#I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT ANOTHER ONE. APPARENTLY 'PISS YOUR PANTS' WAS A DEATH THREAT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

louiserandom · 4 years

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Raffle prize! :3

echoes of the stars

for: the amazing, sweet and supportive @edthemastershark💙

Rating: T

Pairing: MadaTobi

A/N: very belated prize >.> didn’t realize how busy I’d be, but I hope you still enjoy it, Ed :3

P.S. about other prizes: @kitsunesongs, I’m struggling to make your fic short and coherent but might just end up with a fluff-angsty wall of plot... we’ll see how it goes😃 and @benzen-c6h6, THERE SHALL BE MERMAIDS😍

Meow :3 Read on AO3 or continue under the cut!

———

“You’re far away,” Madara’s amused voice wrests Tobirama’s mind away from his musings.

Tobirama looks over to his partner, allowing himself a tentative smile.

“Just thinking,” he says.

“Not about me, it seems,” Madara says, fake pout and all, “unacceptable.”

Tobirama simply rolls his eyes. “Allow me to correct this gravest of missteps. Truly, a travesty.”

Madara opens his mouth, probably to drop another quip, and Tobirama promptly shuts it with a kiss, a habit that’s engrained in him by now, despite the lingering novelty of their relationship. Hot lips brush against his, and an equally fiery chakra rushes to meet Tobirama’s ice-cold signature, both sensing the other’s mounting pleasure, the energy tantalizing as their chakras coalesce. Tobirama leans back against the rock behind him and tugs Madara into his lap, coaxing his lips open and earning a delectable moan that makes him feel all kinds of fuzzy and tingly.

Words he’d never thought he’d use to describe his once well-controlled feelings, but it seems Anija’s sappy wording is rubbing off on him now that he finds himself falling for his once enemy, later friend, later best friend and now—

They draw away for breath, then sink into another kiss, as slow and languid as the first, which does nothing to quell the desire Tobirama feels simmering in the base of his stomach. It takes all his self-restraint not to whine as Madara pulls away once more.

“I love,” Madara’s voice hitches, “l-love when you do that. But better stop unless you want our first time to be in public.”

“We’re hardly in public,” Tobirama says, running his hands along Madara’s sides, “but—I really wouldn’t like to do this on top of Anija’s head statue.”

“Ah, right,” Madara remembers what spot they’ve chosen for their night picnic. “Well, first, someone could see through the genjutsu. And yes, your brother can go to hell with this stupid fucking head. I forgot that it’s already finished. There’s no escaping it, is there?” he laments, probably wondering exactly how much Hashirama’s going to pout if he smacks the engraving off with his Susanoo.

“Don’t you have perfect memory?”

“Haven’t looked at it with the Sharingan yet,” Madara says, long-suffering, “so I can make my brain forget it.

Tobirama lets out a laugh. “Lucky you. I had to deal with eidetic memory most of my childhood and had no way of turning it off. Every one of Anija’s embarrassing antics, heaps upon heaps of his atrocious handwriting and every single one of his whiny rants embedded in my memory. It was a nightmare.”

“Ouch,” Madara sympathizes, “my condolences for your childhood psyche.” He tilts his head to the side. “What changed?”

“Memory becomes more abstract over time,” Tobirama explains. “It hasn’t been studied widely, but some children are able to remember scenes in great detail, regardless of clan or dōjutsu. It can be… unsettling.”

“Especially if it’s memories from a battlefield?” Madara asks, bit hesitant.

“Oh, definitely.” Tobirama looks to the side, hands still playing with the hem of Madara’s haori.

Madara raises his hand, in turn, to caress Tobirama’s cheek, turning him back to face him.

“Is that what you were thinking about?”

Tobirama shakes his head. “Never mind. Seriously. It’s unimportant.”

“It is to me,” Madara insists. “And it’s not that—I mean, you don’t have to share whatever it is with me, but just…” He sighs, dark eyes glinting with moonlight as they stare imploringly at Tobirama. “Talk to someone about it? Please?”

