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“I still can’t believe your dad let you borrow his car.” Madara spoke suddenly, words muffled by Hashirama’s mouth pressing insistently against his.
“I uh, don’t really want to talk about my dad now, Madara.” Hashirama’s discomfort at the choice of topic was plain, pelvis flush against Madara’s. Most likely it had something to do with his obvious erection. “Besides, we’re kind of in the middle of something, right?”
“If I want to talk you can’t stop me, Senju. Unless you want me to get up-?”
“No, no!”
“Exactly.”
“…Seems like you’re already up to me, though.”
“…Get out of the car.” A flat statement, disgust obvious at the awful innuendo. Hashirama opened his mouth, eyes wide as he prepared to placate his boyfriend. He began to sit up straight from his place on top of Madara but stopped as his head collided with the low roof of the car. He let out a cry of surprise, hands flying up to cradle his skull. Madara began to sit up too, using his elbows to push himself up.
“Karma.” Madara said the word without any real heat to it, watching Hashirama with an almost concerned frown.
“I- I didn’t really think about how low the roof is.” Hashirama was laughing weakly, a self depreciating smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed the injury. Madara, seeing the other boy was fine, relaxed.
“Pfft, you should be grateful for your hard head.” Madara snorted, flopping back down onto the backseat. They were in Butsuma’s awful cramped car, parked somewhere where ‘nobody would ever go, ever!’ according to Hashirama. It was sometime in the evening, Madara didn’t know exactly as he had dropped his phone on the floor after realising how uncomfortably it dug into him in his back pocket. It had been Hashirama’s idea as a way for them to finally be alone together. It was times like this that Madara cursed the large families he and Hashirama had. When over at the Senju household it seemed like nobody knew what a closed door meant, anyone could burst in at any moment unannounced, putting Madara too on edge for anything intimate.
The Uchiha household was hardly any better. Of course, his family knew how to knock, they weren’t barbarians like the Senjus, but whenever Hashirama came over they seemed inexplicably interested in keeping them downstairs in the living room. It was aggravating. They didn’t seem to understand that no, he didn’t want to play monopoly for the fiftieth time! Izuna always ended up winning anyway. So they had resorted to this, the ultimate teen cliché, making out in the backseat of a car. It wasn’t as easy as how the movies had portrayed it. For one, Hashirama was too fucking tall. The only reason he was on top was because of that. He had to bend his legs and still his feet were pressing up against the car door. Madara wondered what type of steroids they fed their children in the Senju family. Not that Madara was short or anything like that, but he definitely wasn’t as tall as his boyfriend. Who knew how much difference a few inches could make?
“Kiss it better?” Hashirama asked, his smile changing into something more playful. He had leaned down again, forearms framing Madara’s face. Despite himself, Madara could feel heat creep into his cheeks at the weight of Hashirama’s complete attention.
“Annoying.” He muttered, hands coming up to wrap around Hashirama as he pulled him down, joining their lips together once more. It was already hot in the vehicle, the shitty AC broken for some reason. Privately, Madara wondered if that was just an excuse given by Hashirama to get him to take off more of his clothes. Maybe he didn’t mind though. Hashirama's obsession is working out and Madara enjoyed any opportunity to run his hands over that six-pack. He wouldn’t admit it out loud though. Their mouths slid over one another, Madara parting his lips and pulling Hashirama closer. It was what they had been doing before Madara had his sudden thought.
Hashirama moved down and suddenly his mouth was hot on Madara’s neck, all tongue and teeth, legs shifting until his thigh was pressed up in between Madara’s legs. Madara let out a broken moan at the sudden pressure against his still hard cock. He dug his nails into Hashirama’s back, hips moving upwards to get more friction. Hashirama stayed still, one palm now pressed against the window for leverage. His eyes were dark, pupils blown out at the sight of Madara lost in pleasure.
“Ngh— it’s not enough.” Madara forced out after a moment, lashes brushing the tops of pink cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. Any previous banter was forgotten as they focused on each other.
“Let me.” Hashirama moved without further prompting, eager fingers unbuttoning the Uchiha’s jeans and tugging them down, Madara lifting his hips to make it possible. Hashirama pulled down Madara’s boxers, giving the other a long look before he slid down his body. The mood was almost ruined when they were reminded of their location when Hashirama accidentally bumped against the door but he shrugged it off, adjusting as best he could.
