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"Madara-sensei," is the first thing Madara hears as he rounds the corner to appear in his genins' sight, "what happened to your face?"
Madara tries not to scowl because if he hears another Kami-damn complaint about the killing intent his eyes keep projecting at every minor inconvenience, he is going to burn something. Viciously. He already had to sit through one solemn lecture by Tobirama of all people who had no leg to stand on when it came to pleasant facial expressions--he had always looked like something rotten was waved in front of his face, or he had loudly projected an utter disgust with most people's existence.
Or maybe it was just how the Senju looked when Madara was around.
Go figure.
"You look so old!" Senju Tsuyoshi exclaims before he can slap a palm across his mouth as if he didn't intend to call Madara a disgusting and misshapen old man.
Nothing else to be expected from Hashirama's spawn.
Thank fuck he looked more like an Uzumaki, sans the tanned skin. Madara would not survive a fully-fledged mini-Hashirama.
Riki slaps Tsuyoshi on the back of his head, letting out a hiss, her black cat-like nose scrunched up in disgust.
"Don't listen to him, sensei," she says authoritatively, looking back at Madara earnestly. "That beard looks cool!"
"Yeah," agrees Haruno Saburo from his spot under the tree where the boy had been busy burrowing his pale-pink head in another taijutsu manual. "It makes you look like you're a proper sensei, and stuff."
All the possible warmth of his students' approval of the unwilling growth on Madara's face is gone in an instant, Madara squinting at the three brats lounging in the green expanse of the training ground.
"I always look like a sensei," he huffs indignantly, remembering that setting children on fire is a no-go.
Then, he stutters and asks: "What did I look like before I grew a beard then?"
His genin do what any sensible shinobi would do and quiet down, assessing the situation (and if Madara wasn't offended right now he'd admit to himself that he was so proud). Madara sees them exchange looks between each other as if communicating telepathically, and then they turn back to look back at him with eyes full of grim acceptance.
"Like a missing-nin," earnestly says Tsuyoshi, shaking his fiery-red head, bottom lip thrust out in a Hashirama-patented pout.
"Like a very nice missing-nin," offers Riki.
"The one with a very good picture in a Bingo Book?" suggests Saburo, raising his book to cover half of his face, dull green eyes staring at Madara like the boy was about to bolt.
"I'm grounding all of you," Madara says just because he can, placing his gunbai heavily on the ground, hand going to angrily scratch at his itching forehead--except there was the damn hitai-ate, tying which without disrupting the careful arrangement of the seemingly-unorganised mess of his hair would take another hour at the very least.
Madara's genin let out outraged shrieks that he can mark as a proud Seven-out-of-Ten on an Uchiha Display of Emotions chart. He was glad to see himself rubbing off on a bunch of civilian children and Hashirama's goddamn child.
With how much more time he had spent with Tsuyoshi, he was more Madara's child than Hashirama's. Same with Riki and Saburo, who were probably easier to steal were Madara to ever decide to kidnap his genin out of their parents' houses, given their civilian clans.
Which was probably a very bad idea, but if the elders kept pressing Madara to start thinking of reproducing, he'd have to resort to drastic methods. Or force Izuna to fuck that scary Senju woman already.
"You can't ground us," whines Tsuyoshi, hands clenching his green-and-orange jacket, an outrageous colour combination that Madara is still yet to beat out of him--he kept lighting his student's clothes on fire and offering a much better, much more dignified colour scheme, like black and purple. Or black and brown. Or black and black.
"We are going to get a new sensei," Saburo threatens, which is the same phrase he reiterates about fifteen times a day when Madara forces him through more laps to run. "We are going to ask Hashirama-sama to give us another sensei."
"I am willing to see you try," Madara responds the same way he always responds because as much as he hated the idea of getting pupils first, he had begrudgingly grown attached to the grumpy baby faces of his eleven-year-old students who projected the most dramatic version of an Uchiha resentment towards him each time he had scheduled a training session for 6 am.
Madara doesn't need an heir if he has Haruno Saburo, whose eyes, even lacking Sharingan, can put a person in a state of panic were the kid to get annoyed about something.
Or Riki's aggressive hissing that only ever rivalled Izuna's when the girl was about to viciously rip out someone's throat for getting her to do another pointless D-rank.
Or Tsuyoshi's very un-Senju-like darkening face each time the boy was faced with an opponent that threatened the safety of his other teammates.
Hikaku had told Madara that he was imprinting on his students too much but Madara didn't care--Hikaku had better worry about his own child, barely five years old and already bonding way too closely with an Inuzuka girl, running away to the other compound whenever the opportunity had opened.
"Go," he shoos his students, all of their piercing gazes still firmly drilling a hole in Madara's face. "That will be forty laps around the field just because you were little shits to me today. Go. Scoot."
The genin groan, Tsuyoshi slumping on the ground, Saburo throwing his head back and clutching his hair, all drama and flair, and Riki going as far as to press a hand to her forehead, pretending to be a fainting maiden Madara knew for certain she wasn't.
Madara was imprinting on them. He will never admit that he was doing it, though.
"I see this training ground is taken then," rings a voice behind Madara and he whips around, gunbai still clenched in his fingers.
It's Tobirama--him and his gang of the most annoying children Madara had seen in his life--sans Kagami, but he was horribly ruined under Tobirama's command, once offering Madara to talk about their feelings when he caught the clan head thrashing the Head Family house to shreds.
How did Tobirama of all people manage to implant the idea of healthy coping mechanisms in Kagami's head, Madara didn't know.
Whatever Senju did with his grossly overstaffed team was not Madara's concern.
