Chapter Text
What the actual fuck is this bullshit? An Uchiha Military Police Force? How could that pale-faced yako possibly think this would be a good idea? How can he justify this?
Madara is so angry he vividly imagines wrapping his hands around the elegant column of Tobirama’s throat, seeing the tendons straining through the pale skin of Tobirama’s slender neck. He wants to bite. He can almost feel his teeth trailing along Tobirama’s neck up to his lips and biting them until they bruise under the pressure, perhaps even bleed. He wants to lick into that sarcastic mouth until he gasps—whether in pain or pleasure, Madara doesn’t care.
He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. This has to stop; it is not okay. He hates Tobirama; he hates him. He killed Izuna , Madara reminds himself. He should want to tear Tobirama’s throat out with his teeth, not leave a necklace of love bites on his collarbones. But he wants to do both, and he hates that even more.
He isn’t going to sit on this, though. He is not about to let Tobirama turn the whole village against his clan. He is going to march right to that demon’s house and beat—no…no— talk to him until he sees sense. He cannot kill Tobirama, everyone will know it was him—and if he did do it, it wouldn’t be in some unplanned fit of rage. No, Madara would kill him slowly; he would take him apart, bit by bit. Tie him to a bed and run his tongue over that silky-looking skin until every single one of Tobirama’s nerve endings is screaming in pleasure. Then he’ll—Shit. No. NO. He’s going to go and clear up this ridiculousness about an Uchiha Military Police Force and return home to continue hating that Senju fox-demon in peace.
It’s late enough at night that he doesn’t run into anyone on his way. For most people, he would worry they would be getting ready for bed by now, but he knows Tobirama is always up late working on one thing or another. Knocking on the door, he’s hardly able to keep calm; on the walk, he’d inadvertently worked himself into a lather of incandescent rage and arousal both.
Tobirama is at the door after his first knock. Likely, he’d sensed him coming long before he even entered the Senju district.
“Uchiha, is there something you need?” Tobirama is as expressionless as always. He wants nothing more than to put some emotion onto that face, to see his pale skin flushing red. Madara doesn’t care whether the flush comes from rage or arousal, but anything is better than the ice block before him.
“Yes. What is this shit?” Madara snarls, waving the meeting agenda in Tobirama’s face.
Tobirama snatches the paper out of his hand and briefly looks it over. “It looks like the agenda for tomorrow’s council meeting. Is there something in particular to which you take offense?”
Madara splutters, “Is there something in particular? Is there something in particular!?” He shrieks in outrage, “Are you fucking kidding me right now? What could I possibly have an issue with, do you think?”
Tobirama sighs in response, “Would you come in so as not to disturb the entire eastern quadrant of the district?”
Madara nods and follows him in. He takes a quick look around as he enters. The house is exactly as he expected: clean and empty of personality. Figures the frigid bastard wouldn’t decorate his home.
“I assume you are talking about the police force proposal; what is your issue with it? My understanding is you feel your clan isn’t being trusted with as much power as others. Does this not fulfill your desire to have a more distinguished role?” Tobirama’s fox-like features remain as placid as ever. And all that does is run Madara’s blood hotter. His volume begins to rise.
“No! All this is going to do is ostracize my clan; no one trusts the police force, and we will become the scapegoats!” Madara bellows in rage.
Tobirama snarls at him; sharp white teeth bared between thin, petal-pink lips. He wants to bite them bloody. “I am putting hours of work into these proposals in order to placate your goddamn superiority complex! If you have so much issue with what I'm putting forth, why don't you put in some work yourself instead of complaining like an impotent worm!”
"Your proposals are going to be the downfall of my clan! I should have never allowed Hashirama to let you live if he wanted peace!” Madara rages. If Tobirama doesn’t start being reasonable, he doesn't know what he’ll do, but it won’t be fucking pretty.
"Fuck you, Uchiha!” Tobirama bites between those too-sharp, too-white teeth.
"Why don't you come over here and do it yourself, coward!?” Oh shit. What the fuck is coming out of his mouth!?
"You did NOT just call me a coward, you limp-dicked troglodyte!”
