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Tear Into Your Soul

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“You’re doing so well, Madara,” Hashirama says, loving how Madara’s back shudders with pleasure every time he says it. “You’re doing so good; I knew you were the right one to help me with this.”

He means it, too, cheerful and forthright with his emotions and his love; the way he means everything he says. Madara calls him guileless, naïve, overly trusting, foolishly optimistic, and Hashirama supposes he is, but he doesn’t see those things as bad things the way Madara does.

Though it occurs to him that Madara might not say those things anymore, after this.

Hashirama dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes.

Sure, Madara had been – a little perturbed, yes, to find himself bound by the Mokuton, roots twining through his fingers and around his tongue to keep him from using jutsu to escape, roots around his arms and legs and hips to keep him still, and a thick one around his neck as a precaution. And maybe he’d been a little irritated at how Hashirama had had to cut away his clothing, even though he’d taken such efforts to make the cuts right along the seams so that it’d be easier to sew back together later. And, certainly, he’d thrashed under Hashirama’s hands when he’d cleaned him with a nice warm wet towel, especially when he’d reached the intimate places…

But honestly, what was Hashirama supposed to do?

The Uchiha are such prudes, after all; Madara would never have agreed from the start. He wouldn’t have even considered it.

What a shame that would have been: look at how he’s enjoying it now, his hips arching helplessly, his face flushed red with pleasure, his tongue pressed against the root in his mouth as if seeking to pass along a kiss, his eyes wide and desperately flickering Sharingan-red.

Hashirama can’t blame him for trying to memorize the scene: Tobirama does looks so very sweet on his knees.

Hashirama is distantly aware, in some part of his mind, that most brothers wouldn’t care to know such details, how there’s a flush painting Tobirama’s white cheeks as red as his eyes, how his legs have widened just a fraction from how he’s started in an effort to get some relief from the pressure between them – how serious he looks, even with his lips wrapped around Madara’s cock and his jaw no doubt getting tired, how determined to complete his task.

Perfect.

Honestly, all those other brothers were clearly just falling down in their brotherly duties.

Hashirama has and always will take the very best care of Tobirama.

Just like he is now.

“Try using your tongue a little more, Tobirama,” he advises. “Just because you’ve figured out how to take him deeper doesn’t mean you should forget about the basics.”

Tobirama doesn’t do anything as crass as nodding, but he applies himself well, if Madara’s muffled groan is anything to go by.

Tobirama was always such a good student.

“Wonderful,” Hashirama praises. His father, for all his attempts to mold Tobirama into a mindless sword in his image, never figured out that Tobirama responds better to praise than to sternness, and Hashirama has never had any problem exploiting his brother’s weakness. “Wonderfully done, both of you. Isn’t he good, Madara? And on his very first try, too.”

He reaches out and runs his fingers through his brother’s hair, petting him the way he would a cat.

Madara makes a strangled noise.

He probably wants to come, Hashriama concludes. Perhaps it was a little cruel of Hashirama to wrap a root around the base of his cock, keeping him trapped on the edge the way he has been, but this isn’t about Madara, not really.

Madara’s just helping Hashirama out.

That’s what best friends do, after all, and they’re best friends, best friends forever. They always were, even when the war lay between them – Hashirama is sure that Madara felt the same despair at the circumstances, even if he didn’t always show it on his face or in his voice – and now they were working on that village they’d always dreamed of, together, and it was perfectly reasonable that Hashirama ask Madara for a favor now and again.

And, of course, who else could he trust this all-important task to, if not his best friend?

Only Madara knows what Tobirama means to him. Hashirama’s little brother, his last little brother. Infinitely precious, deserving of only the best.

It’s not Tobirama’s fault that he’s not good with people, after all. He never has been, not from the start; always a quiet child, needs drowned out by Hashirama’s rambunctiousness, quiet and too serious, never quite able to understand jokes that were too abstract, and Hashirama would swear that he’d almost been relieved when their father had instructed him never to meet anyone’s eyes because the Senju couldn’t afford to get used to looking at red eyes.

And now that Tobirama was getting older, well, it just wasn’t healthy for him to stay locked away in his labs or his office, slaving away over new jutsu or figuring out yet another form that should probably be filled out if the village is going to be administratively manageable.

Poor, virginal Tobirama.

Left to his own devices, he’d never figure any of it out, and sex is far too enjoyable for Tobirama to just dismiss out of hand as a ‘people’ thing that was too difficult to attempt. He barely even made time to touch himself, as Hashirama, who’d insisted on sharing a bedroom with Tobirama since the day he’d lost Madara on the riverbank in a desperate attempt not to lose track of anyone else he loved, is all too aware.

