

On an theoretical level Madara knew that Hashirama knew how to fight, how to dodge blows and how to take them to minimize the effects, that she knew how to strike and how to move to take down a much more larger, bulkier and powerful opponent.

But that was only theory. Actually seeing her do all that things was a completely different experience.

Simply put Madara wasn't ready to see Hashirama move with deadly precision, take down her opponent with only some minimal bruises on her left thigh and side and then grin at him across the room when the proctor raised her arm declaring her the winner. His brain short-circuited when her grin morphed into a victorious smirk.

Madara blamed Hashirama for what they did next, too.

Madara waited for her near their car, barely holding onto the lust wreaking havoc in his veins. She approached and stood still just in front of him holding her bag, peering at him from under a set of long dark eyelashes and her red baseball hat and grinning.

Madara didn't grin back, he simply stared at her eyes that seamed bottomless in that dark night and feeling the raw power she was emanating. It was addicting. And Madara was certain he could feel it on his tongue.

Hashirama leaned forward and whispered against his lips "Enjoyed the show?" Her breath was hot, so hot against his lips, and Madara grabbed the back of her neck and smashed their lips together in a rough kiss, bruising and wild.

Hashirama maneuvered them both on the back seats of the car and then rode him passionately always kissing him, leaving marks on his neck and chest and Madara simply hold on her thighs and hips so forcefully that he leave the imprints of his hands.

When they were catching their breaths, Hashirama resting on his chest and Madara letting his fingers wander on her back, she whispered "I wish you could come to every match because that was awesome. The best sex we had in a while." Madara hummed in agreement, kissed her temple and asked "Not too rough?" "I don't mind once in a while." Madara truthfully felt well and truly fucked and simply hummed once more.

They laid in the back seats of their car, near the back exit of a gym, during a spring Friday night and Madara couldn't help but think about the next Friday, when another of Hashirama's matches would take place.

MMA fights should not have been such a turn on. It was Hashirama's fault.