Aizou

A/N: So I hear you liek mudkipz – no, lol. So my nee-san from another mother, Kireteiru of FF.net, read Genkaku and demanded that I write an interim fic, where Hashi-san and Mada-sama met somewhere between the beginning and the end and did the nasty with some minor kinks. Seeing as her b-day fic is so uber late it might as well not be coming, I am happy to oblige.

Title: Kirigakure (Hidden by Mist)

Author: Gyaku no Sekai

Rating: M

Warnings: graphic yaoi, minor bondage, double penetration

Pairings: Madara x Hashirama; vaguely background Hashirama x Mito

Summary: “I enter the world called real as one enters a mist.” – Julien Green | Hashirama was never truly in touch with reality when Madara was around. | Madara/Hashirama hard yaoi, sequel to Genkaku.

~~~~

Kirigakure no Sato is exactly as he expects it to be: full of the mist that gives it its name, and incredibly hard to see in. Despite the cessation of hostilities, Hashirama is certain that things are only about to get worse. He has moments like that occasionally; they let him know when things are about to go pear-shaped around him. This one is telling him that things are about to turn sour, but pleasantly so – at least for him.

He finds himself restless as he enters the city, to the point where even the notoriously inobservant Tobirama notices his edginess. “What is it, brother?” he asks, laying a hand on the Hokage’s shoulder.

Hashirama is so deep in thought at the time, trying to figure out what had him so on edge, that he doesn’t hear his younger brother’s question. He does, however, feel his hand on his shoulder. Reflexes take over, and almost take Tobirama’s head off. If the younger Senju had been any slower about dodging, the Hokage would have to explain to both their wives why he felt it was necessary to decapitate his own brother in the middle of a very delicate political climate.

“Geez, aniki!” the aforementioned younger man protests, reaching up to touch his hair, “I think you shaved a few inches off my spikes! What’s got you so worked up?”

“I don’t know,” the Kage replies, sheathing his sword as he looks back through the mist, “Something’s up, but…”

“We’ll have to keep a sharp eye, then. There’s no telling what could happen while we’re here.” Tobirama alerts their allies to be on their guard before they head to the house that had been volunteered for their use during their stay. It is simple and aesthetically pleasing to Hashirama’s eye; whoever had built it / chosen it for their use clearly knows what he/she is doing. His bodyguards insist that he take one of the centermost rooms so that he is better protected from any potential assassination attempts. Privately, the Hokage thinks that it is ridiculous to assume that he is any safer at the center of the house than the edges, but he lets them have their way.

That doesn’t stop him from saying that they should show goodwill toward the local people by dining out. And ultimately they do, choosing to patronize a small hole-in-the-wall diner that seems glad to have the business. Things are quiet in the city even before twilight, the only people out and about being shinobi or extremely drunk civilians. Even those who are in neither of those two groups are travelling in groups through the entertainment districts, evading the darkened streets of the primarily-civilian quarters.

Hashirama spends the first two nights of the talks primarily on the roof of their temporary lodging, watching the stars through the billows of mist. He thinks a lot during that time. He can tell right away that the Mizukage is not himself the moment they first stand face to face on the first day. Whoever is in control of him obviously knows this, because the smirk that pulls at the Nidaime’s lips belongs to another. Simply the sight of it makes him ache. He finds that he is grateful for the looseness of his robes, because he grows hard from watching the Nidaime act so much like a certain someone he sorely misses. The worst part is that there is no relief – he has no time to himself, and the problem refuses to go away. Wherever he walks in the shinobi village, he can feel the faint curls of a familiar chakra, the traces of his passage.

The Hokage is caught in his nighttime escapades that second night, and his guards insist that he stay inside where they can do their jobs.

On the third night, he comes. He slips through their defenses like they aren’t even there and seals the Hokage’s room from the others. Hashirama is weary from hours of negotiating with recalcitrant Kage, and so does not notice when his wrists are captured by two hands or his mouth gagged to keep him quiet.

It is the touches that wake him, elegant fingers stroking away his sleep clothes, teasing over his skin. Hashirama pulls at the hands holding him tight, whimpering in that semi-aware place between waking and sleeping. The hands give but don’t let go, so he bucks his hips up, vaguely realizing that he can’t move. Then that thought penetrates the haze around his mind. He jerks awake, thrashing against his captor, until those eyes meet his. He recognizes the kekkai genkai right away, and slackens with a whisper of Madara’s name, muffled by the gag.

The Uchiha understands because he smirks and deities, that is the smirk the Nidaime Mizukage has been wearing for the past several days. Then Hashirama realizes that another body has slid underneath him, is holding him captive, and he briefly panics before he sees jagged black locks out of the corner of his eyes.

A shadow clone, but he finds that at the moment he cannot tell which is the real Madara. He struggles against one Madara’s grip, but his grip becomes enhanced with chakra as Hashirama fights, preventing him from escaping. All his efforts do is let him know that the both of them are very much aroused by his fire, however futile it may have been.

The one behind him scoots up to the headboard, hauling him along for the ride, and leans back, transferring both of his wrists to one hand. The other crawls up in front of them, pushing Hashirama’s thighs apart so he can make his home between them.

Hashirama shudders at the friction and bucks up again, eyes pleading. “I don’t think so,” the Madara before him purrs, pulling open his yukata. A shiver races down his spine as the Uchiha tugs the yukata through him, tossing it away into a corner. He wants to ask about that technique – where did you learn that? Is it something you created? – but there is no time for him to muffle something out past the gag. The rogue nin leans in and plants his hands on either side of the Senju’s head. “Comfortable enough for you, Sho-dai-me-sa-ma?”