No, clearly what Tobirama needed was a chance to learn properly – to try and fail, without being judged, and to enjoy the pleasures of succeeding.

Hashirama basks in the feeling of knowing, in his heart, that he’s a wonderful brother.

And a wonderful friend, too, however much Madara may had protested at the start. He’s seen the way Madara watches his brother sometimes, out of the corner of his eyes when he thinks no one’s paying attention.

Yes, Hashirama thinks to himself, this is perfect. The trees were right, when they told him it was time for Tobirama to learn to flower.

(They’re not always right. Crush your enemies, they told him, drink their water steal their nutrients block their sunlight strangle them as saplings so that they will never grow to challenge you. Their bodies are nothing but fertilizer to the growth of your own power. But humans are more complicated than that, Hashirama knows, even if their bodies do make surprisingly good fertilizer when they start too-seriously resisting what he’s trying to achieve in the village. Humans need more than the merciless iron fist of natural competition; they need hope, too, and love, and Hashirama has always been so very full of love to share.)

His hand is still in Tobirama’s hair, feeling him move up and down, growing ever more confident as he does.  They’re doing so well, both of them, Madara for giving his body to this purpose and Tobirama for learning it, and Hashirama doesn’t hesitate to tell them both that, to applaud them, to make them glow in happiness that only he can give them, happiness he longs to give them all the time.

Maybe, he thinks happily to himself, this will be the first step to peace between them, peace between his precious people the way he has brought peace to his village.

He ignores the fact that he had to kidnap Madara and lie to Tobirama, who would have surely objected if he knew that Madara hadn’t volunteered of his own free will the way Hashirama had told him he had, implying that the roots were just some sort of kinky game they liked to play, presenting the whole thing as if it was so obviously normal that no normal person would question it, and poor Tobirama who didn’t know people for anything other than fighting hadn’t known enough to find the gaps in the argument, even if he’d been suspicious and reluctant to participate for rather a long time.

(He gave in at the end, that’s what’s important. Tobirama always gives in to what Hashirama wants, in the end, and that’s how Hashirama always knows that he’s doing the right thing because surely, surely, if what he was doing was really wrong, Tobirama would hold stubbornly fast the way he does with new jutsu or, more annoyingly, brand new forms that always seem to require Hokage-level review.)

“How do you feel you’re doing, Tobirama?” Hashirama asks, solicitous as ever. “You think you’ve got the hang of it now? Should we let him come?”

Madara frantically nods his head.

Tobirama considers the issue – serious as always, Hashirama’s little brother is, serious and hard-working and always willing to push his training longer than anyone else – but eventually his fingers twist in an affirmative sign.

“Good choice,” Hashirama praises. “I’m so glad you’re being considerate, Tobirama, I know it’s not always your first instinct.”

Tobirama flushes a little extra in embarrassment, Hashirama thinks, but what? It’s true.

Besides, Hashirama likes humiliating his younger brother once in a while, and he thinks he can teach Tobirama to like it, too.

“All right,” Hashirama says. “I’m going to let him go now, and that means he’s going to come. Now, while I want you to learn to swallow – it’s cleaner that way, and I know you like to be clean – in this instance,  don’t worry if you end up pulling your head back; the feeling is something you get used to. But in case you do, I want you to keep your eyes closed. Okay?”

Tobirama gives it a decent try, all told: he swallows some, lips moving prettily, but then he gags and pulls back, come spilling onto his chin, and Madara finishes instead on his pretty red-flushed face.

“Well done,” Hashirama says. “Both of you! You did so well! I’m so proud of you both.”

Tobirama looks up at him, still on his knees, Hashirama’s hand still in his hair, and when he sees that Hashirama means it, he smiles, that tiny little twitch of the lips that means that he’s happy that he’s done a job well and pleased Hashirama.

“Now, we’re not done yet –” Hashirama ignores Madara’s strangled squawk, because that’s just Madara being a drama queen as always; seriously, why did he think that Hashirama had asked him to make sure he had the week free before coming to meet him? “– but I think we should give Madara some time to recover, don’t you?”

“Anija, we really shouldn’t be neglecting the village for so long like this,” Tobirama says. Such a good, dutiful little brother, though sometimes he really is something of a killjoy.

“Honestly, Tobirama, it’s like you don’t trust me,” Hashirama says mournfully, ignoring Tobirama’s pointed stare that suggests that in matters of paperwork, he really doesn’t. “I arranged coverage for all three of us and told everyone that we were on a super-secret-level mission.”

