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Hashirama was spoiled. Without realizing it, so many years of being charming and getting what he wanted had made him believe he could have everything. And Madara wondered if that was really a lie. Madara wasn’t very different—he had always indulged Hashirama. Since they were kids, if Hashirama wanted something, Madara let him have it. When they were preteens and Hashirama started living from party to party, Madara went along with him at his request.
In a way, Madara was never able to say no to him.
Because Hashirama, despite everything, also listened to him—and only him. Madara saw him as the most special friend. He was still his friend.
A friend.
So, when Hashirama crossed the line, Madara wondered what it really meant. He should have refused, but Madara had always helped Hashirama. And Hashirama, in return, had always helped him.
Always.
As he hurried down the stairs, he didn’t expect to find Indra. His gaze immediately shifted to him. Madara had learned the hard way that this man could read anyone perfectly. Although now, he seemed to be lazily resting on one of those black leather couches he never let Madara get near as a child because, according to him, Madara had a tendency to break things.
Still, his sharp gaze fell on him. Madara was still wearing his school uniform when he abruptly stopped.
"Hashirama’s house," he said hastily, as if that were explanation enough.
If he hesitated even a little, Indra would know. That lunatic knew everything.
"You haven’t even changed. You just saw him. Why do you want to run straight to him again?"
It was true that Madara had barely returned from high school, but as soon as he saw Indra was home, he decided he had to go to Hashirama’s house himself. Hashirama had already noticed that Indra didn’t like him, so the bastard spent time at Madara’s house whenever Indra was around, flashing his most charming smiles—something that drove Indra crazy. And Indra, on the other hand, if he was heading out and saw Hashirama, would stay just to piss him off.
In some way, they were each other’s torment.
But now, in this situation, he absolutely wouldn’t let Indra be there. He had arranged to meet Hashirama here because he thought they would be alone. But the moment the elevator doors opened and he saw Indra, Madara rushed upstairs to panic and make Indra believe he hadn’t ruined his plans. Then, he decided he’d go to Hashirama’s house himself before Hashirama could get ahead of him.
"It’s none of your business," Madara replied rudely. Indra did the same whenever Madara asked about his whereabouts, though Madara said it just to annoy him, whereas Indra meant it seriously.
"Let him come here." Indra barely reacted to Madara’s tone. "Why do you have to go looking for him? It’s already bad enough that you’re his friend."
Madara grew exasperated, but when Indra denied him something, he had learned not to disobey. If he left, Indra might send someone to Hashirama’s house just to find him—or worse, follow him himself. Most of the time, Indra was laid-back, but right now, he had decided to be a little shit.
"Go back and change. Izuna has training today… I think. I don’t remember, but he’ll be late, so you can order something just for yourself."
"Are you going out?" Madara asked, feigning disinterest.
Indra raised an eyebrow.
"No," he replied curtly. He had caught him. "What are you and that Senju parasite plotting?"
Madara couldn’t tell him—because if Indra found out, he would take the door off his bedroom.
"I want absolute silence," he lied. "I’m helping him study for his… calculus exam."
Madara hesitated. If he remembered correctly, Hashirama had already taken advanced courses. But Indra didn’t know that. Stupid Hashirama, he thought bitterly. He couldn’t even lie about that.
"Then I’ll make a lot of noise," Indra replied. "I’m going to be very busy today."
"Then let me—" Madara was interrupted. The elevator door had unexpectedly opened.
And only three people were allowed to enter without permission. Madara hoped it wasn’t Hashirama, but of course, it was Hashirama. Followed by Obito.
Indra rolled his eyes when he saw Obito, but he seemed even more irritated when he noticed they were arguing.
"You don’t know anything, kid. Reese’s? The best snack is Oreo."
They seemed to take that fight very seriously.
"Of course it is, for you. I can see it in your—" Hashirama couldn’t finish because Madara yanked him away, and they started running upstairs. Before heading up, Hashirama smiled at Indra.
"How perfect that you’re here!"
Indra’s right eye twitched. Madara could see Obito stepping in to block Indra’s view of them, murmuring something like:
"You owe me one, remember? It’s time to pay up."
Perfect. Obito would distract him for now.
Hashirama was shoved into Madara’s room, who locked the door and leaned against it. Hashirama was thoroughly amused by the action—he looked like a startled cat.
"What’s wrong, Madara?" Hashirama asked innocently, amusement radiating from his eyes. "It seems we have more company than we wanted."
