Chapter 4
Tobirama crouched by the hearth, fanning the embers beneath the iron pot. Smoke rose in tendrils, stinging his eyes and clinging to his skin.
The heat mixed with the faint smell of charred wood, painting his face in streaks of soot.
It had become part of his daily rhythm—one that was shaped by the life he led in the Uchiha compound.
The routine of coming to the Uchiha compound after work, cooking meals, sharing quiet dinners, and later, surrendering to Madara’s touch.
Every night ended the same way.
It was maddening, this sense of normalcy that had crept into his life, wrapping around him like the smoke from the fire.
Tobirama couldn’t deny the strangest part of it—he had grown used to it.
He had once believed he could evade this fate. He thought he could delay the inevitable.
But no matter how much he tried to prolong, there was always a line he couldn’t cross, a command he couldn’t refuse.
Madara’s voice had been calm that day, almost gentle. “Let’s go home, Tobirama.”
It wasn’t a request.
Tobirama, still seated at his desk, didn’t meet Madara’s gaze. “I still have to finish the proposal from the Nara clan. You should head back first.”
He remembered how he had held his breath, listening intently for the sound of the door closing behind Madara.
But instead of relief, he was greeted by the soft click of the lock turning. Tobirama’s heart sank, and when he looked up, he saw Madara standing by the door, removing his cloak with deliberate ease.
“What are you doing, Uchiha-sama?” His voice had wavered then, betraying the unease that coiled tight in his chest.
Madara’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Isn’t this what you wanted? If you don’t want to come home, we can do it here instead.”
Tobirama’s breath caught, his mind racing for a way out. “No… You misunderstood. Let’s… go home.”
Tobirama had yielded, as he always did.
But there was no other choice.
Resistance was futile in the face of Madara’s absolute will.
That was the day Tobirama learned something about Madara—that beneath the cold, commanding exterior lay an untamed madness, a possessiveness that knew no bounds. It didn’t matter where they were. Whether it was the privacy of the Uchiha compound or the austere walls of his office, Madara would always take what he wanted.
Tobirama fanned the embers harder, as though trying to drive away the weight of that memory. He had learned long ago that with Madara, there was no room for defiance. Words of refusal were meaningless. All that remained was surrender, and the dull ache of resignation settled deep in his bones.
The smoke rose higher, stinging his eyes again, or perhaps it was something else. A strange heaviness clung to him.
So long as Madara didn’t let go, Tobirama would never be free.
The soup simmered quietly over the fire, its warmth filling the room. Tobirama bent down, stirring it slowly, watching the surface ripple. Steam rose in soft tendrils, curling around his face, bringing with it the faint sting of smoke. It clung to him, settling into his white hair.
Tobirama carefully lifted the pot off the fire, ladling it into a bowl with practiced ease. As he worked, Tobirama became aware of a tiny head of dark hair peeking around the kitchen door.
When their eyes met, the child darted back, embarrassed by being caught. Tobirama couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
“Kagami, come here,” he called, voice gentle.
There was a moment of hesitation before the boy, slightly sheepish, stepped into the kitchen.
“What smells so good today, Tobirama-sama?” Kagami asked eagerly, eyes shining with curiosity.
“I made miso soup. Do you want some?” Tobirama replied, already ladling a portion into a smaller bowl.
“Yes, please!” Kagami exclaimed, almost bouncing with excitement as he eagerly accepted the bowl. He sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling the hot soup in his hands.
Tobirama watched as Kagami devoured the soup, spoonful after spoonful disappearing almost faster than Tobirama could blink.
War had taken everything from Kagami.
His parents, his family, his chance at a normal childhood—all gone. He was just one of the many orphans taken in by the Uchiha clan, left to be raised by caretakers in a world that had barely begun to know peace.
“Eat slower, or you’ll choke,” Tobirama said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Kagami grinned sheepishly and slowed down, but the sight only deepened the knot in Tobirama’s heart.
How many more children had lost their families to war?
How many more could have been spared, had peace come sooner?
Tobirama’s gaze drifted toward the fire as a familiar heaviness settled over him.
This—this fragile peace—was perhaps the only thing Tobirama had ever done right.
Right?
Tobirama thought back to the days when the village was just an idea. He remembered standing beside Hashirama and Madara, their dream of peace so fragile it felt like a spark that could be snuffed out at any moment. They had built this village to save children like Kagami, to give them a future beyond war.