Tobirama chuckles, burying his head into Madara’s chest to hide the blush he can feel warming his cheeks, so unused he is to genuine care that doesn’t come either from Anija or Tōka. And there’s that fluttering feeling again, making his heart race and rendering his thoughts incoherent. It’s unfair, what this man does to him. Illegal, the power he holds over his heart after just a few months of a tentative relationship.

“It’s not that,” Tobirama says, clasping his lover’s hands in his, “I trust you enough to share my worries with you, Madara. But I mean it when I say it really is… It’s fine.”

Madara huffs. “That is not the voice of someone who is fine.”

“That is the voice of someone who is just slightly bothered. By mundane things. Like a sprain or a lost kunai.”

“Did you sprain yourself or lose a kunai?”

“No.”

“Then you’re bullshitting me,” Madara announces, pulling his hands away and crossing his arms. “And I demand to know what—or who—upset you.”

Tobirama eyes him, suspicious. “If it is… someone, would you scare them half to death like the Hyūga that dared proposition me that time?” he asks, voice leaking derision.

“So it is someone! I knew it!” Madara says and, completely ignoring the question, demands, “Now, who do I have to kill?”

“No one,” Tobirama says, chuckling, “murder is off-limits, Madara. No death threats. No inciting interclan hostility because you think I can’t take care of an asshole on my own.”

“I never thought that,” Madara argues, shifting so he’s snuggled up with almost no space between them, laying head onto Tobirama’s shoulder. “I just wanted to take care of him myself. Because, uh, I hate assholes with a burning passion.”

“Uh huh.”

“I was born to fight them.”

“Right.”

“Destined by fate.”

“Oh really?” Tobirama feigns contemplation. “Well, in that case, I hope you’re not inflicting too much self-harm.”

It takes all of a second for Madara to get it, after which he pulls away and proceeds to tackle Tobirama onto the blanket they’ve strewn over the ground and tickles him, wordless but determined, taking no pity as Tobirama is overwhelmed by fits of tearful laughter.

“Fuck—Madara,” Tobirama breathes through huffs of laughter, “please—haha—stop godsdammit!”

“I’m an asshole,” Madara says wryly, “why would I listen to you?”

He does, though, relenting after a few more seconds of torment, leaving Tobirama breathless beneath him and not even bothering to dodge Tobirama’s punch to his shoulder. And the next one.

And the next.

“Done?” Madara asks, smirking.

“Fuck you.” Tobirama punches his arm again for good measure. “Tickling is off-limits.”

“Excuse me? You would be abusing it just as much as I do if I were ticklish.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest; tickling is his and Anija’s favorite type of mutual torture after all.

“Well,” Madara says, “was the exquisite torture enough to squeeze the truth out of you?”

Tobirama sighs, staring fondly at the lingering pout, the adorable frown and slightly ruffled hair that suits his lover so well.

(His and no one else’s, if Tobirama has a say in it. This trust, this closeness is something he decides he’ll never willingly let go.)

“Will you kiss me again?” he asks after a few moments of silence.

Madara eyes him, suspicious. “Are you going to tell me then?”

“Promise.”

And then Madara’s lips meet his, and the worries dissipate, as per usual, giving way to pure sensation. Madara’s tongue twining with his, his hands tangling in Tobirama’s hair, just as Tobirama wraps his arms around him and drags him closer. Madara ends up straddling him, which does little to help curtail his desire. Tobirama is glad to find himself lost in it, relishing their points of connection, the feeling growing overwhelming as their chakras mesh again, making them both moan and cling fast to each other, wanting, desperate.

“Fuck,” Madara groans as they part, “oh, fuck.”

“Good idea,” Tobirama breathes, vision hazy. “Stay the night?”

“Wh-what? Like, like, uh,” Madara stutters. Tobirama suspects he’d be flailing if his hands weren’t supporting his weight. “As in, stay the night as usual or?”