Madara tried to deny it. He was going to say they should do this another day, but Hashirama stepped closer until they were only inches apart.
"Are you regretting it?"
Madara was tempted to say yes. Especially when Hashirama didn’t seem to feel the same nervousness coursing through him.
"Indra won’t leave, and now Obito is also—"
Hashirama kissed him, silencing all his doubts. His lips cutting off Madara’s words only made his mind short-circuit. He had been doing this a lot lately, ever since he asked that question and Madara answered yes.
Madara trembled.
Kissing a man was different from kissing a woman.
Madara had to follow the lead, not set it. It was an experience he hadn’t yet gotten used to, but he let himself be carried away. Because the whole thing was fascinating—the way Hashirama held him, the way he had to tilt his head up to reach him.
Hashirama was his best friend.
And his lips moved over his, his hands touched him, and it felt utterly wrong.
Like something two friends would never do.
But that didn’t stop Madara’s hands from reaching up to Hashirama’s face, trailing over his skin until his fingers tangled in his hair. He started moving his lips faster against Hashirama’s, feeling the growing smile against his mouth.
"That sounds like a no to me," Hashirama said when Madara pulled back to breathe. "Don’t worry. We’ll be quiet."
Madara was dazed in Hashirama’s arms. Hashirama’s arm was on his lower back, and with a single push, he pulled him in until their pelvises were touching. Madara could feel his face burning and wanted to refute Hashirama’s words.
But if Madara set his mind to it, he could be quiet, right? This was like touching himself; Madara would press his lips together, and no one would have to know.
Besides, he doubted Indra could hear them with a whole floor between them, especially with ceilings as high as those in the penthouse.
Madara nodded several times, though weakly. His eyes remained on Hashirama’s lips, trailing down from his eyes and back up when he remembered that Hashirama was so close he could see him clearly.
But who could blame him? Hashirama had just kissed him; Madara was already feeling anxious.
It was all Hashirama’s fault. He had started all of this.
Unlike Madara, Hashirama had always been the star everywhere. He had dated girls, many of them, but the idiot had never lost his virginity. Madara was, of course, a hopeless virgin idiot who exchanged kisses at parties he was forced to attend. He only did it for fun because alcohol wasn’t entertaining enough anymore.
Now Hashirama wanted someone. But he outright refused to be a virgin, experiment with her, and fail. So one day, the scoundrel had asked:
"And what if we fucked?"
Madara had gone silent when he heard the question, waiting for Hashirama to tell him it was a joke. When that didn’t happen, for the first time, Madara felt disoriented because of Hashirama.
Of course, Hashirama explained everything to him, and Madara wondered if that was normal.
To which Hashirama responded:
"Everyone fucks. You and I are friends, I care about you, and you care about me. It’ll be easier for both of us, and you can be sure that, in the end, we’ll exchange harsh critiques of each other, as you like to say."
At that moment, Madara had felt the heat shift to his lower abdomen at the mere mention of fucking. He certainly didn’t want to lose his virginity to some stranger. Madara couldn’t even remotely imagine what he would do with a woman, and he preferred that Hashirama teach him what needed to be done.
So when Madara didn’t refuse—though he didn’t explicitly say yes either—a smile spread across Hashirama’s face, and he leaned in to kiss him experimentally. Madara felt quite strange at first, though he never rejected him. Hashirama had already kissed him before, on the cheek; he had already hugged him when they were kids; he had grabbed his hair when teasing him in kindergarten.
Nothing he did that night while devouring his mouth on the floor of his room was any different.
He was his best friend.
And nothing had changed, not even now, when Madara’s back pressed against the mattress of the bed and Hashirama’s arms positioned themselves on either side of him. Madara snapped out of his stupor.
"Why do I have to be the one on the bottom?" Madara asked shamelessly.
Hashirama laughed at the question.
"Because Mito isn’t going to fuck me." Hashirama’s hand tucked a strand of Madara’s hair behind his ear, and he dared to say, "Besides, you’re pretty. Having you beneath me…" Hashirama swallowed what he was about to say, perhaps because they were crossing the limits of the agreements they had made. "I’ll take care of you."
Madara’s cock throbbed.
There were three conditions to doing this:
1. No kisses.
They had failed miserably at that.
So the second became the first, and the first was discarded by default.
2. Neither of them should act like a lover. No loving words.
3. (The most important one) Neither of them should start acting weird. Their friendship wouldn’t change.