And yet, even now, Tobirama couldn’t shake the fear that it might all crumble one day.
And if the price of that peace was his own suffering, then so be it. He would bear it, as he always had.
If enduring Madara’s punishment meant preserving this fragile peace, then it was a price he would pay, again and again.
For peace. For the children who would never have to know the horrors of war the way he had.
Because for children like Kagami, for the future he had fought so hard to create, Tobirama would endure anything.
Even a life that wasn’t truly his own.
“Tobirama.”
Madara’s voice echoed from the main house, snapping Tobirama out of his thoughts.
Tobirama set the ladle down and rose, wiping his hands on a cloth.
“I have to go now. There’s plenty of soup left, so if you’re still hungry, help yourself,” he said, ruffling Kagami’s hair gently before gathering the tray of food for Madara.
As Tobirama gathered the tray and headed toward the main house, he felt the weight of his burdens settle on his shoulders once more.
The door slid open in front of him.
Tobirama didn’t need to look to know who it was. He could feel Madara’s presence, an oppressive weight that filled the room, leaving no space for escape.
Madara sat comfortably in the main hall, his damp hair clinging to his shoulders, skin still flushed from a recent bath. The loose robe barely clung to his form, leaving most of his chest exposed, glistening faintly in the dim candlelight.
He held a scroll in one hand, reading its contents with an intensity that made Tobirama feel invisible.
Tobirama approached quietly, laying out the dishes with deliberate care. The warm aroma of miso and grilled fish filled the room, but Madara didn’t move. He remained engrossed in his reading, completely indifferent to the meal—or perhaps indifferent to Tobirama himself.
The silence stretched on, pressing down on Tobirama’s chest.
Sweat beaded at his temple as Tobirama hesitated before speaking.
“Uchiha-sama… are you… not going to eat?” Tobirama asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the question itself were an intrusion in the quiet space between them.
At last, Madara lifted his gaze from the scroll, dark eyes locking onto Tobirama’s.
The weight of that stare was suffocating, burning through the fragile composure Tobirama had tried to maintain.
Madara’s lips curved into a lazy smile. “You see, Tobirama, I’m still busy reviewing these reports. How am I supposed to eat like this?”
Tobirama froze, the implications clear in Madara’s tone.
Madara didn’t need to say it outright—he never did. It was a game they played too often, one where Madara set the rules, and Tobirama had no choice but to follow.
With hands that trembled only slightly, Tobirama filled a bowl with rice and miso, prepared the fish, and stepped closer. He leaned in, preparing to feed Madara.
But before he could do so, a strong hand grabbed his waist and pulled him forward.
“Too far,” Madara murmured, effortlessly dragging Tobirama into his lap. He settled Tobirama there as though he belonged, one arm wrapped securely around his waist.
The sudden shift left Tobirama breathless, his pulse quickening as his body stiffened in response.
The older man made no move to apologize for the unexpected gesture. Instead, he gave a small, almost satisfied smile, his voice warm, yet commanding.
“Now, let’s eat, shall we?”
Tobirama shifted uneasily, his fingers brushing over his clothes, stained with sweat from the long day. The faint smell of work lingered on him, a reminder of the exhaustion he’d carried throughout the hours. His hair, slightly disheveled, stuck to his forehead, and his body was coated in a fine sheen of perspiration that clung to his skin.
“Uchiha-sama, I… I’m not clean,” Tobirama protested, his voice strained. “You’ve just bathed. You shouldn’t—”
“You’re not dirty,” Madara interrupted without looking up from the scroll, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. “You never are.”
The words cut deeper than Tobirama cared to admit.
Tobirama swallowed the lump rising in his throat and, resigned, picked up the bowl again. Carefully, he began feeding Madara, each bite taken with infuriating ease, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Madara ate with a contented smile, his free hand never once letting go of Tobirama’s waist. The warmth of his body seeped through Tobirama’s clothes, leaving him uncomfortably aware of every breath, every shift of muscle beneath him.
Madara's hand slid across Tobirama's side with slow deliberation, fingers brushing against his skin like a burning whisper, leaving a trail of heat behind.
There was something profoundly humiliating in the act, and yet… Tobirama endured.
He endured because that was what he had always done.
When Madara finally finished the meal, he set the scroll aside, his attention now fully on Tobirama.