“I mean spend the night,” Tobirama says, “with me. As in have sex with me, Madara.”

It’s always best to be blunt with Madara, in any case.

And it’s been harder, with each passing day, to sleep next to each other as they’ve grown used to doing. Nightmares were kept at bay and breakfast became a less lonely affair, what with their brothers moving in with their wives and spending much less time with them as of late. And, of course, there was the added burden of keeping it in their pants when one or both of them would wake up with an erection. Madara insists on waiting, though, because apparently there’s something special about Tobirama’s virginity.

It’s getting more and more annoying.

Madara has stopped spluttering, finally, and sits up, shifting uncomfortably (well, too comfortably) on top of him.

“Well, we’ll—we’ll see about that once you tell me what the fuck is bothering you, Tobirama,” Madara announces, a light flush on his cheeks, waving his arm in a clumsy show of determination and knocking down the bottle of sake they’d placed on a nearby rock. “Fuck. Shit. Whatever, it was almost empty anyway."

“You will see that I’m tired of waiting,” Tobirama says, procuring a brand-new bottle of Anija’s signature moonshine from his storage scroll and setting it aside for later. “And Madara, I…” he trails off, staring helplessly into Madara’s eyes. “I was just thinking about how fragile everything is. It pisses me off.”

Madara frowns but otherwise stays silent, knowing to give Tobirama time to gather his thoughts.

“What we’ve built,” Tobirama continues, “the peace treaties, the village, the peace between our clans, finally and…” He claps Madara’s hands in his. It’s a wonder how soothing the gesture is. “This. Us. But not just us, you know—everything. I feel like it’s too perfect, too good, something that I always dreamed about because Anija dreamed about it, but while he always believed in it, I never quite could.”

Once he was old enough to grasp the more complicated concepts of settlement-building, Tobirama would stay late nearly every night, ignoring battles the ensuing day, ignoring his debilitating fatigue. He worked on infrastructure and administrative plans, education and tax systems, ideological documents and drafts of treaties for a potential shinobi, all the while listening to a despondent voice in his head telling him it’s futile.

A perfectly imperfect dream.

Tobirama’s eyes latch onto familiar constellations once again, so as not to see Madara’s deepening frown. He’s such an idiot and he should stop talking but something compels him to go on.

“And now, we’re here, and thank the gods Izuna’s wound is fully healed and my recklessness didn’t lead to another war. And new clans are joining the village, and we’ve restructured the recruiting system, but I can’t help feeling I’m going to do something wrong and fuck everything up. Or that I’m going to overlook something, and the future generations will have to deal with the consequences, and all that we’ve worked so hard for is going to crumble,” Tobirama says in the rush of one breath, cutting himself off before he reveals more of his stupid concerns. He knows what his father would say. To ignore the voices of doubt, stand up and act, to stop being a coward. “I’m sorry. I sound stupid.”

“You don’t.” Strong arms pull Tobirama into a tight embrace, and he ends up burying his head in the crook of Madara’s neck, breathing in the warm, home-like scent of musk and cedar, the slight tinge ash that always clings to Madara’s skin and the faint honey-like fragrance of his hair. “That is perfectly understandable, and you shouldn’t feel ashamed for being afraid.”

Tobirama takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes and basking in the closeness.

“I don’t think I can. I’ve never been scared of the future before, when it looked like war and death. Now it’s… happiness and I’m terrified of losing it, Madara.”

“So am I,” Madara whispers, grazing his lips against his ear, “so is your brother. So is everyone who put their all into building this village. Of course there can—and will—be mistakes. Of course we’ll fuck up at some points but,” he intersperses his next words with feather-light kisses, “I swear, Tobirama. It’s going to be all right.”

A proper kiss this time, soft and lasting just enough for Tobirama to stop shivering from the suddenly overwhelming dread.