“Maybe I should-“ Madara was panting, making soft noises in his throat as Hashirama wrapped a hand around his erection, moving in slow firm strokes. Whatever he was going to say was lost as Hashirama rubbed his calloused thumb over the leaking head of his cock, the way he knew Madara enjoyed. Madara arched upwards, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he held in a sound.
Hashirama felt heat pool into his lower belly, breath caught as he watched. He knew Madara didn't particularly enjoy being vocal so any noises he could drag out of his boyfriend was a gift. His own arousal was near painful and he pressed a hand against himself, desperate for even a second of relief. He could tell that his hand was too dry, causing a near painful friction so he used his mouth instead. His tongue traced the underside of Madara’s cock, feeling the rapid pulse under the skin as he took him into his mouth. He held down Madara’s hips with his hands, taking him deeper. Madara’s hands carded themselves through his long hair, tugging at the strands lightly. The leather of the seats creaked as Madara shifted, Hashirama rubbing circles onto his hip bones with his thumbs.
He was always good at multitasking, was a distant thought Madara had, staring up at the roof of the car with a dazed expression as Hashirama bobbed his head. He thought he was going to die with the feeling of a hot, wet mouth around him when Hashirama pulled back, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. He didn't bother to wipe it off.
“I can’t wait any longer.” Was Hashirama’s hurried explanation, clumsily undoing his own trousers, hand sliding inside his boxers. He inhaled sharply as his hand gripped himself and began to move. Madara watched with half-lidded eyes, mouth dry at the sight.
“Take off your shirt.” Madara spoke after swallowing and clearing his throat, voice still hoarse. His fingers were already reaching for the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head. Hashirama followed his example after split second, throwing the clothing somewhere to the front of the car.
Instead of speaking Madara pulled Hashirama down so they could press against each other, skin to skin, only for Hashirama to interrupt him.
“Mmm— wait!” Hashirama dug around in the pocket at the back of the seat, returning with what Madara eventually recognised as a bottle of lube, having needed a minute to read the label in the darkness. He snorted, turning his head towards the seat to hide his sudden smile. Of course Hashirama would. He lost his smile when Hashirama covered them both in lube, the smooth glide more pleasant than the previous rough drag of Hashirama’s hand.
“Just get on with it.” Madara finally snapped, frustrated over how long his eventual orgasm was being dragged on for. Hashirama didn’t seem to have any objections to that, lining up their erections next to each other and— rocking forward.
Madara let out a harsh breath at the sensation and Hashirama groaned, long and deep. His voice only reached that pitch when he was angry or in situations like this. It sent goosebumps racing over Madara’s skin and the attraction gripped him hard. He groaned out a curse, feeling the tension in Hashirama’s muscles as they moved against each other, eventually finding a rhythm. Madara could feel he was on the edge, muscles in his lower abdomen tightening, breaths coming faster.
Hashirama buried his face in the crook of Madara’s neck, damp with sweat, and inhaled, feeling Madara’s torso expand and contract with every breath he took. They had already been in this car for far too long, it didn't take much for either of them. And then-
“Fuck, Hashirama-“ Madara was coming, lips parted and head tilted back. All his muscles clenched, tension reaching a climax as his hips stilled. Hashirama was right behind him, groaning his own curse into Madara’s skin as he spilled over. They both panted, Hashirama lying on top as they came down from their high until Madara nudged him tiredly in the ribs.
“You’re heavy.” Was all he said, forcing Hashirama move so they were somewhat comfortably lying on the backseat, Madara partly on top now. They laid there, catching their breath when-
The phone rang suddenly, startling both of them. Hashirama nearly hit his goddamn head for the second time. Hashirama reached down to the floor, picking up his phone.
“It’s my dad.” He said after a second, seeming to come to some realisation. He looked down at Madara, new horror on his face. “Madara. I got semen on the seats.”
“Better clean it then.” Madara dismissed, throwing an arm over his eyes. He was always sleepy after an orgasm, Hashirama had noticed.
“Madara!”
“Ask me properly in twenty minutes… after I’ve taken a nap.”
“I knew I could count on you.” Hashirama smiled brightly, discerning the real meaning of that sentence. Madara grunted in reply, the classic Uchiha response meaning ‘I have feelings and I don’t want to express them.’