A Regular, Mundane Date....Or Not
~*~*~*~*~
Tobirama waited for him outside the mansion's massive double doors, leaning against his silver sports car, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked good, and it absolutely wasn't fair that something so casual could also look so….delectable. He wore dark gray pants and a white button down shirt, tucked into his pants and with the top 4 buttons undone, exposing a significant portion of his lower neck and chest.
His gaze was intense as he watched Madara stroll down the steps towards him, eyes flicking up and down a few times. “You look nice,” Madara said lowly, giving Tobirama as casual a look over as possible. Tobirama’s lip curled in the corner, a mockery of a smile.
“And you look like you walked out of a dream,” he replied, straightening up and opening the passenger door for him. Madara snorted, stepping past him and slipping into the seat.
“I look like a hooker,” he complained. Surprisingly, Tobirama laughed, closing the door and circling around the front of the car. He was still chuckling when he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, bringing it to life with a rumbling purr. They pulled away from the mansion, cruising down the driveway. The wide gates opened automatically for them, and as soon as they were on the main strip of road, Tobirama accelerated to very illegal speeds, racing down the highway and passing every other vehicle.
“Maybe you do, but I think it’s sexy,” he said, glancing over at him.
“Of course you do,” Madara snorted. “You practically picked it out for me.”
“Not true. I simply told Kawarama to tell you you should wear it.”
“Exactly my point.” He waved down at himself. “Where exactly are we going? Cuz if it’s public I am not stepping out of this car. Not dressed like this.”
Tobirama snorted. “You look fine, stop worrying.” With one hand on the wheel, he reached out and rested his other on Madara’s leg, just above his knee. His touch was light, cautious, like he was testing the waters, seeing if Madara would accept a touch.
Madara stared at his hand for a moment, then huffed, looking out the window. He had nothing to say about it, so far. If he was going to give Tobirama at least a tiny bit of a chance to prove himself, he had to actually let him try. So, he elected not to push his hand off like he wanted.
“If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t be upset if you wore that style more often,” Tobirama added after a minute, his thumb absentmindedly stroking up and down his thigh. Madara hummed.
“Yeah, sure. It’s not the most comfortable outfit.” And it wasn’t. The black and silver sequins sewn into the fabric of his shirt itched, and the cut outs of his pants where bare skin was exposed were uncomfortably cold. He liked being warm, and what he wore right now did not do that for him.
Tobirama shook his head, either amused or exasperated, and sped up a little more. They raced over the highway, and Madara gazed quietly out the window, trying to figure out if the landscape looked familiar or not. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t, but he also didn’t spend a lot of time outside the city.
And even if it did, what then? What good would that knowledge do? It’s not like he’d be able to sneak out and make it all the way back home. And even if he did, Tobirama and his crew knew exactly where he lived, where he worked, where he studied. And most likely where all his family lived too. It wouldn’t surprise him if Tobirama kept tabs on them as well.
The rest of the drive was quiet as they entered the city, and Tobirama navigated through the streets and traffic like he had a death wish. At long last, they finally pulled up to a lake front restaurant that looked entirely too fancy, and much too public. It seemed like the kind of place where there weren’t prices on the menu.
Tobirama pulled right up to the doors, leaving the car running and sliding out gracefully. A valet opened Madara’s door, bowing neatly at the waist as Tobirama came around, holding out a hand for him. Madara balked.
“There’s too many people,” he hissed, shrinking back into his seat and eying the restaurant patrons. Tobirama raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s not that bad. We get a private booth.”
“Do I have to walk past people to get there?”
His lip twitched. “Yes.”
“Then no thank you.”
“Madara, come on,” Tobirama grumbled, firmly, but with an amused lilt. Madara shook his head, cringing away.
“Noooo, not dressed like this! I look like-”
“You look fine,” Tobirama cut off, leaning down and grabbing his hand, pulling him out of the car and onto his feet. “No one will judge you here, and if they do look at you, it’ll be because they’re jealous they don’t look nearly as fine. Now come on, princess.” With a firm tug, he pulled Madara along, adjusting his grip to loop his arm around Madara’s waist. His hold was almost possessive, in a way, and Madara couldn’t decide how he felt about it.