"Senju," he seethes even as Tsuyoshi comes to his senses from his grieving wailing on the ground and wildly waves at Senju, shrieking something akin to "Uncle!" as Tobirama warmly smiles--blegh--at Madara's student.
"Wow, Madara-sama, you look weird," says the Sarutobi kid, half-dangling over a Shimura boy who looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here.
"You look like a hobo, Madara-shishou," snickers Kagami, the little shit--Madara is going to have words with the boy's mother, and if Kagami will be subjected to a curfew from tomorrow on--oh well. Madara is the clan head. He can do whatever he wants.
"Take it back!" it's Riki's clearly angered voice, her hair sticking up, eyes narrowed and senbon already clutched in her tiny fist. "You look like a hobo, Uchiha!"
"What's your problem, Kitty-cat?" the civilian girl from Tobirama's team narrows her eyes, taking a wide stride forward, ignoring a kid in glasses uselessly tugging her backwards. "You all look like hobos."
Which might be true for Madara's students, he thinks mildly, because all of his genin look like they had spent the previous night rolling in the dirt--probably helping out Riki catch more kittens, scattered around the civilian district of Konoha. He was tired of forcing them into beds after dark--it was their parents' task, okay--and if they wanted to be tired and scratched up by feral cats, it was their choice.
"Koharu!" gasps an Akimichi kid, slapping a hand across the girl's mouth, eyes darting wildly between Tobirama and Madara, looking like the only sane child that was concerned about angering two adult shinobi that led and semi-led the village.
Kagami takes a long sniff from Tsuyoshi's direction, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"Senju, you smell like cat piss," he informs him then, fingers going to pinch his nose and wave a hand in front of it. "Do you not know showers exist?"
That is about all the motivation Tsuyoshi needs, because his rich-brown eyes narrow and he throws himself at Kagami with a war cry, hands going to tug at Madara's little cousin's hair, both boys falling to the ground. Riki is not too far behind, hissing, her little sharp nails digging into Sarutobi kid's face as she screeches at him, prolonging the vertical lines that stretched out of the corners of the boy's eyes by another inch at the very least.
Saburo tugs on Madara's Jonin uniform sleeve, and Madara moves his head away from a pile of genin biting each other in-between him and Tobirama, looking at the pink-haired boy's solemn stare, Haruno kid blinking slowly like he was about to go on a suicide mission.
"Madara-sensei, tell my mom I died defending your honour," Saburo says then, finally letting go of his taijutsu manual, dashing forward in a blur of red-and-pink and kicking his foot in Shimura boy's stomach, making him stagger back, before he also jumps back at Saburo, fist going to connect with Haruno's cheekbone.
Tobirama's other hellish students jump into the fight right after, and Madara should really call the catfight off, but--he is enjoying it, because Tsuyoshi is screeching as he smashes the civilian boy's nose and manages to duck under Tobirama's little kunoichi's right-hand hook; and Saburo is currently flashing between Homura and Akimichi, both boys' clan techniques not standing a chance against Haruno's heavy fist; and Riki's growling, teeth sinking into wailing Sarutobi's shoulder, hands going to scratch long lines against Kagami's arm.
Madara's team is rabid and feral. He had never been more proud in his life.
He feels a gentle nudge to his side and turns his eyes to meet with a bright-red of Tobirama's irises, mouth curved into an amused smile, eyes looking almost soft in the early morning sun.
"I like the beard," Tobirama says, dragging his knuckles across Madara's cheek.
"I didn't have time to shave during the mission," Madara objects just because he needs to put out an excuse even if his breath catches in his throat, face shaded with what possibly is a light blush.
"Maybe you don't need to shave for the next few days," Tobirama says, leaning lightning-fast to brush his lips on Madara's chin as Madara gasps, taking a sharp inhale, not sure how he even manages to breathe next to Tobirama's warm presence, Senju's hand heavy on Madara's side.
Tobirama hums at Madara's loss of words, eyes scanning Madara's face, and there is a spark of interest and scientific curiosity in his eyes.
He leans in, kissing Madara's mouth, quick and fleeting, before detaching himself from Madara's side, the harsh line of his mouth going soft and inviting.
"Maybe I want to see how it feels when you use your mouth," Senju smirks and heat bolts down Madara's spine as he gapes at Tobirama, trying to assemble his marbles back into one bunch, face red and sweating. "Meet me after the training?"
Madara nods numbly, shivering, trying to will an uncomfortable blush away, eyes still fiercely focused on Tobirama's maddeningly smug mouth, lips so inviting and so close and so soft under Madara's own mouth--
Madara sighs when he hears Tsuyoshi screech out a Katon jutsu, the rest of the kids shrieking in fear as half of the field gets covered in a fiery expanse of a modified version of Uchiha's Fireball that Madara had taught his student when he found out Tsuyoshi's predisposition was Fire and Lightning instead of Water and Earth like Hashirama's is.
Madara touches his lips, still feeling a fleeting kiss Tobirama had given him.
He scratches at his cheek, feeling rough hair under his fingertips.
After, Madara goes to whisk out his damn students out of Tobirama's bloodthirsty pile of genin. Can't have his own kids die prematurely before he even managed to take them on a singular B-rank.
Today's training session will end fast, Madara thinks. Both as a treat to his overprotective menaces of genin, and because Madara is not going to wait long to drag Tobirama to bed, the sweet promise still fresh and warm on Madara's lips, Tobirama's eyes never leaving Madara's face even as he separates fighting Sarutobi and Shimura who somehow decided that if the other team was absent, scratching at each other was a good enough equivalent.
Madara is going to have a very nice evening today.
No possible force on earth is going to drag him out of Tobirama's bed if Madara has anything to say about it.