His hand slid up, fingers brushing against Tobirama’s neck, lingering just long enough to make Tobirama’s breath hitch. “You’re far too tense, Tobirama. Relax. We still have the whole night.”
Tobirama lowered his gaze, clutching the empty bowl tightly as if it could shield him from the man holding him.
Madara had already decided how the night would end, and Tobirama knew better than to resist.
There was no escape from this life.
Not yet.
Perhaps not ever.
.
.
.
Tobirama's thoughts spiraled endlessly in the depths of his mind.
Had it always been admiration that filled his gaze when he looked at Madara, or had it been envy lurking beneath the surface?
These were things Tobirama had chased all his life, only to find them slipping further from his grasp no matter how much he bled or fought to claim them. Meanwhile, Madara seemed to possess everything without trying, as though destiny itself bent in his favor.
Tobirama envied the ease with which Madara commanded the world around him—his strength, his unshakable will, and the effortless way he earned Hashirama's trust.
Madara even wield techniques Tobirama had perfected with a fluid grace that mocked his every effort.
No matter how hard Tobirama tried, no matter how much he gave of himself, Madara would always stand above him.
But before Tobirama could sink further into that dark sea of thought, a sharp, undeniable sensation shattered his focus—a deliberate thrust from Madara's body into his own.
The intrusion was slow, almost methodical, yet it struck something deep within him that left him gasping, his breath caught.
"Already distracted again, Tobirama?" Madara's voice was low, carrying a dangerous amusement.
Madara moved with deliberate care, each motion precise, each thrust angled to draw forth exactly what he wanted.
A muffled gasp escaped Tobirama's lips again, betraying him before he could suppress the sound.
Madara smiled. His eyes gleamed with delight as he watched Tobirama beneath him, body quivering, face flushed, and eyes shimmering.
Madara leaned in closer, whispering, "You make the sweetest sounds when you're like this. Perhaps I should keep going until you stop thinking entirely."
Tobirama's breath hitched, his vision blurring further as he struggled to hold on to what little composure he had left.
His trembling hands, already numb from fatigue, were forced to grip the hardened shafts of Madara's two clones. Each clone held his wrists firmly, guiding his fingers along their heated flesh, the friction relentless and inescapable.
His fingers, barely able to curl properly from exhaustion, were dragged up and down by the clones' unrelenting grip, each movement slow and deliberate. No matter how much Tobirama's arms ached, there was no reprieve.
"Keep going," one of the clones whispered, tightening its hold on Tobirama's wrist until he winced. His fingers involuntarily tightened around the thick shafts, the heat and weight of each one becoming unbearable. A cold chill ran through his spine at the thought of how something so large, so invasive, could fit inside him without tearing him apart entirely.
Tobirama's arms burned with fatigue, every muscle screaming for relief, yet the clones showed no mercy. Each deliberate stroke they forced from him was accompanied by a silent plea in his mind
Please, just let this end...
Each thick shaft twitched in his trembling grasp, demanding more from him despite the ache searing through his arms. Tobirama’s fingers, nearly numb, struggled to keep pace as the clones held him firmly in place.
Inside him, the real Madara continued his slow assault, every thrust pushing deeper into Tobirama.
The heat of Madara's rigid length was unbearable, filling him completely, every movement sending waves of pain and unwanted heat through his worn-out body.
Tobirama clenched his teeth, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.
Every slow thrust dragged against his raw, sensitive walls, sending involuntary jolts of pain through his body. He could barely breathe, overwhelmed by the sensation of Madara's unrelenting size pressing into him.
The real Madara remained as composed as ever, his chakra seemingly limitless, unwavering, and suffocating.
Tobirama's mind spiraled with despair.
How can he be so unbothered, even after summoning multiple clones while still... doing this?
Tobirama had spent years perfecting the Shadow Clone jutsu, yet even one clone strained his chakra. And here Madara was, controlling multiple clones with effortless ease, dominating Tobirama without breaking a sweat.
As Tobirama learned to master the art of this technique, he also discovered something unsettling.
The clones weren’t just mere reflections of his strength—they were mirrors of his inner turmoil, embodying the same deep-seated emotions, desires, and fears that haunted him.
Each clone was a silent echo of his fractured self, a reflection of the turmoil he tried so desperately to suppress.
It was then that Tobirama's thoughts flickered back to the past, to the first time he had created a clone of Madara.
