Title: Battle Lust
Rating: M
Warnings: violence, rough sex, yaoi
Pairings: Hashirama x Madara
Summary: There is a fine line between hatred and fucking each other’s brains out, but the closer they come to it, the harder it is to see it.
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Was it always like this between them? Madara’s teeth snapped shut centimeters from his face, Sharingan hot and hungry for death. Hashirama forced him back to a safe distance, only vaguely aware that he was snarling just like the Uchiha. He quickly formed the hand seals he needed, and countered the blaze of the Uchiha’s fire jutsu before it could turn him to so much ash and ember. His opponent lunged gracefully out of the way before he could be ensnared by thick tree branches.
Had they always become this way during a battle? The Uchiha Clan’s signature fan whipped up a massive whirlwind with a single swing, the great cutting waves reducing his Mokuton to splinters. He countered with a Wood Locking Wall, using it as cover to form more hand seals. Knowing that there would be something nasty waiting for him if he charged in head on, Madara skirted the edge of the wall and struck from behind.
Hashirama was ready for him.
They both knew how this would end: one of them in retreat, with the other in pursuit for an entirely different purpose. The Senju Clan head slammed his palm against the ground, thick vines springing up and twining around the Uchiha’s limbs once again. Madara was forced to get airborne or get caught. He chose the former option, managing to twist agilely out of the way of the kunai and shuriken that Hashirama threw after him. He swung his fan once again, using the draft to keep him airborne for a bit longer and sending him flipping backwards. He was out of range of the Mokuton-user – and now able to see that the rest of his clan was in full retreat.
His lips curled into another nasty snarl, narrowed gaze snapping back to the Senju.
It didn’t matter how far they had to travel in order to get what they wanted. Hashirama hid his smirk, but Madara was able to see his satisfaction anyway. He let out a furious hiss like a spitting cat, and crouched to leap at him. But one of the other Uchiha got in the way (not literally, though, or Madara would likely have killed him, clan member or no). “Madara-sama!” He shouted, “The daimyou has ordered us to retreat! He’s given up!”
The Uchiha looked like he wanted to argue so badly, but he didn’t. As he reluctantly fell back with the rest of his clan, the Senju could see that he was incredibly aroused. That made him acutely aware of the fact that he was in the same state, his erection throbbing between his legs. He barely had time to adjust himself, make his lust less obvious before his brother and the rest of the clan arrived to congratulate him on their victory.
It didn’t matter who was on top because soon enough it would be the other’s turn. Madara met him on the cliff overlooking the battle site. As they had agreed so many weeks ago (had it really only been a few weeks? It felt like ages had passed), neither was armed, though both of them wore their armor. When Hashirama advanced on him, the Uchiha crouched to shield his vitals, hissing like a cornered animal. The Senju ignored him, instead binding his limbs with branches and vines that held him suspended off the ground. The bound man hissed and spat and struggled, but his bonds were still intact when the Mokuton-user reached him. The future Shodai Hokage yanked Madara’s head back by his hair and smashed their lips together in a twisted, violent parody of a kiss. The Uchiha bit Hashirama’s tongue when it forced its way into his mouth, the taste of blood making them both groan.
It didn’t matter that whoever was on bottom was walking strangely for a few days afterwards. A flick of Hashirama’s fingers, and the plants yanked Madara to the ground. They forced his legs to bend at the knees, yanking his pants off one leg before pulling his thighs apart. The Senju pressed between them, preventing the Uchiha from tearing his legs free and shutting them. He fumbled for the drawstring of his pants; this was going to have to be fast.
Madara bared his teeth and braced himself. The Senju thought that he looked stunning with blood spilling from his mouth.
A circle has no beginning… The bloody Uchiha’s nails scrabbled through the loose soil as the future Kage entered him with a single sharp thrust, no preparation or gentleness. Nor did Hashirama give him time to adjust, withdrawing and snapping his hips forward once again, but his arousal didn’t diminish at all. For men like them, the line between pleasure and pain had long since lost definition.
Madara gritted his teeth against the pleasure that jolted up his spine as the Mokuton user pounded into him, cementing his victory, until it was the Uchiha’s turn.
The moments they are together are the moments when their minds are at their darkest. The fabric of Hashirama’s pants rasped against the backs of his thighs as he moved; they dare not get fully nude for this – this – mutual relief of tension. There was too great a risk that one of their clan members could stumble upon them fucking near the battlefield. The Senju’s hand gripped Madara’s cock, giving him several quick, firm strokes. He arched with a soundless snarl, arms slipping free of their bonds. He yanked the future Kage further down on top of him so he could sink his teeth into the side of his neck, nails raking his back through his clothes.
Hashirama groaned at the sharp scraping down his spine, hips jerking forward. Madara hissed again and bucked against the Senju, their bodies slamming together with a ruthless desire for release. The brunette slid his thumb over the head of the other man’s cock, and he arched with a snarl, ejaculating between their bodies. He grabbed the Uchiha by the shoulders, holding him still as he writhed so that he could hammer into the orgasming male, finally achieving his own release. They held that position long enough to catch their breaths, then parted and straightened their clothes, cleaning themselves up as quickly as they could.
The moments they are together are when they are the freest. Madara slipped away like a ghost, showing no sign that he had just been fucked within an inch of his life. Hashirama watched him go, then returned to his own camp. There was no need for words between them; they only complicated things.