White-hot fury overtakes any rational thought Madara has left, “I'll show you limp-dicked! You wouldn't know what your dick was for if it slapped you in the face! Matter of fact, I'll show you what it's for!"
Madara lunges forward, and with his left hand he grabs Tobirama by the collar of his shirt, the right grips his shoulder. Tobirama automatically starts to fight back but Madara is having none of it. He uses his grip on Tobirama’s shoulder to slam him to the ground. Tobirama might be taller, but Madara is all muscle. He slings a leg over his quarry, straddling his waist and pinning Tobirama’s hands between his knees and the man’s own deliciously muscular thighs.
His left-hand leaves the collar of Tobirama’s shirt to curl around his throat, just as he’d fantasized about for months now.
Tobirama is starting to fight back in full now, and Madara can see with the way he’s opening his mouth he’s about to spit out something scathing. Madara won’t have it; he crashes his mouth against Tobirama’s surprisingly soft lips and immediately presses his tongue deep into the cavern of his mouth, mapping every corner.
He feels Tobirama’s hands push against him in a futile attempt to get him off, but he doesn’t let that slow him down. With his right hand no longer busy holding his captive’s shoulder down, he uses it to pull Tobirama’s left hand above his head and slam it into the floor, hearing the thump as his wrist hits the tatami. To his pleasure, Tobirama leaves it there. Madara then reaches for his right hand and presses that over his left hand. Now that they’re so close together, he’s able to hold them both down with a single hand, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
Tobriama remains silent as he tries to turn his head away to pull Madara’s mouth off his own, but Madara releases Tobirama’s arms to assume a tight grip on his hair that prevents him from moving much. Madara notices he doesn't pull his hands down from above his head. He wants this human iceberg to give him a reaction—something other than silent refusal or indignant snarls.
He pulls back a bit to suck and bite on Tobirama’s bottom lip. When that fails to rip a sound from his mouth, Madara bites down harder. Hard enough that he can taste Tobirama’s sweet blood spill onto his tongue.
Finally, he gets Tobirama to make a sound. Though not the one he anticipated.
Tobirama’s loud moan breaks the silence they’ve fallen into since Madara slammed him into the floor. But the most shocking part is the way Tobirama’s hips roll against his own.
Madara looks down at his captive audience, a vicious grin stretching his mouth from corner to corner, “You like that, Senju? Maybe this is what you've always needed. Someone to put you in your place.”
Tobirama snarls back up at him, “No, fuck you, get off me.”
“Shhhhh,” Madara shushes him almost gently, “we’re past that. You’re going to, and you’re going to do it exactly the way I tell you,” Madara purrs.
“How da—” The rest of what he was about to say is cut off by Madara squeezing his hand where he has it wrapped around Tobirama’s throat.
Madara leans down, almost cheek-to-cheek, and whispers roughly into Tobirama’s ear, “Here is what is going to happen. You are going to lie there and not move while I ride you. If you beg pretty enough, I'll even let you come.” His hand is still cutting off enough of Tobirama’s air supply that there’s no possible way for him to respond verbally, though his struggles speak volumes.
Madara stays there until he feels Tobirama nod his head, soft, white hair brushing against his face. He then pulls back and lets go of Tobirama’s throat, allowing him to breathe again.
Tobirama coughs as he attempts to regain his breath, “There's a good boy. You're going to let me do whatever I want with you, won't you?” Madara lets the smugness drip off his words.
“Go fuck yourself, you sick fuck," Tobirama growls, but it's raspy and weak from having his throat gripped so tightly a moment ago.
Madara uses the grip on his hair and shakes him a bit, pulling tight enough to make Tobirama suck in a pained breath. “I said you're going to let me do whatever I want, won't you?” Madara growls.
“Fuck you,” Tobirama retorts venomously.
Madara returns a threatening hand on his throat, "Try again.”
Tobirama glares at him for a minute before seeming to admit defeat, "Yes.” The tone is more caustic than perchloric acid.
He takes the hand off Tobirama's throat and recaptures his wrists as he leans menacingly over him, “Hmmm, no, that's not good enough. Yes, Uchiha-sama,” a cruel grin crosses his face.