The host greeted them with familiarity. “Good evening, Senju-sama,” he said, bowing sharply at the waist and holding it for a few moments too long. “How have things been? We’ve missed your presence here.”
“Busy as always,” Tobirama said coolly, drawing Madara a little closer to him.
“Of course. Right this way, sir.” With a wave of his hand, the host led deeper into the restaurant.
“You seem well known here,” Madara muttered quietly, avoiding looking at anyone else, but conscious of the looks they got.
“I am,” Tobirama said dryly. “I do a fair bit of business here.”
“What kind of business?” Madara asked warily, and Tobirama glanced over at him with a sly expression.
“Oh, you know. Not the normal, mundane, legal kind. But since I promised you this would be a normal and boring and mundane night, I won’t delve into it.”
“How kind of you,” he said sarcastically, as the host led them out the restaurant and onto the back patio, built right on the water. It was lit up with gentle white lights, casting the whole thing in a cozy glow, and the patio was virtually empty of patrons. Their host seated them right next to the rail, overlooking the water, and he had to admit, it was a nice set up.
They were brought a bottle of wine right away, the expensive kind, and Tobirama poured them both a glass. Before handing one to Madara, he gave him a narrow eyed stare. “You’re not going to dump this over my head like last time, are you? Because this is expensive, and I will be very unhappy if you do.”
Despite himself, Madar smiled a little. “I will not dump this over your head,” he promised, and Tobirama gave a satisfied hum, handing it over. It was rich, smooth, and surprisingly good. Tobirama nudged a menu over to him meaningfully, and he obediently gave it a curious look over. He had been right before. There were no prices listed.
“This place is….very posh,” he said delicately, and Tobirama huffed.
“That’s one way to put it. See anything you like? They usually ask for your order pretty quick, so I suggest you make up your mind.”
“And I assume you already have made your decision.”
“I’m here a lot,” he said with a shrug. Madara hummed, glancing over the menu again, deciding on the first thing he saw and relaying it back to their server when he came around barely half a minute later. When he was gone, he leaned forward, interlacing his fingers and gazing at Tobirama intently.
“What got you into this life?” he asked, and Tobirama frowned.
“I grew up into it.”
“Okay, but you took over this whole operation,” Madara pointed out. “You could have left it to Hashirama or one of your other brothers. Why did you choose to take over?”
“I was the only viable option our father had,” Tobirama said simply. “Kawarama and Itama are too young. And Hashirama, he….” He paused, searching for words. “He is a strong man, but to be the head of a family that makes its living off of crime, you have to have certain characteristics. And Hashirama simply doesn’t have them. He can’t distance himself from the necessary brutality. It stays with him. The death that comes with this job. He will kill, and he’s good at it, but he doesn’t have it in him to pull information from someone. He’s efficient, and quick. Torture, or prolonging someone’s pain and suffering….he can’t do that.”
“And you can?” Madara prodded. Tobirama leaned forward as well, elbows on the table.
“I can. It takes practice. It takes something inhuman to be able to kill, to torture. To look a dying man in the eyes and demand what you want to know without feeling any remorse. Or to punish a man for messing up a trade by removing a finger. Sometimes you feel like you become a whole other person, and you forget who you truly are at your core.”
“And have you forgotten?” Madara pushed, carefully. He was surprised he was getting this much information already, and he didn’t want to push Tobirama away with any questions that were too deep.
Tobirama leaned back again, giving him a long look. “Sometimes I feel like I have,” he admitted. “Sometimes I do things, or say things, or even think things, and I see it in my brother's eyes. I see the wariness, the fear. And that reminds me to lose the mask, to be a brother and not a crime syndicate leader.”
“Well, you seem to be doing a good job of that,” Madara mused, pausing when their server came by with their meals. He waited until he was gone before continuing. “Your brothers have nothing but good things to say about you.”
“Is that why you agreed to come with me tonight?” Tobirama asked flatley. Madara sighed, sipping his wine.