That clone had been a reflection of his own heart—a version of Madara who was warm, steady, a comforting presence he could lean on. Tobirama had created that clone because, deep down, he had always seen Madara as something more than an enemy. He had admired Madara.
But now, the clones summoned by Madara were nothing like that.
They weren't a source of comfort.
They were manifestations of Madara's raw, unrestrained desire. They surrounded Tobirama, held him down, denied him escape. These clones, fueled by lust, moved with a singular purpose: to keep Tobirama trapped, to bind him with both their physical strength and the weight of Madara's will.
Tobirama’s hands continued to be used, the heat of their flesh burning into his palms. Every part of him felt overpowered, reduced to nothing more than a vessel for Madara's control.
Tears blurred Tobirama's vision as he struggled to breathe. He had once seen Madara as someone beyond his reach, someone to admire from afar. But now, as Madara's grip tightened on his body and his clones used his hands for their pleasure, Tobirama could only think of how far he had fallen.
How utterly powerless he was against the man he once admired and envied.
Tobirama's mind drifted in and out of clarity, every nerve in his body strung taut from exhaustion.
He barely registered Madara's irritated voice cutting through the haze of his thoughts.
"Losing focus again?" Madara's tone was deceptively light, almost playful, yet laced with a sharpness that made Tobirama tense instinctively.
Before Tobirama could gather his bearings, a sharp jolt of sensation shot through him as Madara's teeth clamped down on his already sensitive nipple, just enough to send a sharp pang of pain shooting through his body.
The searing pain made Tobirama tense up, though it did nothing to dissuade the man. Instead, Madara only tightened his grip, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk as he saw Tobirama flinch under his touch.
The bite left deep indentations on the reddened skin, the delicate nub now swollen and throbbing painfully. Even the slightest brush of air against it made Tobirama's entire frame shiver, torn between agony and a mortifying sensitivity he couldn't ignore.
"Don't tense up so much—it'll hurt more if you do," Madara muttered.
Only when Madara was satisfied with the flush of red staining Tobirama's skin did he relent. Slowly, he let his tongue trace over the abused nipple, as though soothing the marks his teeth had left.
The warmth of Madara’s breath and the teasing flicks of his tongue against the raw, swollen flesh made Tobirama's breath hitch, his body betraying him once more. The pain mingled with an unwelcome heat, forcing a ragged gasp from his lips.
At that moment, Madara's two clones reached their climax, releasing thick streams of hot fluid that splattered across Tobirama's trembling form.
Especially his face.
Tobirama lay there, stunned, frozen by the overwhelming sensation. His breath hitched as he felt the sticky warmth clinging to his skin, sliding down in slow rivulets. His mind went blank, unable to process what had just happened.
Instinctively, Tobirama’s hand twitched, moving to wipe the viscous liquid from his eyes, but before he could, Madara caught his wrist in a firm grip.
"Don't," Madara whispered, his voice low and soothing. "It'll sting if it gets in your eyes," Madara murmured, voice calm, almost gentle.
He brought Tobirama's trembling hand closer to his mouth, brushing his lips over the stained fingertips before licking them slowly.
Tobirama shuddered at the sensation, his breath coming out in shallow gasps, his body reacting involuntarily to every deliberate movement.
"Let me clean it for you," Madara continued.
As Madara's hand skillfully wiped the traces of his clones' release from Tobirama's flushed face, his other hand didn't remain idle. With an agonizing slowness, he thrust into Tobirama, each movement precise and measured, designed to prolong the unbearable tension coiling inside Tobirama's body.
Though Tobirama lay motionless, his wide, dazed eyes fixated on Madara, the warmth inside him only grew stronger. Madara‘s hips moved slowly, pushing his hardness deeper into Tobirama's body with a deliberate, maddening rhythm, all while maintaining that steady, unyielding gaze.
Every thrust sent a fresh wave of heat through his core.
Madara chuckled softly, his hand tracing the damp, trembling skin of Tobirama. He whispered, voice low and raspy, "Tobirama, you're really lewd. No matter how hard I go, your tight little hole keeps clinging to me... as if it never wants to let me go."
Before Tobirama could process the words, he felt Madara's hand trace along the point where their bodies were connected. A shiver ran down Tobirama’s spine. The sheer vulnerability of his position, coupled with Madara's calm, controlling demeanor, made him feel utterly exposed.