Tobirama bares his sharp teeth again, “Yes, Uchiha-sama.”
“Mmmm, no, that’s not quite right either. Try Madara-sama,” his grin remains just as wide.
The fury radiating from Tobirama’s garnet glare is so hot it almost burns, “Yes, Madara-sama,”
“Good boy,” Madara rocks himself down against Tobirama’s hard cock. It’s bigger than he expected. This is going to feel far better than even he could have imagined, “Here is what's going to happen,” he says with eerie calm, “I'm going to let go of your hands; you're going to show me where your room is and get some lube, then you're going to suck me off while I prepare myself until I decide I'm ready to ride you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Madara-sama,” Tobirama growls through his still-bared teeth.
Even as he gets off Tobirama, Madara keeps a tight grip on his hair, attempting to dissuade any protests. It doesn’t work. In a vain attempt to reverse their positions or perhaps make Madara release his hair, Tobirama tries to grapple Madara to the floor by taking his feet out from under him. It’s entirely unsuccessful. Madara tightens his grip on Tobirama's fur-soft locks and twists, causing the younger man’s knees to buckle mid-swipe and impotently to stifle a groan.
“Oh dear, was I unclear?” Madara asks with uncharacteristic gentility before a sadistic grin slides across his face, “I said I was going to show you what your cock is for. We can do this the hard way…” he twists his grip again, Tobirama falls completely to his knees, and Madara steps on his dominant hand to keep it pinned to the floor. Tobirama’s groan is full-throated and desperate with both pain and arousal, as evidenced by the erection straining at the seam of his pants. “Or, we can do this the way I want.” Madara’s grin doesn’t fade a bit as he leans down into Tobirama’s face, putting himself almost nose-to-nose with his new toy. “While I don’t mind putting you back in your place, this will go so much more smoothly if you cooperate.” His voice is a vicious whisper, promising violence if Tobirama refuses to concede. He leans back.
“Madara-sama,” Tobirama’s voice is strained with anger and heat.
“Did I say you could speak?” Madara growls with a shake of Tobirama’s hair. He's pleased when he hears a pained hiss from Tobirama's mouth.
“No, Madara-sama,” He can still hear the underlying distaste for the honorific in Tobirama’s voice, but he’s using it dutifully.
“What is it?” Madara is annoyed; if only this bitch will fucking do as he says!
“I don’t keep any body-safe lubricant, Madara-sama,” Tobirama bites out through clenched white teeth.
“Is that so? This will still happen regardless, so you had better figure out a way to acquire some, and fast.” He allows his grip on Tobirama’s hair to flex again, pulling his head back to bare the vulnerable column of his now bruising throat to Madara’s teeth. He bites deeply, adding imprints of his teeth into the pale flesh that his handprint doesn’t cover in order to emphasize his point.
“I have a perfectly suitable jutsu substitute, Madara-sama, if you will allow me to use it,” Tobirama chokes out. His tone is frustrated, as if he’s upset that he has to defer to Madara’s decision, but he’s doing it anyway. It makes Madara’s blood rise.
“Is that so?” Now that is interesting, “Is that the only jutsu you have for sexual purposes?”
“No, Madara-sama,” Hmmm, something to explore another time.
“You may use the lube-jutsu, but I will be watching with sharingan,”
“Yes, Madara-sama.” Tobirama seems oddly okay with letting Madara copy what must be a personally made jutsu. He puts the thought aside for later. Madara watches with keen eyes as Tobirama performs the jutsu, one of his hands filled with clear, viscous fluid. Madara uses a discarded teacup that had rolled to the floor in their scuffle to collect the lube and sets it aside. Now, Madara just needs to decide exactly how he wants to do this.
Madara uses his grip on Tobirama's hair to throw him down onto the tatami flooring. He doesn’t care if Tobirama will have to replace the mats after they’re done and the fibers are ruined by jutsu slick and semen. He's pleased to see Tobirama fall ungracefully to the floor with a soft cry. His pained noises are music to his ears.