The man can only moan in response. The Madara behind him forms a quick series of one-handed seals, and then chakra strings tangle around his wrists and forearms, leaving both Uchihas free to torment him with four hands and two mouths. They move together with concerted ease, teasing and stroking and licking and sucking every inch of him that he can reach. A smooth lick over a nipple, a gentle nip to an earlobe, hands roaming his chest and teasing over his thighs. He bucks back against the Madara behind him, who evades, then thrusts forward, a whine squeezing out through the gag.

They both tut. The one behind him speaks, their bodies close enough that he can feel the vibrations from his voice. “So impatient,” he whispers directly in his ear, gripping his hips to grind against him, “What has you so riled?”

He manages to spit out the gag. “You – know – damn – well – what!” He thrashes against them, teeth bared, eyes flashing. “Stop teasing me! You’ve been doing it for the past three days!”

“Only three days?” the Madara in front of him hums, “We’ll need to step up our game.” The Madaras’ eyes meet over his shoulder, then he is pushed forward into the other Madara’s arms. Hashirama is heaved forward, the Uchiha positioning him onto all fours before them. The one behind him runs his hands over the Hokage’s ass, then whispers, “One or both. Pick.”

Hashirama bites his lip, fighting a blush.

“And that is answer enough,” the one in front smirks, heaving the Shodai forward over him. The other moves up behind him, a bottle of lube in hand, and sits on his heels to begin preparing the Hokage while his twin hauls him in for a kiss. His arms lose their strength, and he falls onto the one beneath him, smashing their lips together.

The Uchiha behind him holds his hips up, sliding a slick finger inside him. Hashirama moans into the kiss, which has steadily degenerated into a fervent exchange of spit. A second finger enters him after a moment, beginning to stretch him for them. Madara smirks into the kiss, inciting the Kage’s ire. He pushes himself up and takes a breath, calling on the self-control that makes him legendary on the battlefield. That state of mind enables him to mold his chakra with ease, and snare the erections of both Madaras with the energy.

They inhale sharply at the phantom touch, then narrow their crimson eyes. The one behind him abruptly presses down on top of him, sandwiching all three of them together on the bed. The one below manages to work a hand between them and seizes both of their shafts, giving them a firm stroke. “Don’t,” he hissed, “get too cocky.”

Hashirama tosses his head back with a gasp, coming to rest against the other’s shoulder as he rutted into the nuke nin’s hand. There is a light shudder from the Madara below him, an acknowledgement of pleasure. Then his arms are unbound, only to have the rest of him imprisoned so that they can manipulate him to their liking. He pulls at his bonds, hears the four-poster bed creak, then hisses as more fingers are inserted into him. What was once a pleasant burn is now an uncomfortable stretch, and he drops his head into the crook of one Madara’s neck as he tries to adjust to the other’s touch.

It is not necessary; the other Madara searches for and finds his prostate, forcing the first to kiss the Kage to silence his cries. Assaulted from both sides, it is not long before he comes with a moan of their name, spilling his seed between their bodies before going limp. He pants into Madara’s throat, body lax and sated, and moves without complaint when they roll him over between them to make it easier to enter him. He comes back down from his high as one of them slips inside him. The friction between them is delicious, and makes him bite his lip as his cock stirs once again. The Madara shifts, then drives forward, finding his prostate once again. A hand clamps over his mouth to muffle his scream of pleasure, his hips meeting the Uchiha’s as he pulls back, then drives forward once again.

The Madara at his back has perfect timing. He, too, slips into Hashirama, on one of his twin’s withdrawals, using the forward momentum of the subsequent thrust to slide them both in. The Kage bites his lips again, this time breaking the skin; the Uchiha above him licks up the blood with a smirk, and thrusts deep. Hashirama writhes between them as they both manage to find his prostate with every thrust, clamping his hands over his mouth so he can scream unreservedly into them. He wraps his legs around the waist of the nuke nin above him, and though the change of angle makes it a little bit more awkward for the one behind him, it enables them to go deeper than before. Of course they take advantage of it, relentlessly pounding into him and driving him to the brink of madness through the pleasure.

Finally, he comes again, clamping down tight on the two cocks buried to the hilt inside him. Vaguely, he feels them come, too, one after the other, but he is too out of it to really do anything other than enjoy the wash of heat inside him, the feeling of fusing-with-the-universe-itself-sex-with-Madara-induced bliss. Hashirama slumps between them, exhausted. Then, before he can question the wisdom of such an action, he passes out.

~~~~

Hashirama wakes to a fist pounding on his door. He muffles an approximate “It’s too fucking early! Go away!”

“Nii-san, the Mizukage’s canceled the meetings for today,” Tobirama’s voice comes through the wooden slab, “Something about a family emergency.”

The Hokage growls out another swearword and rolls over, snuggling into a warmth that lies next to him. “Th’s nice, now let me fuckin’ sleep!”

He hears his brother mutter something to the effect of, “What the hell’s wrong with him?” as he stamps away. The Shodai sighs in contentment, noticing in an offhand way that his new pillow is very warm and a little noisy.

Th-thump.

Th-thump.

Th-thump.

A heartbeat…?

“The whole day off, huh?”

Hashirama’s eyes shoot open as Madara rolls them over so that he is straddling the Kage’s thighs. He grins, but it is more a baring of fangs, a challenge than a show of amusement. “I’m sure I can think of something to keep you occupied.”

“Mada-mph! Mmm…”