Hashirama had said, "I’ll take care of you," but to Madara, it didn’t sound like he was saying it as a lover, but as a friend. Hashirama had always taken care of him.
Madara nodded. Well, Hashirama would be a considerate lover. At least he already had some practice in that.
Hashirama leaned in to kiss him again, and Madara let himself be consumed by the kiss, feeling Hashirama’s hand slide from his chest down to his abdomen. Madara shivered, but he wasn’t intimidated enough.
He felt Hashirama unbutton his pants and his hand move lower. Madara finally stopped him. Oh, right, he knew that to do this, they would have to touch each other, but somehow, Madara hadn’t fully processed it. He breathed, confused. He just needed a little more time to process it.
"What’s wrong?" Hashirama asked, too close. "Would you rather touch me?"
Hashirama knew Madara would refuse. And when his eyes widened too much at the mere suggestion, Hashirama smiled. He was definitely going to enjoy this a lot. I mean, in the end, touching was good, right? Everyone said sex was even better. Hashirama wanted to know how true that was, and with Madara’s embarrassed face, it didn’t take long for him to get hard.
There was a certain satisfaction in seeing him beneath him, and he couldn’t stop imagining the moment he would slide between his legs. The heat sank into his lower abdomen, feeling another pulse in his cock as it started to strain against the fabric of his sweatpants.
"Let me process it for five more seconds," Madara said, feeling Hashirama’s hand resting on the soft skin of his pelvis.
When he felt the five seconds had passed, Madara took Hashirama’s hand and guided it downward. He wanted to maintain some control, still fearful. No one had ever touched him before; only he had done it to himself. But Hashirama wasn’t fearful at all. As soon as he could, he wrapped his hand around him completely.
Madara couldn’t resist the sigh that left his lips, followed by that small whimper that sent another wave of hot blood straight to Hashirama’s cock. Hashirama moved his hand up and down, at first experimentally, but when Madara started melting from just that touch, he felt his breathing quicken.
Madara brought a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle the shaky sighs escaping from it. God, the sensation was so different.
Hashirama’s hand was bigger than his, rough from the sports he played after classes (Madara couldn’t remember what he was practicing now; he signed up for any sports event). Besides, Madara was very sensitive.
Soon, he felt extremely hot. He didn’t care much about embarrassment or anything like that anymore. The only thing that mattered was Hashirama’s hands on him. And when Hashirama got rid of his pants and wrapped his hands around his thighs to pull him closer before taking him into his mouth, Madara was already crying.
He couldn’t bear the heat.
Hashirama’s head bobbed up and down between his legs, and the messy bun he had been wearing since he started growing out his hair had come undone. Every time Madara squirmed, Hashirama held him still while Madara bit his lips to keep from screaming and moaning.
Madara was certainly enjoying it. Hashirama knew it, and with that knowledge, he slid his hand from his thigh, moving lower, down to that place that twitched from Madara’s pleasure, and pressed lightly, circling the area with his fingertip before finally slipping a finger inside.
A moan was torn from Madara’s throat, and he immediately brought his hand to his mouth, remembering that he had to stay quiet. Hashirama laughed around him, sending vibrations that made Madara squirm. His eyes were still glazed when he reached for Hashirama’s hand and stopped the intrusion.
"What are you doing?" he dared to ask, his hand completely covering Hashirama’s.
Hashirama released him and shamelessly asked, "What do you think I’m doing? You’re quite restless..." His fingers twisted around Madara’s, leaving a slick liquid on them. Madara wrinkled his nose. Hashirama smirked at his reaction. "But there are better ways to be restless right now."
When Madara didn’t respond, Hashirama plunged back inside, this time with two fingers, making the insides of Madara’s thighs tremble. Madara’s hand never left him, as if ready to stop him the moment it became too much. His new position—legs open, lying down but propped up on his elbows and staring straight at him—gave Hashirama a better view of Madara’s face and brought them even closer. Hashirama leaned forward until their faces were just inches apart, never stopping the movement of his fingers.
Madara’s brow furrowed deeper, his lips pressing together, and Hashirama felt his restrained breathing just inches away. He himself was aching; he had never been this turned on before. Maybe it was because it was his first time, but the heat was unbearable even for him.
However, Madara was beautiful. He could endure all that heat if Madara was the one being consumed by it. He hadn’t lied about his beauty. Madara was stunning, and he was his best friend. All their first times had been together, and in a way, he loved the idea that, no matter what, he had taken another first from Madara, one that no one else would ever have.