Madara had planned to move things straight to fucking, but he can't deny himself the desire to pin Tobirama on his belly, re-establish his grip on his hair and press his face into the zabuton, which is serendipitously positioned, muffling his sounds and making it impossible to breathe. He watches, near breathless with desire, as Tobirama tries to push himself up so he can breathe, but Madara uses his free hand to yank his arm up behind him so he can't get up.
Madara doesn't want to kill him—yet, or make him pass out, so he pulls his face up out of the cushion and listens as Tobirama takes gasping breaths.
“You breathe when I decide you get to breathe. Say thank you for letting you breathe.” Madara’s grip tightens in Tobirama's hair.
“Thank you, Madara-sama,” Madara enjoys the way Tobirama is still struggling to regain his breath, as well as the strain of defiance in his tone. How long until Tobirama finally submits? He can hardly wait.
“That's a good boy. You obey so perfectly, but I suppose that's all you're really good for, isn't it? Following whatever orders Hashirama gives you, and now doing what I tell you." Madara feels a rush of pleasure at this new capitulation.
Madara climbs off Tobirama, "Strip and lie on your back,” he commands, his voice rough with arousal and anger.
He watches as Tobirama rolls over and strips his clothing efficiently. Madara, meanwhile, only removes his pants. He likes the contrast of Tobirama fully bared while he still retains some of his clothing. To his immense satisfaction, Tobirama’s cock is just as big as it felt under him.
Once Tobirama is lying on his back again, Madara straddles his chest and retakes his grip on his hair. “Open your mouth, and make sure your teeth don't touch me, or I'll break them," Madara threatens.
Madara uses a hand to press harshly on the joints of Tobirama's jaw as an incentive to obey. Tobirama dutifully opens his mouth. Madara feeds his cock into the hot, wet cavern and moans as a soft tongue sweeps along the bottom of his shaft. He pumps his hips, allowing his cock to rock into Tobirama’s mouth. The man isn’t doing much to ensure Madara’s pleasure, but the feel of his tongue and upper palette scraping along the sensitive flesh of his dick is fantastic. Madara thrusts in harder, using the grip he has on Tobirama’s hair to maneuver him where he wants; he pulls him up his shaft so the head of his cock harshly collides with the back of Tobirama’s throat, causing him to choke on every thrust. The sensation makes him moan obscenely.
But, as much as he loves the feeling of Tobirama’s mouth on his dick, what he really wants is to ride his beautiful fucking cock. It burns that such a man has a dick like that. He should want to rip it off instead of have it in him, but in this moment, his arousal overpowers his rage. He makes sure the cup of Tobirama's jutsu lube is close at hand. He takes a scoop between his fingers and tests the viscosity. How irritatingly perfect.
Madara reaches back and begins to prepare himself. It’s been a while, so it’s going to take more work than he would have liked. He wants to just ride that dick, but he isn’t about to hurt himself in his desire. He starts with one finger and quickly moves to two with a slight hiss. He takes a little more time stretching himself out, spreading his fingers. It's so distracting feeling Tobirama’s throat convulse on his dick as he works, but he doesn’t let that slow him down. As soon as he feels ready, he pulls his fingers out and adds a third. He gives himself enough time to be well stretched, probably not enough to feel no pain on that girthy cock, but it would be pleasurable pain.
Removing his fingers, he pulls his dick out of Tobirama’s mouth, long strings of saliva between his cock and Tobirama’s too-pretty lips. “Your mouth is made for that. You should have found work in a brothel,” Madara sneers. Tobirama looks like he wants to spit at him. His lips are swollen, bruised, and bloody, and he has slimy globs of saliva and mucus-tinted red dripping down his cheeks and chin. “Thank me for the compliment, slut.” He smacks Tobirama in the cheek with his dick, “I shouldn’t have to teach you basic manners.”
“Thank you, Madara-sama,” Tobirama rasps with all the venom he can muster after spending long minutes choking on Madara’s cock.
“Keep your hands down unless I tell you to move them. Do you understand me?"
Tobirama nods his head with a heated glare. That won't do; he will answer him with the respect he deserves. Madara grabs his face, squeezing with all his strength, enjoying the pain in Tobirama’s face.