Madara's fingers traced the inner curve of Tobirama's thighs, his touch slow and deliberate as if savoring the heat radiating from his prey. With a wicked smile, he parted Tobirama's legs further apart, his eyes gleaming with something dark and insatiable.
"I wonder.." Madara murmured, leaning closer. "Could this lewd little hole take another one? You're so tight, yet so eager, Tobirama. I'm curious if it could handle more." His voice was laced with amusement.
Tobirama lay flat on his back, dazed, too drained to react. But those words snapped him out of his stupor.
Tobirama’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he instinctively tried to close his legs, only to find Madara's firm grip keeping him in place.
A cold sweat broke out across Tobirama's forehead. He could feel the heat of Madara's gaze, the way it devoured every inch of his exposed, trembling body. Madara met his panicked stare with a smirk, clearly relishing the fear that flickered in his crimson eyes.
"What's the matter?" Madara whispered, fingers now dangerously close to the place where their bodies were still intimately joined. "Don't tell me you're scared. You didn't seem so scared a moment ago.."
Madara's hands gripped Tobirama's trembling thighs, forcing them apart with deliberate ease, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he murmured.
"Why are you clenching around me so tightly?" His tone was almost teasing, but Tobirama could feel the weight of control behind it.
Before Tobirama could respond, the two shadow clones approached, their expressions impassive yet predatory.
They moved in tandem, lifting Tobirama upright as if positioning a doll. Their hands roamed over his exposed body, trailing from his waist to the sensitive spot where Madara's thick length remained buried deep inside him. One clone's hand rested lightly on the stretched rim of his entrance, fingers grazing over the swollen, overworked flesh.
Tobirama tensed up, his breath quickening as he felt those fingers lingering near his overstretched entrance, swollen and sore from the relentless abuse. His body trembled, instinctively recoiling from the impending violation.
"No... please, no.." Tobirama gasped between sobs, his voice cracking under the weight of desperation. He writhed weakly in their grip, but they held him steady, indifferent to his pleas. He could feel the mounting pressure of their fingers, as if they were testing whether his battered body could take more, whether they could force something else inside him.
Madara watched it all unfold with an eerie calm, his dark gaze fixed on Tobirama's tear-streaked face. He seemed content to let his clones toy with the trembling figure before him, savoring the way Tobirama's composure unraveled with every passing second.
"You know what they want, don't you?" Madara's voice was low, almost a whisper. He grabbed Tobirama's chin, tilting his head up so their eyes met. Tobirama's face was flushed with exhaustion and dread, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.
With trembling hands, Tobirama reached out, clutching Madara's wrist as tightly as his weakening body allowed. His voice was barely a whisper, broken by choked sobs.
"Please... I can't... They can't... It won't fit. It'll tear... please..." Each word fell from his lips with increasing fragility.
Madara's gaze flicked down to Tobirama's small hands gripping him desperately, then shifted to his clones, giving them a silent signal to withdraw.
They obeyed without question, releasing Tobirama and stepping back.
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them, save for the ragged sound of Tobirama's breathing.
Slowly, Madara pulled out, his length leaving Tobirama's trembling body with an audible, wet sound. Tobirama flinched, collapsing onto the cold floor in exhaustion.
Madara's gaze softened, though only slightly, as he gently brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair from Tobirama's face.
"If you don't want my clones to fuck you until you can't stand, then satisty me yourself." Madara murmured, the faint curve of his lips forming a smile that only deepened as he observed the confusion and reluctance flicker across Tobirama's face.
"Come on, Tobirama," he continued. "Please me, and if you make me feel good, I might spare you from them."
Madara leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving Tobirama, a predator watching his prey with detached amusement.
Tobirama inhaled sharply, his heart pounding in his chest. His body was trembling, not from fear alone, but from the exhaustion that had seeped into his very bones. His legs felt weak, barely able to hold him steady, yet he forced them to move.
Slowly, hesitantly, Tobirama climbed onto Madara's lap, his legs straddling the man before him.
A drop of sweat slid down Tobirama's temple, tracing a slow path along his flushed skin. His breath was shallow and uneven, and though he tried to steady himself, his knees quivered from fatigue. The aftermath of their earlier sex lingered in his aching body—every muscle sore, every nerve frayed.
Madara said nothing, simply watching as Tobirama struggled to gather the courage to act.