"Hashirama... Hashi..." Madara sighed, digging his nails into his hand, making him bleed when he added another finger. He bit his lower lip hard to keep from screaming.
"Tell me, Madara," Hashirama whispered, inches from his face. The lip, abused by his teeth, was licked by Hashirama. Hashirama was always eager for physical contact, he loved it, especially any kind of unconventional touch. With his free hand, he grabbed Madara by the chin to keep him still, preventing him from pulling away from what he was about to do. He held Madara’s face in place as he ran his tongue over his lips before kissing him.
Madara fell abruptly backward, his back hitting the soft mattress. Now Hashirama was back on top of him, except his fingers were pulling moans and gasps from him due to the friction. If he was honest… it didn’t feel as amazing as everyone described.
Rather, it was a mix of anticipation and discomfort.
But if he was being even more honest, he could say that just the situation itself was making him this hard. Especially when the larger body pressed him into the mattress; Hashirama’s warmth was searing against his. Madara returned the kiss with the same need Hashirama had. His hands left Hashirama’s and started pulling at his sports shirt, tired of being the only one naked.
Hashirama was reluctant to part from his mouth to take off his shirt, so when he was pulled away, he scowled in displeasure. Then, Madara grabbed his chin exactly as he had done to him and ran his tongue over his lips. Hashirama froze for a second.
Shit, that hurt. His cock throbbed, full of interest.
"Madara, it’s not a good idea to show me what your tongue can do right now," he said.
Hashirama finally pulled his fingers out. He felt completely impatient as he discarded his sweatpants, and Madara’s gaze finally lowered from his face to… that place.
Up until now, he hadn’t realized he was the only one with his cock out. Hashirama sucked the fingers that had been inside Madara and then wrapped his hand around his own length. Madara’s cock pulsed violently, leaking precum, and he felt like he was going to explode. It was as if all the blood in his body was surging with excitement at the sight.
Hashirama had always been bigger in everything, but they were the same age… Shouldn’t they be the same in this too? Of course, Madara had seen Hashirama’s cock before, but he had never seen it hard.
And it was a completely different experience. He couldn’t explain how much he wanted it. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe it was the feeling that this was forbidden, wrong. Whatever it was, it only made him crave more.
And when Hashirama’s hand moved expertly around it, sliding easily with the liquid dripping from the tip, Madara felt an itch deep inside. His legs spread wider for Hashirama.
He remembered that Hashirama was also a virgin. Before Hashirama had proposed this, Madara had never imagined he would be the one taking his first time, but now that he had seen him, he wanted to.
"You can touch it," Hashirama said, staring at him intensely. "It’s yours for today."
Madara rolled his eyes.
He was an idiot.
"A lover would never say that. It’s inconsiderate, and you sound like a cheater."
Still, Madara’s hand took it. His slender fingers touched it softly, almost cautiously, tracing along the veins. When he finally wrapped his hand around it completely, he realized how heavy it felt in his grip.
A blush spread across Hashirama’s face. He hadn’t expected Madara to actually do it.
"Then it’s yours always. I’m yours," Hashirama declared with certainty. "You’re always going to be with me, so you can have it forever."
"Please stop talking about your cock like that."
Madara was laughing. He was so shameless it ended up pulling a grin from him. Madara kept touching him, drawing something between a groan and a sigh from Hashirama as he tried to hold back.
When he grew tired of Madara’s teasing, he covered his hand completely with his own, his grin more strained and tortured than amused.
"I’m impatient. I thought that was clear."
Hashirama tried to sound calm, but his hand moved in a familiar rhythm, guiding Madara’s. His brow furrowed in pleasure at the sensation being granted through him. Madara could swear his cock was growing; the constant throb of the veins against his palm was deep, almost as if he could feel them inside him.
Hashirama took Madara’s other hand and guided it to himself.
"I want you to touch me," he stated openly.
Madara was trembling, but his other hand took him too, sliding down from his cock to his balls, massaging them, squeezing lightly whenever Hashirama tightened his grip around his own hand.
"Then touch me back," Madara responded.
At this point, he had completely forgotten that the only things separating him from Indra and Obito were a single floor and a locked door that Indra, if he really wanted to, could break down.
Hashirama leaned down until the tip of his cock touched Madara’s. Madara shivered, precum leaking out just from the simple contact.