“S-rank,” Tobirama grumbles. He’d invented the new ranking system a month ago and he’s been on everybody’s case to start using it ever since. “They’re called S-rank. And something like this certainly doesn’t deserve to be –”

Hashirama rolls his eyes and moves his foot forward until its between Tobirama’s legs, pressing against his cock, and Tobirama makes a strangled sound, almost as if he’s surprised by the feelings his own body is generating, and grinds forward involuntarily against Hashirama’s leg.

“You don’t really want to go back to all that paperwork,” Hashirama tells him, because he’s a good brother that knows what’s best for Tobirama. “Come on, Tobirama; you’ve only barely just learned how to suck someone off – you don’t want to leave your lessons unfinished, do you?”

Tobirama, ever the orderly and sometimes compulsive completionist, scowls at the thought.

Hashirama isn’t above using his brother’s quirks against him.

“Now, we can’t move onto fucking until Madara’s feeling better,” Hashirama continues briskly, ignoring the way Madara’s eyes go wide in favor of noting how his cock gave something of what was probably a painful twitch of interest. “But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing we can do. Take off the rest of your clothing, Tobirama.”

Tobirama clutches as what’s left of his outfit, however disarrayed. He’s too obedient to actually ask ‘do I have to?’, but Hashirama can see the plaintive question in his gaze.

“At least get your cock free,” Hashirama compromises. They could work on getting Tobirama comfortable with full nudity around Madara later.

(It’s like Tobirama thinks Hashirama hasn’t noticed how he uses his sensor abilities to make sure he’s never in the onsen at the same time Madara is, and all because he’s worried about how Madara will react if he sees that one stretched-out scar on his chest, the Uchiha fan crudely drawn into much younger flesh with a kunai – the signature of Tajima’s child-killing squads, though that one had never managed to complete their work, what with Tobirama accidentally using his too-powerful suiton to explode their mostly-composed-of-water-eyes right out of their skulls in an act of unintentional eye-stealing he’d regarded as an abominable disgrace ever since. Tobirama thinks Madara will lose his temper, and Hashirama’s not entirely sure he’s wrong about that, though he’s always thought Madara was far more likely to be angry on toddler-aged Tobirama’s behalf instead of his blinded clansmen.)

The next step takes some maneuvering on Hashirama’s part, mostly to get them both into proper position, but between the roots around Madara’s body and Tobirama’s habitual obedience it’s only a few minutes before Tobirama is curled around Madara’s back, his cock sliding between Madara’s clenched thighs, and making wonderful little whimpering sounds as he does.

Hashirama settles himself down to watch, his hand finally sliding down to wrap around himself the way he’s been wanting to from the beginning. He’s been holding off, knowing that Tobirama needs guidance, but this is easy enough for Tobirama to manage on his own, and Hashirama needs to make sure he won’t lose control of himself (or Madara) when the two of them start fucking.

Lessons first, he reminds himself; audience participation later.

“Hashirama –”

He looks up, blinking in surprise; that was Madara’s voice. Oh, oops, he must have pulled the root away from Madara’s tongue to use it to stabilize his head against Tobirama’s thrusts; he hadn’t meant to do that. But Madara’s all breathy and from this angle Hashirama can see him getting hard again already, so surely he’s not about to protest now.

Still, he tightens the root around Madara’s throat, threatening his airflow, just in case Madara gets it into his head to say something distressing.

Not that Madara seems to object to that.

“You realize,” Madara grunts, his eyes boring straight into Hashirama’s even as Tobirama’s hands clench against his arms to steady himself, “that this isn’t normal, right?”

Hashirama feels his hand move faster on his cock without his say-so, which is bad of him – this is for them, for Tobirama and Madara, not for him – but, well, a totally virtuous life never seemed like that much fun.

“Tobirama’s a virgin, if you couldn’t tell already,” he tells Madara, ignoring the way that Tobirama mutters a muffled curse into Madara’s shoulder, his face burning with embarrassment. “I’m just being a good brother and helping him figure this out.”

“That,” Madara says through gritted teeth, “is that not normal part.”

His eyes suggest that the whole kidnapping business has also not been forgotten.

(Hashirama’s hand moves faster at that, too. He likes Madara like this, tied up in Hashirama’s Mokuton, because this way he can’t go, he can’t leave, he can’t pick his family over Hashirama again; this time all the choices have been taken away from him and given to Hashirama, who’s so much better at making these choices for him, for Tobirama, for everyone. Hashirama wants peace, yes, peace in his village and in his country, but for all of the infrastructure and democratic trappings Tobirama is working on building, the village is, at its heart, a dictatorship. And the village, just like Tobirama, just like Madara, is his.)

