Play For Me
~*~*~*~
He slept restlessly, but for once it wasn’t the usual stresses running through his mind. It wasn’t thoughts about his organization, thoughts about who was doing well and who could use a promotion, or who needed to be reminded of their place. He wasn’t even thinking about the tight schedules, or the quantities and prices of his less than legal wares.
No…..What plagued his mind that night were persistent thoughts of the dark haired Uchiha just a few rooms away. And so, he spent most of his night staring at the ceiling, replaying their date over and over. If only Jiro hadn’t shown up. Who knows how much better their time out could have been.
But then again….If Jiro hadn’t shown up, he wouldn’t have been able to see Madara kick his lanky ass, and that was a sight he was keen on remembering forever. Damn. The way those dark eyes of his had glared, the way he held himself, the way he moved…As graceful and powerful and confident as a panther. And afterwards! How he let him press him against the wall, kiss him, touch him. He had been so close. So close to finally unwrapping the gift that Madara was. But true to his stubborn and rebellious nature, Madara had stopped him just before he could finally lay him out and ruin him like he so desperately wanted.
The man was a challenge, through and through. And Tobirama very much looked forward to rising to that challenge and conquering it. He had already made so much progress, in just a short time.
By the time it was socially acceptable to be up for the day, he had barely slept a wink. The sun was just barely starting to creep over the horizon as he wandered the empty halls of his family mansion. Unbidden, his feet took him along a specific route, until he was standing in front of the doors to Madara’s room.
For a minute, he stood there, wondering what the hell he was doing. Then, before he could change his mind, he opened the door silently and slipped through the crack. On silent feet, he prowled towards the bed, and carefully sat down on the edge.
Madara was curled up under the blankets, his mountain of hair an indiscernible rat's nest, hiding most of his face, except for one eye and the corner of his mouth. The big orange cat was curled up on his chest, yellow eyes open in narrow slits, glaring at him. He glared back at it, and in response, the cat snuggled closer to the Uchiha, as if mocking him for the fact that it could snuggle with him, while Tobirama was left carefully tip-toeing around him every step of the way.
Tobirama snorted softly. The cat had been an absolute demon when he first picked him up from the shelter, but with Madara? The cat was sweet as sugar.
Useless animal. As Kurama snuggled closer, Madara stirred, curling slightly further around the cat. Tobirama held his breath, waiting for him to settle, but it seemed Kurama had woken his human.
With a soft sighing sound, Madara burrowed deeper into the blankets, and then his pretty dark eyes opened, and landed on him. For a long moment, they stared at each other. Madara looked completely unsurprised to see him.
“You know,” he said lowly, his voice slightly rough from sleep. “There is such a thing called ‘knocking’.”
“It’s my house,” Tobirama replied. “I can go where I want.”
Madara hummed softly, briefly closing his eyes. “If you think that last night meant anything, you’re wrong.”
Ah, there it was. That fantastic rebellion and denial that Tobirama liked so much. Unable to help it, he smiled just a little. “Whatever you say, princess.” Madara’s expression turned annoyed, and he sat up, pushing the blankets off. Kurama made a disgruntled sound. “I wanted to say good morning.”
“Good morning,” Madara grumbled back, standing up. “Now leave me alone.”
Still with that frosty exterior. “Your wish is my command,” he drawled, standing up as well, and not bothering to hide his appreciative gaze as he eyed Madara’s bare chest.
“Mhph. Send Itama in on your way out. I want to take a look at his stitches.”
“Yes boss,” Tobirama snarked, heading out the door. Madara flipped him off as he left, and Tobirama wasn’t even annoyed by that. But for now, he had business to attend to. Right after he sent in Itama.
~*~*~*~*~
Hashirama came into his office a few hours later, an uncommonly serious look on his face. Recognizing that something was up, Tobirama pushed aside his papers to give him his full attention. The schedule for his arms trade could wait.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning. Hashirama handed him a folded up letter.
“Word from Jiro,” he said grimly. “He wants to meet.”
“What?” he demanded sharply, snatching the letter and ripping it open. The note was short, simple, and sickeningly sweet. Jiro was such a bootkissing suckup. He snorted, crumpling up the letter and tossing it out. Hashirama watched him, his serious expression lightening somewhat.
“So? What are you gonna do?”
Tobirama ran a hand through his hair. “He claims he can increase his profit by 50% if I just give him the time of day to discuss his expansion.”
“I thought you made up your mind about Jiro and his little group?”
“I did. But it’ll be amusing to give Jiro hope just to crush it in front of him.” He dug one of his burner phones out of a drawer, scrolling through unnamed numbers until he found the one he was after.
Hashirama sighed softly, shaking his head. “One of these days you’re going to mess with and piss off the wrong person, Tobirama.”
“Maybe,” Tobirama agreed. “But Jiro isn’t that person.” With that, he pressed the call icon next to the number he wanted, setting it on speakerphone. It only took two rings until that annoyingly familiar voice answered.
“Jiro,” the man growled into the phone.
“I got your request,” Tobirama snipped. “Tonight, 11 pm. Under Tsukuyomi. Don’t be late.” Without waiting for an answer, he hung up.
“Always to the point,” Hashirama sighed. “Anything burning on the agenda for today?”
