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It's a quiet lazy evening, an unusual occurrence considering both their schedules. Between Knights, Double Face, and general NewDi work, there's barely a moment for the two of them to get this much alone time with one another. Leo's capitalized on it, nestled in Madara's lap, and Madara can't complain.
Madara wouldn't dare complain, because he cherishes every second of peace with Leo in his arms, every minute by his side.
And then Leo looks up at him, presses a kiss to Madara's chin, and laughs when Madara makes a theatrically surprised face. The next kiss is pressed properly to Madara's lips, and Madara takes the chance to hold Leo's face in his hands, to pull him closer.
These acts of affection aren't rare, aren't fleeting by any means, but Madara treasures them as if they were. Savoring every second, burning everything he can into his memory— the way Leo's hands feel, the way his lips taste, the warmth of another body intertwined with his own.
Leo is so affectionate that these acts aren't rare, but plentiful, always holding his hand, pulling him in for a hug— even initiating the simplest of touches. A brush of their fingers when he hands Madara a coffee. Leaning over his shoulder to watch him work. Still, it's different when they're alone, the moments becoming softer, slower, like running in water, like everything is dripping in honey. Every touch from Leo feels like sparks against his skin, every kiss feels like the first— with Leo, everything feels new.
Madara holds Leo's face in his hands, rough calloused fingers cupping soft rosy cheeks, and when Leo leans into the touch, Madara feels himself melt.
Often he thinks himself unworthy of such a domestic life, undeserving of such tender moments; he is Madara Mikejima, knee deep in carnage and stained by blood. He's done too much wrong, not enough right, never enough good to make up for the bad.
Leo's no saint, no beacon of purity, but he is light, he is hope, and he is unyieldingly kind. He is stronger than Madara is, stronger than he could ever be, because Leo holds the strength to forgive. Merciful may not be the word for it, exactly— perhaps compassionate instead. It's something hard to pinpoint, for at one moment Leo may push someone to their upper limits, challenge them and duel to the very end, yet in the next moment he'll get along with them like the best of friends.
Leo Tsukinaga is enthralling, and Madara is drawn towards him like moth to flame, like a fish on a hook. To be honest, he'd never fight such a feeling, for even if he feels undeserving, he's selfish, and can't get enough of the way Leo laughs, the way Leo says his name, the way Leo holds him so close, Leo, Leo, Leo.
"You're thinking too hard," Leo mutters with a laugh, poking between Madara's furrowed brows and snapping him out of his thoughts. "You're gonna get wrinkles at this rate, Mama."
"That'd be a shame, wouldn't it?" Madara muses. "I'll think so hard that I become an ugly, wrinkly old man in a year."
Leo pulls a face. "Gross. You'd probably throw out your hip during a performance."
"Would you take care of me if I did, Leo-san?" He hums. "If I became old and grey in the next year, and threw out my hip?"
"Of course I would! But I'd much prefer you didn't become old and grey at all."
"Ah, well, that's inevitable."
"I guess," Leo shrugs, mulling it over. "But I'd rather we became old and grey together as opposed to you fast tracking it by thinking so much, y'know?"
His words make something in Madara's chest bloom, shaking the butterflies in his stomach to life. "I guess my retirement plan can wait, then."
That seems to please Leo, who leans further into him. He curls up against Madara, head resting upon his chest, close enough that he can probably hear the thrum of Madara's heartbeat. What a magnificent sound it must be, picking up it's tempo whenever Leo's around him like this.
He runs his fingers through Leo's hair— it's started growing out, but he hasn't bothered to get it cut. (It's not a bad look on him, but Madara teases him for it every so often, tells him that soon enough he'll start looking like Tsumugi-san. To that, Leo just laughs, saying that if his hair ever becomes that bad, Madara should just cut it for him.)
Leo turns his head to look up at Madara, emerald green eyes sharp as ever even under the dim lighting.
"Mikejimama," He murmurs, a hushed tone to his voice, as if he's sharing a secret just for the two of them. "If you do ever think too much, share some thoughts with me, would you?"
Madara raises a brow. "Then we'd both get wrinkles, Leo-san."
Leo sighs. "You're like Atlas, Mama. He's the guy that holds up the sky in Greek mythology."
Then, Leo asks "Don't you think he gets tired holding it all up by himself?"
There's a brief pause as Madara contemplates it.
"Mm... probably," Madara admits. "I can't imagine it's an easy task."
"Right? His shoulders have gotta be killing him by now," He laughs, melodic tones filling the room. "I'm not really sure how heavy the sky is, but even having your arms up like that can be straining!"
To that, Madara hums thoughtfully. "I'd think the sky's probably about as heavy as the sun, stars, and clouds are."
"That sounds like a lot! If Atlas could share the weight with someone— if he could share the burden of the sky— I'm sure he'd feel much better."
Madara shifts his weight a little, leaning further back into the couch. "Maybe Atlas doesn't want to force others to deal with the sky. It's a task he brought on himself, after all."
"Yeah... but if others offer to lend him a hand," Leo starts, a finger lightly poking Madara in the ribs. "Maybe he should let them help him out, at least once in a while."
"Huh," Madara says. "Well, if we ever visit Olympus, we better tell him that."
Leo gives him an expectant look.
"...And when we do tell him, I'll be sure to take my own advice."
"Thank you," Leo chuckles. He sits up slightly, a hand at the back of Madara's neck pulling him down so their lips meet in the middle.
Madara lets Leo take the lead, following the rhythm he sets, relishing in the way Leo's hands tug at his hair, bringing him closer and closer still.
Kisses like these are Madara's favourite— a bit desperate, a bit messy, but eager and passionate. He loves the way Leo's lips drag against his own, loves the way he feels like he's coming undone under Leo's touch. He loves the way it makes him feel human, makes him feel alive.
"I love you," Madara says when they both eventually pull away to breathe. His own voice sounds unfamiliar to his ears— something raw, mellow, and honest.
Leo smiles. He smiles like he always does. Madara would call it blind adoration, but Leo's no idiot.
"I love you too," Leo replies easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is.
And Madara can't help but ask "Why?"
A momentary silence hangs between them. There's no tension, but instead consideration.
"That's a loaded question," Leo says with a slight frown. "Huh... I'd just say it's because you're you. Like, no matter whether you're Double Face, or MaM, or Madara Mikejima... you're always you to me."
"Oh," Madara says, articulate as ever.
"What, did I say something weird?"
Madara shakes his head. "No— no, don't worry. I just..." He trails off, struggling to find the words. "Thank you. For loving me."
That earns a surprised laugh from Leo. "What a weird thing to thank me for, Mama. Love isn't some act of service. It just is."
I don't love you out of obligation, out of pity, as repayment or as a mercy. I love you because I love you, and that's all there is to it.
"Ah... you're right, Leo-san," A small smile tugs at Madara's lips, and he doesn't fight it.
Leo grins right back at him. "As always."
"As always," Madara assents. "Still, even if love is a thankless thing, I think I should show my appreciation somehow."
"Oh? I guess I could allow that," Leo teases. "What do you have in mind?"
And as Madara presses kisses down Leo's neck, sending him into a fit of ticklish giggles, the sky feels a little less heavy on his shoulders.