“Just let him get it out of his system,” Tobirama says in Madara’s ear, panting hard in a way that suggests he’s not going to last much longer. “You can’t stop in the middle - he just gets like this sometimes, it’s fine.”

“It’s fine?!”

“It’s a Mokuton thing, I think,” Tobirama says, because that’s the excuse Hashirama has always given him for, well, just about everything, and it usually works. There’s some advantage to being the only Mokuton user in the clan; he can blame it for anything and no one knows well enough to call him out on it. “He gets these stupid ideas into his head sometimes and won’t give up on them. And besides, this is somehow still less embarrassing than that time he decided to teach me to jerk off. He went on for hours.”

Madara makes a groaning sound, but Hashirama’s pretty sure it’s not because of the physical sensations this time. Apparently Madara likes the mental image of that, Hashirama teaching Tobirama how to pleasure himself – and honestly, Hashirama should have thought of that to begin with, the Uchiha being as visual-minded as they are.

Maybe he should bring in a mirror. Let them see what a beautiful sight they make.

A good thought.

“He’s probably going to want to tattoo you, too,” Tobirama adds.

Madara tries to twist around at that, but Hashirama holds him tight with the Mokuton and doesn’t let him. “He wants to what now?” he demands, the promise of Uchiha fire in his voice.

“He never grew out of the period in his life when he wanted to write his name on everything he thinks of as his,” Tobirama explains, managing to sound a little long-suffering even through the overwhelming lust and need that fills his voice. “I just barely managed to convince him to put mine on the bottom of my foot so not everyone can see it, even in the onsen.”

Hashirama had originally been planning something right over Tobirama’s heart, so that his little brother remembered who he belonged to first and foremost, but he’d been charmed by the idea of Tobirama having his name on his foot like he was one of Touka’s dolls, pliant and ready to be played with whenever Hashirama feels like.

Hashirama likes playing with Tobirama.

He likes playing with Madara, too.

“And you let him?” Madara demands.

“He’s my anija,” Tobirama says, confused, as if that’s the only answer he needs – and it is. Hashirama’s taught him well over the years, gave him everything he could, and it would take a lot more than Madara’s questioning to make Tobirama doubt the purity of Hashirama’s affections.

Well.

Purity might not be the right word, given the context.

“It’s just to remind Tobirama that he’s mine,” Hashirama explains to Madara. “It’ll be the same for you. And don’t look at me like that; it’s just a little tattoo! It won’t hurt that badly. You’ve had much worse.”

“It’s not the pain I’m objecting to!”

Uchihas. So unnecessarily stubborn.

Still, there are ways of making his point.

Hashirama lets his chakra fill the room, powerful and overwhelming and almost suffocating the way he knows it can be – more powerful than Madara’s ever seen before, because Hashirama’s never used his full power against him on the battlefield and Madara knows that, just as he’d never used everything he has against Hashirama, too.

“You’re mine,” Hashirama tells his precious people, a blazing beacon of sunlight to their finely tuned senses. Sensors, both of them, even though Tobirama is the stronger; both of them made vulnerable by their own abilities to the strength of Hashirama’s emotions when he aims it straight at them both, overpowering their ability to think or refuse with the affection he feels for them both, the joy he has at seeing them happy, the love that fills his heart. “Both of you. I love you both so much.”

Tobirama makes a choked little cry and comes between Madara’s thighs, and judging by the dumbstruck look on Madara’s face he’d be doing the same if he had the slightest bit more stimulation.

Hashirama meets Madara’s gaze, even though he knows it opens him up to a genjutsu – not that Madara is in any condition to be doing anything like that.

“I only want what’s best for you,” he says kindly, because Hashirama is kind, above all else. It’s who he is. Maybe he doesn’t show his kindness the way other people do, through the occasional well-meaning murder and kidnapping, but then, he is a shinobi; no one should have expected him to be any other way. “Just trust me, and I’ll take care of you. Trust me, and say you’ll be mine. Say it.”

He comes at the sound of Madara’s strangled yes.

Hashirama is the best of brothers and the best of friends.

He’ll even, out of the kindness and love in his heart, give them a few minutes to recover before introducing Tobirama to the delights of getting fucked. Maybe he’ll even let them skip ahead to having Tobirama learn to take both of them at once; Hashirama does so want for the people he loves the most to learn to share, going forward, and it’s good to start impressing the importance of that early on.

Hashirama smiles, and plans.