“They gave me reason to believe that you weren’t the terrible person I thought you to be.”
“And has your opinion of me changed since we first met?”
“That remains to be seen.”
Tobirama hummed, digging into his meal, and Madara mimicked him. “Let me ask you something now,” Tobirama said after a few minutes. “Are you looking forward to going back to work?”
“Obviously. I like my job.”
“What about school?”
“I like that less, but nevertheless, I enjoy learning. And eventually, it’ll pay off, and I’ll be able to help people more.”
“You know, you’re a bit of an enigma,” Tobirama mused. “You act so…..So cold, I suppose. It’s like you try to pretend to be brash and rude, but it’s all an act for you, hiding something soft within.”
“You mean like yourself?” Madara shot back. “Pretending to be a big bag mafia boss and wearing this mask of coldness and brutalness to hide the fact that you care more for your family than anything else?”
Tobirama was quiet for a moment, staring at him, and Madara stared back. Finally, he cracked a tiny smile, lifting his glass to him. “I suppose so. We are alike, in that way.”
“Maybe we are,” Madara sighed, lifting his own glass and tapping it against Tobirama’s. They downed the rest of their drink, and Tobirama was swift to refill their glasses. The rest of the meal passed by in silence, and when they finished, Madara leaned forward again. In truth, he had barely thought about the taste of it, his mind too wrapped up in the mystery of a man before him.
“How long have you been in charge of your…syndicate?”
“Give or take 4 years. Maybe 5. Years fade together in this line of work.”
“Don’t be mad at me for this next question.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“How many people have you killed?”
Tobirama smiled sharply, like a grinning wolf about to descend on its prey. “At least one for every week I’ve been in charge, and then some.”
“That’s a lot,” Madara mused. “Do you regret any of them?”
“No.” His tone was firm, final, and absolute. “I do what is necessary for my syndicate to survive and thrive. This city belongs to me, and I will protect it. Sometimes that requires sacrifice.”
Madara nodded slowly, mentally digesting this newfound knowledge. He was about to open his mouth to ask another question, when Tobirama suddenly sat up ramrod straight, his loose, easy expression abruptly turning stony. “Don’t say a word,” he muttered lowly to him, his lips barely moving. He turned in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee and slouching back in his seat again, the very picture of a cool, confident mafia boss.
A man stepped onto the patio, pushing open the double doors and strolling across the deck towards them with the prowling grace of a hunting panther. Four other men accompanied him, and all 5 had matching tattoos on their neck.
“Tobirama-san,” the lead man purred, grabbing a chair from an empty table and dragging it roughly across the wood, spinning it about and taking a seat at their table. He grabbed their wine bottle, and took a hearty swig. “It’s been too long, my friend!”
“Jiro,” Tobirama said frostily, the calm, almost warmth in his eyes and voice completely taken over with ice.
“One of my boys told me you were here,” Jiro said casually. “I thought I’d swing by, have a little chat about our…previous disagreement. I thought I might convince you to change your mind about-”
“I appreciate your tenacity, Jiro,” Tobirama cut in coldly. “But I have made up my mind, and no still means no. Besides, tonight I am not here on business.”
Jiro raised his bushy eyebrows, finally looking over at Madara. “Ahhhhh. Hello darling. On a date are we, Tobirama?”
Tobirama inhaled deeply, like he was trying not to snap. “As I said, I am not here for business.”
“Ha.” Jiro glanced over at Madara again, looking him up and down. “You’ve got good taste, Tobirama-san. Very nice.”
“I’m aware. If you’re really concerned about your current position, maybe I can be convinced to look again at your case, but until then, I suggest you leave us be.” His voice turned to steel, but Jiro didn’t seem to care.
“I can’t wait that long,” he said lowly, leaning forward. “You don’t know what you’re doing here, Senju. Your decision will lose my organization millions. If you don’t rethink this-”
“I have made my decision, Jiro,” Tobirama snarled, hands curling into fists. “Be grateful I’ve elected to be merciful enough to allow your pitiful little group to continue existing. But now I may be rethinking that mercy.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing dangerously. “I suggest you take your next steps carefully, Jiro.”