“A stumble won’t mean defeat.” Madara tightens his embrace momentarily, flaring his chakra just so the warmth soothes Tobirama’s nerves further. “None of us knows what the future holds. None of us is going to be perfect. But you—Tobirama, you’ve done so much, started actually thinking of how to make this a reality before Hashirama and I learned to sign our fucking names on treaties. You’re the one that notices most of our mistakes and corrects them more efficiently than we could ever hope.” He shushes Tobirama with his finger when he’s about to protest. “And we’re all thankful for that. We are all there for you, helping you along the way and doing this together,” Madara promises, placing soft kisses onto Tobirama’s hands. “Everyone is trying their best, and that’s all any of us can do, isn’t it?”

It’s a challenge to keep tears from welling up, so Tobirama takes a few deep breaths to brace himself before he attempts to answer. His voice is strangled, close to breaking, but he ignores the weakness and says, “I know. Thank you. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Please do,” Madara says, smile evident in his tone. “And remember that I’m always here to listen.”

“Thank you.”

They spend the next few minutes quietly embracing and breathing together, chakra playfully mingling between them as the wind dances around them, whistling its restless melody.

“I’ve noticed you, too, tend to look at the stars to calm yourself,” Madara asks softly.

“Mm. Yes.” Tobirama lifts his head, giving Madara a quick kiss, and moving so he’s nestled against Madara, back-to-chest, facing the starlit canvas of the night sky.

“I used to find familiar constellations as a child, then outline figures in the ones I didn’t and think up names for them,” Madara admits. “Those two are Big Bear and Little Bear.” He traces the shapes with his fingers. “Because of the tails, see?”

Tobirama frowns. “They look like bowls with ladles to me.”

“Shut the fuck up with your bowls and ladles,” Madara grumbles. “You and Izuna have no imagination. Those are bears.”

“Whatever you say, Madara.” Tobirama chuckles. “Then here’s mine: that one looks like the symbol for pi.”

“A symbol for pie? Why the fuck would a pie even need a symbol? Those are Twins!”

They bicker over what each constellation depicts until they’ve run out of visible stars in their portion of the sky—and drained half of the moonshine.

“Well,” Madara says by the end of it, “we’ve at least settled who’s the more creative one out of the two of us.”

“You mean to say, who has the more developed imagination and who’s still a five-year-old,” Tobirama teases, not bothering to avoid Madara’s flick to his forehead.

“Dick.”

“Asshole.”

“You still like me.”

“And you like me.”

“I guess we’re stuck with each other then,” Madara laments. “Whatever shall we do?”

“Talk science?” Tobirama suggests, reaching for the moonshine and moving to sit cross-legged in front of Madara, who’s looking at him, one skeptical eyebrow raised. “There’s one mind-blowing fact we’ve just discovered about the stars, thanks to telescopes. Turns out they’re really, really, really far away and the light we see from them is actually from the past, because it takes so long to reach us. The worlds we see are millions, maybe billions of years old, and by now are probably dead and gone—but we’ll never actually live to see how they end.”

Madara blinks. “That’s depressing.”

“And… fascinating?” Tobirama tries.

“More depressing. But still cool, I admit.” Madara drains his drink. “Maybe there’s a world out there just like ours. War-torn and tired of war, building peace through trial and error.” His lopsided smile makes Tobirama’s heart skip a beat. “Makes you feel a bit less alone in the universe, doesn’t it?”

Tobirama returns the smile. “I don’t feel alone with you.”

It’s both sweet and hilarious to see the expression of utter shock on Madara’s face, and the blush that follows, and the spluttering before he settles on words.

“Oh, I, uh, yeah, me too! You’re, um, you’re okay.”

“And you’re remarkable, Madara.”

Tobirama is grinning like an idiot, probably, and Madara goes on muttering something about cocky self-satisfied bastards, before yanking Tobirama by the collar into yet another of their many kisses this night—and, hopefully, of many more to come.

#madatobi #tobimada #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #lou writes #fanfic #camp nano april 2020 #raffle prize

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