The silence was oppressive, pressing down on Tobirama like a weight. He didn't know what to do, how to move, how to please Madara in a way that would earn his mercy. His fingers clenched at his sides, his mind racing with uncertainty and shame.
Yet beneath the humiliation, beneath the trembling fear, lay a flicker of something else—resentment, perhaps, or despair at his own helplessness.
"Go on," Madara urged, his voice soft but relentless. His smile widened ever so slightly, a satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "I'm waiting."
Tobirama's breath caught in his throat. Yet, even as he forced his hands to move, reaching out toward Madara's chest, he couldn't suppress the trembling in his fingertips.
Tobirama parted the sensitive opening, hesitating as his hand guided Madara's thick length toward his body.
Every inch pressed inward slowly, unrelenting, until the entirety of Madara's shaft was buried deep within him.
For a moment, Tobirama could do nothing but gasp—his mind splintering between pain and the disorienting weight of being filled so completely.
A searing ache bloomed within him, a pain that seemed to reach into the very core of his being, as though Madara's presence inside him was pressing against everything fragile he had left.
It hurts...
Tobirama could feel every vein of Madara's cock pulsing inside him.
Tobirama's breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. He bit his lip hard, trying to steady himself. The sensation was unbearable, like every part of his insides was being twisted and stretched beyond its limits.
Madara's gaze never faltered as Tobirama fought against the overwhelming stretch caused by the thick length buried deep inside him. The fullness was unbearable, every nerve screaming in protest.
"Until l've come, Tobirama... it's far from over." Madara's voice was low, as if savoring every moment of Tobirama's silent struggle.
Tobirama’s heart clenched painfully, shame mingling with helpless frustration. The weight of those words was as heavy as the sensation of Madara buried deep within him.
With trembling hands, Tobirama braced himself against Madara's chest, using it as leverage to lift himself ever so slightly. Every movement was excruciating—a sharp, searing pain that burned through him with each agonizing descent. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he forced himself to continue.
God... it hurts...
The intensity was relentless, like a cruel trial that had no end in sight.
And yet, despite the pain, despite the overwhelming humiliation, Tobirama pressed on, determined to endure. He bit back every cry,
Each time Tobirama sank down, he felt the maddening pressure of Madara's cock filling him completely, dragging against the sensitive walls of his body. The thought of that thick shaft buried to the hilt inside him, stretching him beyond his limit, made Tobirama shiver.
Sweat trickled down Tobirama's temples as he forced himself to move again, the slick heat of Madara's cock making every motion torturous.
His legs trembled with exhaustion, barely supporting his weight, but he pushed himself to keep going—knowing full well that stopping would only invite the two shadow clones looming nearby to claim him.
Tobirama could feel their burning gazes locked onto his vulnerable body. The thought of being subjected to their relentless desires made Tobirama’s chest tighten with dread.
And yet, even in this overwhelming despair, Tobirama kept enduring, because he had no other choice.
Tobirama’s eyes flicked upward now and then, furtively searching Madara's expression.
Madara's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his smirk deepening each time Tobirama faltered.
And Madara’s cock inside Tobirama showed no sign of relief despite the relentless friction. The weight of Madara's cock buried deep inside him was unbearable—hot, rigid, and throbbing with an almost cruel intensity. He could feel every pulse, every twitch, as though Madara's sheer presence was branding itself into his very core.
What should I do now? The question echoed in Tobirama’s mind, but there was no answer—only Madara's unwavering gaze and the silent, insatiable hunger of the clones waiting for their turn.
The strain was becoming too much, and for a brief moment, Tobirama felt as if he might collapse entirely.
Before Tobirama could even process what was happening, Madara's firm grip tightened around his waist, anchoring him in place.
Without any further warning, Madara thrust upward, his thick length driving into Tobirama's trembling body with brutal precision.
Tobirama gasped sharply, a startled cry escaping his lips before he could suppress it. His mind reeled, trying to regain control, but his body reacted on instinct alone, every nerve ignited by the sudden, overwhelming sensation.
"Ah..." Tobirama bit his lip, trying to hold back the sounds threatening to spill from his mouth.
His hands gripped Madara's shoulders as he tried to steady himself. Pain lingered, but it was quickly overtaken by something deeper—an unfamiliar sensation that made his legs tremble.
Madara's lips curled into a soft smile as he leaned closer, his breath warm against Tobirama's ear.
"Tobirama... you feel that, don't you?" Madara whispered, his voice low and velvety, sending shivers down Tobirama's spine.