Jiro inclined his head. “Should I? I know you have no guards today. No security. No one here but you and your pretty pet tonight. I’d wager you don’t even have any weapons on you. It looks to me like this is exactly the right time to convince you to change your mind. After all….” He glanced over at one of his men, nodding just a little. “It seems like I happen to have some leverage here.”
Tobirama sat up straighter, tensing like a predator ready to pounce, and that should have been warning enough. A hand clamped down on Madara’s shoulder, but to his credit, he managed not to react, other than turning his head to glare up at the man who silently stalked up to him from behind. He was a big man, and a large, unsheathed knife hung from his belt. A silent threat.
“Wherever did you find something so pretty,” Jiro cooed, reaching over to brush his fingers over Madara’s cheek, then trailing down along his jaw to his chin. “Does he know the monstrosities you’ve committed?” The man behind him tightened his grip on his shoulder.
Tobirama looked ready to explode, but he held himself together. “I have made my decision, Jiro,” he growled again, low and dangerous. “Do not make me worsen your fate.”
“No, I have a new bargain to drive,” Jiro countered. “Let my group settle. We’ll continue paying tribute to you, this is your city after all. I promise we will not attempt to usurp your syndicate, just let us plant our roots.”
“I’ve decided you can no longer remain because of very specific reasons, Jiro. And you are not currently helping your own case.”
“Am I not?” Jiro countered. “Let me change the deal then. You hear me out, you let my group do our business, and I’ll let you walk out of here with your pretty kitten unscratched.”
The hand on Madara’s shoulder slid up higher, curling around the nape of his neck, fingers fisting in his hair and tugging his head back just a little, leaving no need to imagine the vulnerability he was teetering on. Madara froze, glancing over at Tobirama, whose expression turned murderous.
“One more wrong word, and I will bring the full might of my syndicate raining down on your heads,” he hissed. “The small amount of fealty fees I get from you mean nothing to me.”
“And does he mean nothing to you?” Jiro asked, tilting his head at Madara. “I’m sure you’ve had many lovers, so is he just another pretty little thing for you to play with and abandon? Or is this one…different? Seeing as you are already displaying that famous temper of yours, I’d say this one is important. What does he mean to you, Tobirama? What would you give to protect him?”
The man with his hand on Madara’s neck adjusted once more, reaching past him to put a hand on the table, leaning his weight on it and hovering over him. Madara glanced down at his hand, suddenly struck by inspiration. Slowly, he reached for his wine glass, aware of Jiro and his men tensing in response to his movement. He drew it back to him, taking a delicate sip, and then placing it back down on the table in a different spot, right next to their dishes.
The moment he let go, he seized a steak knife resting on the plate, spun the blade about, and stabbed it through the top of the man's hand, driving it completely through his hand and into the table.
The man roared with pain, flinching back, and Jiro turned with alarm, as if expecting Madara to turn the blade on him. But Madara just curled his fingers around the hilt, and twisted the blade brutally hard, bringing a fresh bount of cursing and staining the white table cloths with blood as the man crumpled to his knees, his face turning pale with pain.
“I don’t need Tobirama to protect me,” he said calmly, concealing the anxiety he felt within. “I can protect myself just fine. Your threats mean nothing here.”
Jiro’s face flushed with rage. “You bitch,” he snarled, standing up and shoving his chair back. He stepped towards him, extending a hand, as though to grab him. “You dare to think that you-”
Instinctively, Madara stood as well, ducking under his outstretched arm, and stepped around him. He grabbed a fistful of Jiro’s oily black hair, seizing his arm and twisting his wrist behind his back painfully. With the momentum of his movement and his hold on his wrist, he heaved his weight forward, shoving Jiro’s head down and slamming him face down on the table, snagging Tobirama’s steak knife and pressing it against the side of his neck.
“I would think twice,” he warned, lips close to the man's ear. “A scalpel is my preferred blade of choice, but I’m sure I could carve something pretty out of you with a crude thing like this.”