"Do you understand me?”
"Yes, Madara-sama,” Tobirama says as best he can through Madara’s tight grip.
"Why do you insist on trying to defy me? We both know you're going to do what I want.” He then reaches back and squeezes Tobirama’s dick in his hand, definitely too hard, as it causes his whole body to spasm with the pain. “Or you wouldn't be this hard, would you?"
"No, Madara-sama.”
"Tell me how badly you want to fuck me. Beg for it.” Madara isn't sure if he will actually do it; he has so much hate on his face.
“Please, Madara-sama, can I fuck you. I want to." The words look like they had to be painfully dragged out.
"I said beg,” Madara leans forward so his face is hovering over Tobirama's, his breath fanning his cheeks.
"Please let me fuck you. I want it so bad. Please.” The words are correct, but the tone is still defiant.
Madara raises an eyebrow and considers the plea, it’s probably the best he’s going to get right now, and he really wants that big fucking cock inside him. "You may, but if you come before me, I may have to break it.”
Madara is pleased with the look of fear on his face and scoots back to sit on that thick cock. He aims it and slowly sinks down. Fuck, it feels even better than he had imagined it would. He lets out a deep groan.
He watches as Tobirama flexes his hands, clearly resisting the urge to move them.
Madara then begins flexing his thick thighs, pulling off and sinking back slowly, adjusting a bit until Tobirama’s dick hits that perfect spot in him. As much as he is enjoying this he shouldn't be the only one doing the work here. "Put your hands on my dick and jerk me off,” he demands.
Tobirama is quick to obey without a single sound of protest. He's slowly working his hand up and down while Madara continues to ride him. "Rub the tip. Don't tell me you haven't done this before.”
“Of course I have; don't be ridiculous,” Tobirama bites out, his face so indignant. Madara slaps him, “What did I say about manners?” his growl is interrupted by a moan as he slams back down, and Tobirama’s cock hits his prostate.
“Yes, Madara-sama,” Tobirama spits the title, but he complies, and his cock is amazing, so Madara is going to let it slide.
“Then do better.” He says with a groan as Tobirama’s grip immediately tightens.
Tobirama goes from just pumping his hand up and down to twisting his wrist a bit and thumbing the tip.
“Was that so hard,” Madara is a little breathy. Between the dick in his ass and the hand on his cock, he’s so goddamn close. This is so much better than any of his unwanted daydreams. Then again, in none of his fantasies did Tobirama ever consent and reciprocate his attraction.
He feels as Tobirama begins to tense below him; he’s close, too. Madara wonders if Tobirama will be able to hold off until he cums. He thinks about what he might actually do if Tobirama does come before him. He obviously won’t really break his dick. But he’ll definitely hurt him.
Madara speeds up, both for himself and to see what Tobirama will do.
To his great pleasure he watches as Tobirama squeezes his own arm with his sharp nails, dark indents already visible. An obvious attempt to stave off his impending orgasm. Madara lets out a dark chuckle, “Good boy, you don't come until I do.”
Tobirama grits his teeth in response; Madara decides to let that slide and focus on his own pleasure, which is rapidly approaching. His hips speed up and then stutter to a stop as he whites out in what is probably the most spectacular orgasm he’s ever had in his life. Come streaks across Tobirama’s chest and abdomen. In an act of defiance, Tobirama’s fist milks him through his orgasm and continues to stroke his cock into overstimulation. Eventually, Madara tires of his insolence and grips the wrist of the stroking hand hard enough to bruise, causing Tobirama to let go.
Madara refuses to move on Tobirama’s still-hard dick; he must be desperate. He doesn't even know if he's going to let him come. He's sorely tempted not to. He sweeps two of his fingers through the trails of his spend decorating Tobirama’s abs and shoves them into his panting mouth, “How does that taste?”
But Madara doesn't actually give him an opportunity to respond as he presses his fingers down onto Tobirama’s tongue and then pushes them further back to watch Tobirama choke on them. He keeps them there until he sees tears well up in those garnet eyes. He removes his fingers to gather more of his come, shoving them back between those dangerous-looking teeth. He purrs with a vicious grin, “Lick it all up. Be a good bitch for me, and I might let you come despite your defiance."