Hashirama lined up their cocks without releasing his hand and began to set a rhythm, the same rhythm he used on himself. Madara moaned at the friction, opening his lips for Hashirama, who gave him another lick and increased the motion in his hands as he licked his lips like a cat. He wanted to eat Madara, there were all kinds of places on him that he wanted to touch, that he urgently wanted to mark, but he couldn't help but crave the taste of her lips.
Madara licked him back. The act was so dirty, so vulgar, and anyway it felt like it was going to make him explode down there. He loved it, loved it, loved it, loved it, loved it, loved it.
Hashirama said his cock was his, didn't he? Because Madara wanted it. He needed her badly.
It seemed the two were competing with each other, for Hashirama made his licks bigger as soon as Madara increased them. They were moving more erratically with each other, but when Hashirama felt he was about to explode, a better idea popped into his head. He pulled away from Madara, leaving him with his legs shaking and his cock rigid, begging for more.
With one hand he wrapped around Madara's bent leg and pulled him easily until he drew him to himself. Madara felt his hair tangle as he was pulled in, until his bare ass was plastered over Hashirama's pelvis. Hashirama's cock pressed again in that place between his legs.
“It's going to hurt," he warned her in a dark tone of voice. “It might hurt a lot.”
Madara knew it would hurt, but he opened his legs wide anyway. He wanted to take him. He wanted to be Hashirama's first time and it didn't matter if it hurt.
When Hashirama saw Madara spread his legs, his breathing became unsteady. He didn't think twice as he lined up his cock and began to thrust.
“Hashirama!” Madara screamed. The pain mingled terribly with the pleasure she felt. “Wait, wait, wait!”
“So tight,” Hashirama grunted, letting out an exaltation. His cock ached, and he wasn't sure if it was Madara's insides or how excited he was because he was about to take his childhood best friend. He paused for a second to let Madara breathe properly and then continued, listening again as he asked him to wait.
Shit, it hurt.
It hurt like hell.
Madara put a hand on his chest to slow him down. Every so often he would put it down to keep him going and then interrupt him again. Hashirama was cracking him up. Did people really enjoy this? I mean, even if they were doing it for a favor, gay sex had been around before and it definitely shouldn't hurt every time, right?
Was it even enjoyable?
Madara's mind was in chaos, torn between the hellish sensation between his legs and Hashirama's delicious breathing in his ear.
Hashirama wasn't lying when he said he was impatient. He ended up thrusting all the way in in one fell swoop. Madara's brain went blank and for a second he couldn't think of anything but the intrusion inside him. He felt like it was part of him because every heartbeat inside him he heard it in his ears. A tear slid down her cheek, which was licked away, then another and another.
“You feel so... good. I could cum right now.” Hashirama stood still. His arms wrapped around Madara in a protective embrace, waiting for him to stop shaking. “It will feel good," he told him. “Pain is just something that has to happen for both of us to enjoy it.”
“Hashirama, you are stupid.” Madara wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him tighter against him, urgently looking for something to hold on to. “Always so impatient... You're going to kill me someday.”
Madara kissed Hashirama's neck as they remained in each other's embrace. There was no turning back now. The two were entwined with each other as if they needed each other to live. Madara pulled him tighter into his arms, receiving the same response from Hashirama. He continued to lick his neck until, unable to resist and driven by pain, he sank his teeth into him.
Hashirama growled in his ear, pulling his hair to part him. That made Madara peel away from his skin, forcing him to look him in the eyes. Madara purposely licked his lips, twitching at Hashirama.
“Don't bite me. It hurts…” said Hashirama, not letting go of Madara's hair, forcing him to show his pale neck free of bites. Madara smiled at him, quite guilty but feeling no regret. Hashirama's brow furrowed at this and, in retaliation, he moved to the connection between his neck and shoulder to sink his teeth into that spot. Madara groaned in response, already feeling not only his scalp tingling, but his skin as well.
Madara had always bitten him. It was a bad habit of his, but Hashirama had never thought of a way to retaliate other than to tell him that it hurt. Now, however, he not only sank his teeth into his flesh, but moved, slamming into Madara's insides. Madara whimpered against his neck.
And once Hashirama moved, he was unable to stop.
He struck once more. All the blood in his body was in his cock. Never in his life had he been as hard as he was now. Madara knew very well how to retaliate as well. He broke free from her grip and with each thrust he drove his teeth deeper into her skin until the blood ran down Hashirama's shoulder.
That was the only way to keep his moans from becoming uncontrollable.