He lingered for a moment longer, letting his threat settle, then released the man, reclaiming his seat and tossing the knife aside. Then he yanked the other knife from the first man’s hand, and took another sip of wine, meeting Tobirama’s gaze as Jiro straightened back up.
Tobirama’s gaze had changed to fiery with its intensity, and it sent a shiver up Madara’s spine, briefly making him wonder if he stepped out of line, if he did something he shouldn’t have done.
“As you can see, we don’t need any security,” Tobirama drawled, finally looking away and giving Jiro an amused look. “Clearly, the kitten has claws, don’t you think? Much more than just a pretty face, I would say. Now, get out of here before I kill you.”
For a moment, Jiro stood there fuming, fists clenched with rage. But like most, his damaged pride showed his lack of spine, and he spun around, stomping away. His men followed close behind, one cradling his badly wounded hand. As soon as they were gone, their waiter hurried toward them, a distraught expression on his face.
“I’m terribly sorry for the disturbance, Senju-sama!” he said hurriedly, wringing his hands together. “Please, we have another table set up for you already, just over here, and-”
“Don’t bother, we were just finishing up anyways,” Tobirama interrupted, downing the rest of his wine and standing. “Put it on the tab, and add the cost of replacing…this.” He waved a hand at the blood stained tablecloth resulting from Madara’s little display. “Come on.”
Madara couldn’t tell if he was angry or not, so he was quiet as he stood up as well. He let Tobirama take his hand without complaint, guiding him out the restaurant. The silver sports car had already been pulled up, and it was idling quietly at the doors. Tobirama brushed off the valet, opening Madara’s door for him, and he wordlessly slipped into the passenger seat.
When Tobirama got in, he immediately put the car in gear and roared away. The drive back was deathly quiet, and Tobirama gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
It was disconcerting, not being able to tell what the Senju was thinking. Not wanting to risk his wrath, he held his tongue the entire way back to the Senju estate.
Tobirama left the car in front of the mansion when they arrived, shutting off the engine and coming around the car to open Madara’s door. Slightly annoyed with the overdoing of chivalry, Madara pursed his lips, but elected not to complain. Instead, he let Tobirama guide him into the house with a hand at the small of his back, steering him through the halls and up the stairs to his room.
At the doors, Tobirama paused, turning Madara around with a hand on his shoulder and stepping forward, pressing Madara back against the door. The intensity of his stare had his throat drying, and Tobirama leaned forward a little, one hand slowly traveling up his arm, curling around the side of his neck.
“Madara,” he said lowly, his voice tight and his fingers curling a little, like he was barely restraining himself. “Can I kiss you?”
The question took Madara off guard, and he blinked, staring up at Tobirama uncomprehendingly. “What?”
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Can I kiss you?” he repeated, slowly, hoarsely.
Madara stared at him for a moment longer, eyes unconsciously flicking down to his lips. Ah, what the hell. “Okay,” he whispered, surprisingly himself, and not even a heartbeat later, Tobirama was sweeping down, hands coming up to cup his face, and kissing him.
He kissed like he did everything else: with purposeful intent and not withholding anything. He kissed him like he wanted to devour him, like he wanted to consume his very being, everything that he was.
Unbidden, a quiet whimper escaped from Madara’s lips, and that only seemed to invigorate the Senju. His hands tightened, clenching his face, his neck, fingers curling into his hair, and pressing impossibly closer, molding them together and pressing Madara firmly against the solid surface behind him.
The kiss was intoxicating, and without thinking, Madara clenched the edges of the unbuttoned top of Tobirama’s shirt, curling his fingers into the fabric and pulling him closer, the feeling of his smooth skin brushing against his fingers sending figurative sparks tingling along his spine.
With a sharp inhalation, almost a gasp, Tobirama drew back, his breath ragged. “Dammit, Uchiha, do you have any idea how badly I wanted you back there?” he demanded, almost in an accusing tone of voice. “Do you have any idea how much self-control it took to not just take you right there?”
Normally, Madara would have been put off by what he said, but oddly enough, it now sent a rush of heat flooding through him, and he let his head fall back against the door. Tobirama immediately leaned in, brushing his lips against his neck, teeth grazing his skin teasingly, his breath warm.
