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Tobirama surrounds him as they lay in bed, his heavy, scaled tail curled around Madara’s leg, arms around his waist, hands gently stroking his wings. Madara nuzzles his nose into Tobirama’s neck as he lays on the dragon’s chest and settles with a deep sigh, his wings relaxing. Madara’s wings settle around them, enshrouding them in a cocoon of warmth.
It’s been an exhausting week. Madara nearly completely overwhelmed with the stress of his Burning Day and Tobirama almost turning completely white with the toll of dealing with the delegation sent by the Hatake Tribe—the nomadic weres had been thinking of finally settling down with the hostilities between the various peoples of the continent, particularly in Fire Country, dying down.
Thankfully, they had both gotten past the dreadful week intact and sane.
Tobirama had finally been able to crash and sleep for more than three hours a day after Hashirama forced him into a few days-off when the Hatake delegations had finally left with high hopes for joining their fledgling village.
Madara had emerged from the stone confines of the Uchiha’s Burning Day room, resplendent and bright—even now, in their bed, though dimmer than before—, some of his feathers and hair the color of flames. Tobirama had regretfully missed it, deep into his sleep as he was; he’d only woken when Madara found him curled in their bed, arms reaching out to Madara’s side of the bed.
No matter. It was over with and they can finally get their denied quality time together, taking the opportunity to bask and scent and re-learn each other.
Tobirama suddenly starts humming a song as he is wont to do when he’s deeply content. Madara feels his chest warm, far gentler than his own burning soul flame, a feeling he could bask in forever.
The gentle vibrations of his chest lull Madara further into relaxation. He melts into the embrace even more when Tobirama’s other hand comes up and starts running through his hair.
Madara recognizes this particular song. He’s abruptly reminded of when he and his husband first met, years ago.
—
Madara had tuned Hashirama out when he had started gushing and chattering his ears off about peace, having already heard it all before at least a thousand times, instead wanting to inscribe the memory of Uchiha phoenixes and Senju dragons walking the same space and being civil after centuries of war. It was a bit tense still but the presence of children on the fifth day of the peace conference finally brought some levity to the somber atmosphere. He’s glad of how far they had all come, his chest filling with hope.
Hashirama nearly dislocates Madara’s arm when the teenaged dragon starts pulling him along to some destination he probably talked about but Madara didn’t really hear. “Ow! What gives?!”
“I saw Tobirama pass by a minute ago! I want you to meet him!”
Hashirama keeps talking about his brother Tobirama as if he had hung the moon and stars while his dragon strength is still trying to pull his arm of its socket. Finally deigning to listen, Madara wonders. He’d never seen the younger dragon before but he knew—Hashirama having told him after the fact—that he had been present when Madara and Hashirama had been caught playing in the river by their fathers, lying in wait until he was needed as backup if the situation turned hostile.
Only, his father had been cordial, still holding on to the hope that peace could be gained, the belief bolstered by the mounting desire for peace their clan had started clamoring for, more and more. Luckily, the dragon clan had also been receptive, the head finally bowing to the rising calls of the many despite the demands of the elders. At least, that’s what Hashirama told him anyway, in more flowery and enthusiastic terms, of course.
They come to a stop in the middle of a clearing a little ways away from the negotiation tent. It’s a dragon of coloring he’s never come across before holding a small child, humming deeply, the melody rich and fit for a siren’s Voice.
“TOBIRAMA!” Hashirama’s excitement almost made Madara jump, though he should have already anticipated the volume, Madara was self-aware enough to know he could be just as loud. He narrowly avoided getting whipped by the excited Senju’s tail—honestly, he’s more dog than dragon in behavior. He’s about to bellow his irritation at the tree-turned-sentient-dragon but his tongue had promptly disconnected from his brain at the sight.
The dragon turned his head their way and Madara has suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Sharp, red eyes framed by hoarfrost lashes lance right into his soul as if scrutinizing his worthiness. Short hair the color of freshly fallen snow falls artfully on his head. His only other coloration the three red marks on his cheeks and chin as well as the blue scales on his person—a water dragon in a clan mostly populated with earth dragons? Curious. The sharpness of his features is contradicted by his gentle handling of the child in his arms that he continues to lull with gentle swaying. Madara’s heart skips a beat.
He vaguely registers Hashirama introducing him but his senses are captured by the beautiful creature before him. He is only jarred from his staring when the dragon spoke.
“Nice to meet you,” he said with a bow, voice sweeter than any fruit he’s ever tasted.
Madara feels like he’d just experienced a Burning Day in the span of a moment, only he’d emerged less majestic and more disaster. He tries to speak like a civilized person but only ends up screaming, “I— YOU— GORGEOUS— MARRY ME!”
—
He’s woken from his reminiscing when the hand Tobirama had been using to run through his hair softly landed on his cheek. He lifts his head to look at Tobirama in askance.
Tobirama strokes his cheek. “Where did you go?”
Madara huffs a laugh, lifting his head and giving Tobirama’s jaw a fluttering kiss. “Just thinking about the first time we met.”
“When you embarrassed yourself in front of the entirety of both our clans, you mean?” Tobirama teases, lips quirked up in a grin showing off his sharp teeth.
He isn’t wrong but he shouldn’t say it. “Shut up, asshole,” Madara grumbles, closing his eyes as he turned his head away petulantly, his arms still gently wrapped around Tobirama’s person.
“You chose this asshole, love.” Tobirama removes his arms around Madara to use both his hands to turn his head back in his direction. When Madara stubbornly held on and kept his eyes closed, Tobirama kissed both eyelids then Madara’s cheeks, his nose, and his forehead until Madara finally opens his eyes to catch him and kiss him deeply, his chest warming once more at their contact. He moves up ever so slightly to kiss him deeper.
Madara smiles when they pull apart. “Yeah, I did,” he says as he lifts a hand to pull Tobirama’s head down to look him dead in the eye as their foreheads touch, “and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”