Work Text:
It was meant to go something like this:
Nagato fought his control with every breath left in his body, which wasn’t many. The fabric of his frail body was held together with sheer willpower— Madara’s Willpower—and every beat of his protesting heart pumped that power through his veins. As Obito watched, the descendent of the Uzumaki withered before his eyes, his hair turning pure white as black rods erupted from his back and chest. When it was over, he looked like a long-mummified corpse that had been used as a pincushion. Obito could muster a little sympathy; Pain had been useful to him all these years.
And Nagato had served his ultimate purpose, for Uchiha Madara lived once more. The real Uchiha Madara that is.
Once the glow of the Rinne Tensei faded, Obito circled the hunched over form of his predecessor. Where old bones had lain moments before, a man now sat in their place, panting heavily and running fingers blindly over his face. His head snapped up and he turned to face Obito with eerie precision; his eyes were still in Nagato’s skull. “Obito, is that you?”
“It is,” he confirmed, coming closer. Madara’s robe that he’d died in had long rotted away, and he was stark naked. This should not have mattered, not when Obito had been acting in Madara’s role for so long that they were practically the same person. And since they were practically the same person, he supposed that there was no real reason to be embarrassed about looking.
Madara frowned slightly at the sound of his voice. He stood up and groped through the air until his fingers grasped Obito’s chin.
Obito stood frozen, rigid with tension. He didn’t think it wise to shove Madara off him; not with that seal still on his heart. He bit back a protest and tried not to focus on the sweep of Madara’s fingertips up his cheek. The touch felt like a brand, as if he’d heated his hands with katon before laying them on Obito’s skin. The scars on the right side of his face seemed especially sensitive as Madara’s fingers traced over their whorls and ridges and he felt a shudder run through him as Madara’s thumb followed the scar that ran through his lower lip.
“You’re a man now, I see,” Madara remarked at last, dropping his hand. “Or don’t see, rather.”
Obito swallowed. Despite the fact that the other man had no clothes on, he was the one who felt naked without his mask. “It took longer than we hoped. Here.” He unbuttoned his Akatsuki cloak and threw it unceremoniously at Madara. “Cover yourself.”
Madara made a sound of amusement at his expense, but drew the cloak around his body without argument. “To business then.” Despite not having his eyes, he began walking in the direction of Nagato’s body without hesitation.
Allowing Madara to take back the Rinnegan would scupper Obito’s chances of taking his place, but there was little he could do about it. His only option at the moment was to bide his time, and wait for the opportune moment to strike.
Ahead of him, Madara stopped so abruptly that Obito nearly walked into him. He turned, the breeze fanning a lock of hair across his sunken eyesockets. “Obito?”
“Yes?”
Madara reached out and gave one of his shoulders a firm squeeze. “You’ve done well.” After a moment of silence he gave Obito’s shoulder a terse whack that was probably meant to be an encouraging pat, and kept on walking.
For lack of any other choice, Obito followed him.