“Why?” he managed to rasp out, and Tobirama nipped at his neck gently.
“Because I have a weakness for hot nurses kicking people’s asses,” he purred, mouthing his way back up along his neck to reclaim his lips. Madara hummed, nipping Tobirama’s bottom lip. The Senju growled in response, tilting Madara’s head back a little further to deepen the kiss. During it, he didn’t notice his hands leaving, sliding down his arms.
Abruptly, the solid surface behind Madara’s back vanished, as Tobirama reached past him, fumbling with the door handle before finally managing to push the door open, nudging Madara into the room. His hands slid back around to his waist, holding firmly and walking him backwards into the room.
The door swung shut behind them, but Madara was barely aware of it, too distracted by Tobirama’s enthusiastic, demanding lips, the feeling of his hands wiggling under his shirt, working it up with the intent to remove it, and-
“Wait, no.” Madara turned his head aside, hands shifting to press flat against Tobirama’s chest, pushing him back. Tobirama growled quietly, hands tightening, and dropping his lips again to his neck, kissing and sucking gently, and nearly de-railing Madara’s line of thought. Slowly, he started working his hands under his shirt again, his lips almost succeeding in distracting Madara from it.
“Hey, stop,” Madara protested, trying to twist away, but Tobirama’s hands turned to iron around him, refusing to let him go.
“Why?” the Senju rasped, his breath warm against his skin. He pulled back just a little, one hand lifting to grip his chin. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this.”
Madara narrowed his eyes a little. “I said you could kiss me, nothing more,” he said firmly, and Tobirama huffed in frustration.
“Can’t I convince you otherwise?” he crooned, leaning in to suck a small mark on the underside of his jaw, and that very nearly tossed Madara’s refusal out the window. But he wasn’t about to let the Senju get his way.
“I said no,” he snapped, and Tobirama slowly drew back, his hands shifting again to instead rest at his hips.
“Fine,” he said, a little snidely, a tone of irritation in his voice. “Then when?”
“Whenever I allow it, if I ever do,” Madara shot back, just as irritated, and Tobirama scowled.
“Alright, princess, I’ll play your game, but don’t think I’ll play fair.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Madara remarked, and Tobirama smirked, leaning forward, his lips brushing against Madara’s ear.
“I won’t fuck you tonight,” he breathed lowly. “I won’t fuck you until you ask me to. Until you say ‘please’....Until you beg me to.”
It took monumental effort not to let a whimper escape, but he managed to arrogantly tilt his head and smirk. “I don’t beg.”
Tobirama kissed him one more on the neck, then stepped away, lips curling dangerously. “We’ll see about that, princess. You will.” He brushed his fingers against Madara’s cheek. “Can I kiss you again?”
’Yes’, he wanted to say. Instead, he crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t push your luck, Senju.”
“Mhm. Keep playing hard to get, kitten. We’ll see how long you last.” With that, he flicked Madara’s chin lightly, and stepped away, turning to the doors, and left without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Madara put a hand over his mouth, inhaling deeply and clenching his eyes shut. “No, no, no,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “You are NOT giving in, no matter how unfairly hot that bastard is.”
With a frustrated grunt, he yanked off his shirt, his skin crawling from the uncomfortable feeling of the sequins, and tossed it aside. Unbidden, his treacherous mind presented him with the much more appealing image of Tobirama removing it for him.
Groaning, he collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. From the other side of the room, Kurama hopped off his cat tree and bolted towards him, hopping up on the bed next to him with a loud purr. He nudged his head against his hand, looking for pets, and Madara absentmindedly scratched him under the chin.
“I’m fucked, aren’t I?” he asked him, and Kurama just meowed loudly, as if agreeing with his statement. Madara rubbed his eyes, trying to remember how long he had been with the Senju so far. A month, maybe? He had no idea.
365 days. That’s how long he had to stay here. Now he only had to hold out for…..330 ish? He shook his head, letting Kurama play with his fingers. “Yeah. I’m definitely fucked.”