Tobirama obediently opens his mouth for more, even though he’s glaring daggers through tear-clumped lashes. He looks beautiful like this, flushed and teary, hair askew and spit trailing down his chin. Madara hates it as much as he loves knowing he's responsible for this look on his face.
Madara scoops all the cum off Tobirama’s chest and feeds it to him one swipe at a time. Madara gives him a pleased smile, "Such a good little slut you are. Because you've pleased me, I'll allow you to jerk yourself off.”
“Thank you, Madara-sama,” Tobirama raspily bites out through gritted teeth, clearly unhappy with his action, but knowing if he doesn’t play along, Madara will definitely find a way to keep him from finding his orgasm.
Madara moves to climb off Tobirama so he can watch him as he tries to get himself off. He is tempted to interrupt him as he goes just to see him get more and more desperate. He decides against it this time. This time? Hmmm. Yes, this is going to happen again.
Tobirama is utterly unaware of the thoughts going through Madara’s head and begins to stroke his beautiful cock. It’s girthy enough that although Tobirama can wrap his hand all the way around it, it’s only by virtue of his proportionally large hand. And should Madara ever have the urge, he could wrap both hands around that cock fist over fist, and the head would still be visible. He’s almost amazed that he managed to fit it in after so little prep. He hates that he wants to take it in his mouth and taste himself on it. He hates that the sight of Tobirama groaning and stroking himself with abandon is almost enough to get him hard again. It won’t. Not tonight.
Next time, though, it is something to consider at least. And there will be a next time. Tobirama is his now, his to play with as he desires when he desires. He just doesn't know it yet. Madara reaches over and knuckles under Tobirama’s balls, stimulating his prostate from the outside. Tobirama lets out a shout, mouth wide and lips pulled back in a pleasured grimace as his dick jerks in his grip, and he comes in two, three, four spasms heralding pearly strands of semen that decorate that moon-pale torso from belly button to throat. Madara wants to lick it up himself but refrains, as that would undermine his earlier actions. He can make Tobirama eat it, though. He feels a spike of pleasure at the thought of making him eat his own cum—thinks of the look on his face when he feeds it to him.
“You're going to enjoy everything I give you, and thank me for it," He says with a lusty growl in his voice, then does exactly as he imagined. He retakes his spot straddling Tobirama’s hip, and scoops Tobirama’s cum up, pressing it into his waiting mouth. "There you go,” Madara grins as he feeds him the rest of his own spend. The look of disgust on Tobirama’s face is exactly what he wants to see, but the younger man doesn’t utter a single complaint.
Other than spitting an irritated, “Thank you, Madara-sama,” after he finishes, Tobirama is remarkably docile.
“You really are a slut; aren't you? Just taking everything I give you. This,” gesturing to Tobirama lying on the floor, “is where you belong. Here, under me. Mine.”
"I don’t belong to you,” Tobirama snaps.
Madara’s arm snaps down to press his forearm into Tobirama’s throat, and Tobirama wheezes in protest. Madara leans directly into Tobirama’s face, his long hair forming a dark curtain around them, "You are mine if I say you are. Do you understand me, bitch?” But Madara doesn't let up on his throat to actually respond, instead pressing down harder to ensure Tobirama understands his position.
He waits until Tobirama starts to struggle again, his hands moving to pull Madara’s arm off him. Madara grins wider, a wild look in his eyes, and presses down harder. He watches Tobirama’s face get red.
He then pulls off and uses both hands to press Tobirama’s wrists down next to his head. “Answer me," he demands even though he knows Tobirama can't, as he's too busy coughing and trying to breathe again.
"This is your last chance to answer me or find out what happens when you try to truly defy me.”
"I’m yours," Tobirama rasps out.
“Good boy. I’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting. You’d better have a more sound proposal.” Madara leans down one more time and bites a vivid bruise under Tobirama’s ear, too high to be covered by his turtleneck or his fur mantle. He picks up his pants and dresses while Tobirama remains on the floor and walks out without a second glance.