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Summary
“Hashirama,” Madara groans, eyes creasing shut. One palm slips to Hashirama’s chest, pressing intently. “Get off, I need to piss,” he mutters.
Hashirama hums, to conceal his delight. He does not pause, despite how Madara's thighs cling even harder to his sides—Hashirama rolls his hips, pressing Madara into the futon. “Can't hold it?” he teases, lips by Madara’s ear.