Hashirama felt the urge to break it when Madara bit again. So he increased his movements until Madara was unable to close his mouth around his skin.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Hashirama thrust into him again, then again, and again, until the wet sound of flesh against flesh was the only thing they could hear. “ I. ” thrust. “Told.” thrust. “You.” thrust. “Not.” thrust. “To.” thrust. “Bite.” thrust.
The last one was the one that brought him to ruin.
It stroked so deep inside him, so delicious, that Madara couldn't stop the moan that came from his lips.
So loud, so high-pitched.
Madara couldn't think of anything else but his and Hashirama's cock. He needed to touch himself, he needed to cum urgently.
The taste of Hashirama's blood still lingered in his mouth. He licked his lips and lowered his hand to his cock, sliding it down as he watched Hashirama's face: he clenched his jaw and his hair was in disarray as his hips moved violently against him.
The mere touch electrified him.
He was going to cum if they kept up this pace.
Hashirama kept pounding away at that spot that was driving him crazy, quite satisfied with every tear that ran down Madara's face. From now on, that was all he would need to get an erection: remembering his ruined face. He spread Madara's legs wider until he buried himself deep. He had been about to come before, so now he wasn't going to hold out much longer.
“You feel so good," Hashirama gasped in his ear, sending millions of spasms through Madara's body. The sighs in his ear and the friction of their bodies sucked him in miserably.
Madara was sure he was crying miserably.
“Let me cum inside you.” Hashirama's breath went from her ear to her lips, brushing against her skin all the way. He repeated against her lips, "Let me cum inside you.”
Madara squeezed his own cock at the thought. It was another one of those dirty acts they had refused to do, but it wasn't officially in the agreement. Still, it felt like another rule broken, because Madara wanted to.
If he opened his mouth, he would start moaning like crazy, so he just nodded desperately as he wrapped his legs around Hashirama and hugged him. The two were deep together as Hashirama's movements became more desperate.
They were close, both of them.
Hashirama reached for her lips, desperate to feel them. His hips made urgent, desperate movements as he pounded inside him and his balls whipped against Madara's ass.
Hashirama growled against his lips,
“Shit," he sighed against them.
A thick warmth intoxicated Madara from inside him, filling and moistening him as he felt himself spurting against Hashirama's abdomen in a pitiful moan as he clung to him as if he needed him to come.
God. He was wet all over.
“Hashirama, Hashirama, stop.” Hashirama kept moving even after he cummed, though slower. But Madara couldn't stand overstimulation, and it was something Hashirama etched in his mind deeply.
He leaned in to kiss him, her face contorted in pleasure, taking his lips desperately. A long, insatiable kiss. Madara was sure he couldn't breathe.
Hashirama did not pull out, on the contrary, he seemed to want to sink deep into him until they were unable to be separated. Madara was crushed against the bed as his mouth was devoured.
“This was the best.” Hashirama broke away so he could see him. Madara was all red, with dried tears on his cheeks and his hair stuck to his forehead due to sweat. Hashirama didn't think twice before running his tongue over his face, ignoring Madara's complaints.
Madara didn't know where this mania of his for doing that had come from, but he had no choice but to defend himself in the same way, so he also licked him in return, until it became a competition that, clearly, Hashirama won.
In the end, Hashirama had to separate from him. He dropped down on the other side of the bed, completely sweaty, catching his breath.
Madara had his legs apart, so he forced his legs together, though the movement hurt.
“You shouldn't do that with your tongue. You're not a dog, Hashirama. You can do it once, but if you do it every time, you'll be judged," Madara began with his criticism. “You look like a puppy in need of affection.”
He certainly had nothing else to say. His mind was still blank from what he had just done. Once the horniness was satiated, he wondered if they would really abide by the rules of their contract and nothing would change in their friendship.
So he anxiously awaited Hashirama's response, which was not long in coming.
“Well, you…” Hashirama couldn't even think of something to refute, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “You feel delicious.”
Indeed, nothing would change. Hashirama was still completely sincere with him, even if it was embarrassing what came out of his mouth. He gave him a look that clearly criticized him. Hashirama felt that look and turned his head to see it. Unintimidated, he smiled innocently at him.
He analyzed Madara's face and finally remembered his destructive criticism when he saw his swollen lips.
“If you bite me again, I will take revenge.”
Hashirama said it very seriously, but Madara did not take it seriously. He was a hypocrite. Madara's whole body had bites on it. In the end, Madara didn't even want to reply anymore, he just stared at the ceiling.
And it sunk in that they were not alone in this house right now. And he was sure that, if he went out into the room again, Indra would find out everything.