Tobirama's heart pounded wildly, shame burning his cheeks. He wanted to deny it, but his body reacted instinctively to the relentless stimulation.
Before Tobirama could muster a response, Madara's hips surged forward again, each thrust unrelenting, calculated to exploit the sensitivity he had just discovered.
A sharp gasp escaped Tobirama's lips as Madara thrust deeper, hitting something inside him that sent a jolt of pleasure through his body. For a moment, Tobirama couldn't tell if it was pain or something more unbearable—something that made his entire body tremble. His breath hitched, and heat flooded his face as he clenched his fists in frustration.
"You're so sensitive here, Tobirama..." Madara whispered, his voice carrying a dangerous mix of affection and desire. "If I keep thrusting right here, I wonder how long you'll last."
Tears welled up in Tobirama's eyes, not from the pain alone, but from the helplessness that now consumed him. He wanted to resist, to fight back, but each driving motion shattered his resolve a little more. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the air, punctuated by his ragged breaths and the heat pooling in places he wished he could ignore.
“You little fool,” Madara murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Always trying so hard… but that’s what makes you so lovable.”
Tobirama's breath hitched, fear and sensation mixing in a confusing whirlwind as he instinctively wrapped his arms around Madara's neck, seeking some semblance of balance.
His body trembled from overstimulation, the growing heat between his legs betraying his attempts to resist. His own arousal, already sensitive from the relentless friction against Madara's toned abdomen, betrayed him as it stirred to full attention.
Madara noticed, of course. He always noticed.
Madara’s hand moved with deliberate ease, wrapping around Tobirama's hardened length and stroking with a rhythm designed to unravel him.
A strangled gasp escaped Tobirama's lips.
He clung tighter, burying his face in the crook of Madara's neck as helpless whimpers fell from his mouth, each one more desperate than the last.
Tobirama didn't know where to focus—whether on the merciless grip around his aching arousal or the overwhelming pressure from behind, where Madara's unyielding cock continued to claim him.
Pleasure and pain blurred together until Tobirama could no longer distinguish between them. His mind spiraled into chaos, and in that moment of surrender, he came undone.
His release spilled between them, staining Madara's chest, abs, and hand, which was still firmly wrapped around his length.
Yet even in that moment, Tobirama couldn't tell if his climax was from the skilled hand teasing his length or the relentless assault on the sensitive spot deep within him.
At the same time, Madara groaned deeply, his grip tightening on Tobirama's waist as Madara buried himself fully inside, flooding Tobirama's trembling body with his climax. The heat of Madara's release filled him so completely that Tobirama could feel it seeping out, trickling down his thighs and pooling on the sheets beneath them.
Their bodies trembled in unison, chests rising and falling as they struggled to catch their breath. Tobirama's mind swirled in a haze of pleasure and exhaustion, unable to fully comprehend the intensity of what had just happened. He felt the sticky warmth of his own release smeared across Madara's skin, contrasting with the slickness of Madara's seed still dripping from his entrance.
All Tobirama knew was the warmth flooding his senses and the way his body collapsed, spent, against Madara's chest.
A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled from Madara as he held Tobirama close, fingers threading through silver hair damp with sweat. His voice, usually edged with arrogance, softened just enough to sound almost affectionate.
"You little fool," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Tobirama's temple. "Must I teach you everything myself?"
Tobirama barely registered the words, his consciousness fading into exhaustion, though he caught the faint echo of Madara's murmur.
Tobirama didn't have the strength to resist, nor the clarity to understand how deeply Madara's gaze burned with something beyond desire.
Had Tobirama been aware, he might have realized how close Madara had been to losing control entirely, how the awkward, hesitant movements of Tobirama earlier had driven him to the brink of impatience. Each uncoordinated motion only served to drive Madara closer to the edge—there was something maddeningly arousing about watching Tobirama struggle, his breath hitching with each attempt.
Tobirama might have understood how Madara's possessive streak ran deeper than lust, how even the clones created by Madara himself weren't allowed to touch him—not because they were unworthy, but because to Madara, Tobirama was his. Entirely, irrevocably his.
But Tobirama didn't know. He couldn't have known.
All he felt in those final moments before oblivion was the steady rhythm of Madara's heart against his ear, lulling him into a fragile peace, unaware that he was cradled in the arms of a man who would never let him go.