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Madara wakes to near-total darkness. It’s disorienting in a way he doesn’t expect and his sluggish mind struggles to comprehend its meaning. A sense of wrongness settles over him and effectively smothers that forming thought.
Something isn’t right.
No.
There’s no one thing, it’s everything.
The bed beneath him is softer than he remembers and the fabric is different and foreign. There’s something else too. His eyes search through the darkness, hoping to find anything that would identify the insistent cause of unease. And that’s when he realizes it. The sun has yet to rise even though it’s the middle of summer. Or if it has, he’s not in a position to see it. That more than anything proves to him that he’s not in his own home. And that’s when he finally notices the weight next to him. More like this stranger shifts in their sleep, thus making their presence known.
Madara represses the urge to groan because the elders will never let him hear the end of this. He, the clan heir and next in line to lead, has gone to bed with someone who is likely not one of their chosen suitors. He just prays he hasn’t chosen another man as his bedfellow again. Izuna would never let him hear the end of it. Getting caught by his little brother once was a special kind of Hell and Madara hopes to never repeat that incident.
He should leave immediately, but…curiosity has always gotten the better of him and now is no different. Madara smooths back the blankets to get a better look at his companion. He catches a glimpse of silver hair, and his heart leaps into his throat. No. He couldn’t have gone to bed with Tobirama of all people.
Slowly, Madara tries to leave the bed without waking his unfortunate choice in bedmate, mind reeling at the implications of their predicament. No, this isn’t his home, it’s not the home of the Senju Head Family either. There’s no way Madara would sneak into the Senju clan territory just to bed Tobirama, so they must be in one of the Uchiha homes. This means that Tobirama somehow got in without anyone noticing, which does not bode well for their border guards. Or worse – for Madara and his sanity – he snuck Tobirama into clan lands.
He’s almost home free when the traitorous bedframe creaks as he shifts his weight to stand. Tobirama latches onto him. Strong arms wind themselves around Madara’s waist and Tobirama does his best to curl around Madara in an awkward hold. He just prays the unusually affectionate man is still asleep, but that dream is immediately shattered and burned when Tobirama speaks against his skin. “And where do you think you’re going?” And Madara’s blood runs cold because that’s not Tobirama, which makes this situation so much worse in ways he would rather not consider at the moment.
When he fails to respond, the man shifts again to get a look at Madara’s face. Madara has no idea who the hell this man is, but there’s a spark of recognition at the back of his mind. He tries to grasp at the thought but it slips through his fingers like sand.
The scar over the man’s closed left eye catches Madara’s interest. Without meaning to, he reaches out to lightly pass the pad of his thumb across the scar. The man catches his hand and leans into the touch. A flood of emotions rush forward unbidden: pain, anger, adoration, unconditional love. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Madara yanks his hand free as if the touch had burned him. Immediately, the foreign cocktail of emotions vanishes.
The man doesn’t outwardly respond to the obvious slight, but Madara can see a chill settle behind the teasing light. The scarred eye opens and Madara is met with a lone Sharingan. Rage fills his heart. This man does not feel like one of his kinsmen. “Where did you get that?” he demands, but his tone comes out softer than he would have liked. That foreign adoration directed at this man rises up to ease his anger. But, again, it recedes before Madara can properly grasp it.
His companion smiles fondly, sadly and says, “You gave it to me, Obito.” Madara ignores the wrong name and activates his own Sharingan. His left eye feels different than he remembers. He can feel the fabric of reality bend, ready to obey him. That's not right.
He’s pulled from that train of thought when the man lets go and moves to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, draping the blankets around them both. Madara watches him closely. He doesn’t feel like a threat and there’s a strange notion of safety, but it’s gone before Madara can fully comprehend it. There’s a familiarity in this man’s body language that speaks of years of trust, none of which Madara can recall. “Who are you?” he finds himself asking before he can stop the words. The man looks at him with a barely concealed hurt, coupled with resignation that speaks of an old and exhausting routine. He hesitantly takes Madara’s hands before meeting his gaze. “I’m Uchiha Kakashi, the last of the Hatake clan,” he answers calmly before smiling fondly, “your husband.” And he says it with pride like it’s a hard-won title.
Kakashi watches as a flicker of joy flits across his husband’s expression before confusion takes root. Madara almost pulls his hands away, almost stands to walk away from this man that claims to be his husband. But he feels the truth of those words. He takes a steadying breath. “Show me,” he almost orders, just barely managing to soften his tone. It wouldn’t do to upset someone who holds information he needs. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he ignores the affection that rises up for this man – for Kakashi.
It’s a test, really. Any member of the clan, whether they married or were born into it, would know what Madara means. Madara knows that any spouse of his would be skilled enough to manage a transfer of the memories he wanted.
Kakashi reaches up to gently cup Madara’s face, thumb running over scars Madara can’t remember receiving. Their eyes meet and the memories come rushing back.
It's not long before vision ends and Kakashi waits patiently for his husband to return to him. This never fails to work but a part of him worries that someday it won’t be enough. But his fears are unfounded, at least for today, because that calculating look Madara always gives him is gone. Instead, he sees Obito’s vague confusion.
Obito just blinks back at him as his Sharingan fade to black. “Why are you holding my face?” he asks and his nose scrunches up in that way it does whenever he’s confused. Kakashi closes his own Sharingan to conserve his meager chakra reserves and smiles brightly. He leans in and kisses Obito’s nose with an obnoxious sound. Obito snorts in offense and tries to pull away, but Kakashi follows, toppling them back onto the mattress and trapping him. Kakashi grins down at him and is rewarded with a bright and automatic smile.
Obito pulls him down for a proper kiss, savoring the taste of him in this sweet moment where time stills just for them. He presses his lips to the corner of Kakashi’s mouth before leaving a trail of light kisses along his jaw. When Kakashi tries to capture his lips again, Obito pulls away with a mischievous grin, silently laughing at the pout directed his way.
Once he realizes that he won’t be getting what he wants, Kakashi settles down and drapes himself over Obito with his head resting on his husband’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Obito for his part lets out a breathy laugh and laces one hand through Kakashi’s unruly hair while the other settles on his back.
“So, what’d I miss this time?” he asks lightly. Judging by the undamaged state of their bedroom, he can guess nothing too horrendous took place during his mental absence.
There are times when Obito regrets the decision he made all those years ago. Although Madara’s stolen memories have saved countless lives, he loses himself in them sometimes. When he’s caught in a memory, he forgets what’s real. He becomes someone else – he becomes Madara. And when the storm settles, he’s left with the aftermath. Sometimes it’s devastation, other times, when they’re lucky, it’s just a mild inconvenience and an entertaining story.
“You didn’t miss much,” Kakashi answers, stifling a yawn. “But I’m pretty sure you thought I was Tobirama again and that we snuck into someone else’s house to have wild and amazing drunken sex.” And that’s…different. Usually him mistaking Kakashi for Tobirama isn’t something to laugh at but this turned out to be one of the entertaining exceptions.
Kakashi watches him with that spark in his eye that says if he was any more of an ass, he’d be laughing at Obito, but he’s a kind husband and Obito should be grateful. As if.
Obito quirks a brow at him. “How scandalous,” he says as flatly as he can manage. Kakashi snorts and breaks first with a burst of laughter that has Obito following suit. But he does appreciate Kakashi, his loyalty and dependability. He feels undeserving of such dedication but Kakashi has made it very clear that they help each other. They bring each other back from the prisons of their own minds. They come back for each other, for their children, for the life they’ve built in the ruins of their mistakes.
Kakashi leans forward to claim his husband’s lips in a slow kiss, and Obito pours into it years of love, devotion, and want.