Tobirama considered for a minute. “Not really. The clubs are doing well. Making more of a profit than I anticipated while covering for our trades.” He folded his hands on his desk. “Our weapons shipments are on schedule, and there’s been no issues with our….agreement with the police. The only thing pressing on my mind is Jiro and his little upstarts.”
Hashirama snorted. “Sure. That’s the only thing on your mind.”
Tobirama frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hashirama grinned slyly.
“Oh, you know….How was your date?”
Ah, there it was. The nosey little shit. “It went well.”
“How well?”
“Well enough.”
“Did you kiss him?”
“Hashirama!”
His brother laughed, holding up his hands. “Sorry, sorry, just curious.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I can get a team ready for tonight. Anyone you want to take along in particular?”
“My best and brightest,” Tobirama replied. “Chuya, Chiko, Haru, you. And Kawarama, it’ll be good to give him more field experience.”
“Is that all?” Hashirama asked, raising an eyebrow. Tobirama fell silent for a moment, trying to convince himself that his idea was a bad one.
“And Madara,” he said finally, before he could change his mind.
Hashirama smirked. “I knew it. Any reason why?”
“No.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you be then.” With an entirely too cheerful wave, his brother pranced out the door. Tobirama watched him go, then leaned back in his seat, turning the chair to face the large window overlooking his estate.
This was probably a bad idea. But he couldn’t convince himself to change his mind.
~*~*~*~
A short time after, he returned to Madara’s room, carrying a small bag. He let himself in without knocking, surprised to see Itama sitting on the bed, petting Kurama. Did the cat like everyone except for him?
His brother’s bandages were off, and he could see the long cut healing nicely. Seems Madara deemed the wrappings no longer necessary. “Anija!” Itama cheered when he saw him, waving. “Look! My stitches can come out soon!”
“I’m glad to see that, Itama,” he said, tousling his brother's hair. “You’re not bothering our guest are you?”
“Itama is never a bother,” a familiar voice drawled, and Madara came sauntering out of the bathroom, his drenched hair hanging over his shoulders, and a towel in his hands. “Unlike a certain Senju I know,” he added, rubbing his hair dry.
“Hilarious, Uchiha. Ita, give us a minute.” Itama sighed, looking disappointed, but he knew better than to argue. He scratched Kurama once more on the chin, then reluctantly stood up and glomped to the door.
“Don’t pick at the stitches,” Madara warned as he left, and Itama saluted in reply, closing the door behind him. When he was gone, Madara turned to him, the almost friendly warmth from before vanishing. “What do you want?” he grumbled, stalking past him to the desk on the far side of the room, collapsing onto the chair with a sigh.
The change in disposition didn’t bother Tobirama in the slightest. “You remember Jiro?” he asked, strolling closer and sitting on the corner of the desk. Madara leaned back in the chair.
“You mean the prick from last night? Obviously. Why?”
“He sent a message this morning. He wants to meet, have a chat. Suck up to us a little, I imagine.”
“Why?” Madara asked, raising an eyebrow sharply. “He said yesterday that he wanted you to change your mind about his organization. And that he paid tribute to you for allowing him to grow under your mafia in exchange for fealty fees. But, and correct me if I’m wrong, you decided they are no longer permitted to exist. Care to elaborate? What exactly do they do?”
Tobirama sighed, wondering if he should indeed let Madara in on the going ons of his syndicate. “Well. As you know, my organization runs this city, but we also protect it. It’s our turf, and our home. Every now and then, small groups sprout under our shadow, seeking to usurp us. These groups are swiftly dealt with. We keep the peace, and by being the biggest and the baddest gang around, we prevent smaller gang battles from tearing the city apart and having its residents live in constant fear. Smaller gangs are much too fearful of us to stir up too much trouble, usually. But, some of them show promise, and if they do, I merge them with my own organization. I take their skills and use them to grow. In return, I allow them some freedom, but they all have to clear things with me, and they owe me 60% of whatever profits they earn. It’s a high rate for a reason. They make enough to survive, but not enough to grow.”
“Smart. And Jiro is the head of one of these little organizations that you allow to exist, but you recently changed your mind.”
“Exactly. Needless to say, Jiro’s not pleased.”
“Valid.”
“I assume he’ll try to change my mind when I meet him tonight.”
“And? Do you want me to wish you luck or something?”
Tobirama chuckled. “No, not that. I want you to come with.”
Madara gave him a long, unimpressed look. Then he leaned back again, propped his feet up on the desk, and smirked at him. “Why?”
Tobirama frowned at him. “That is mahogany,” he scolded, and Madara just looked further unimpressed. Tobirama sighed. “You impressed me last night, Madara. And Jiro is a coward. I want you to play a role, be a member of my mafia for the night. I think your presence there might help intimidate Jiro into doing what I want.”
Madara’s stare was dark. “You want me to pretend to be your subordinate just to fuck with this guy?”
“Ah. Not exactly a subordinate…..” He leaned forward a little, resting a hand on Madara’s ankle. “He saw us last night, he knows you’re more than a subordinate.”
Madara glanced down at the hand on his ankle, raising an eyebrow further. “What are you asking of me?” he questioned quietly. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Make an impression,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Play a role, be devout to me. In more ways than one. Let Jiro be taken off guard.”
“You think I’m going to agree to that?” Madara said coldly, kicking his legs off the table. “You want me to what? Pretend to be your lover? Your follower?”
“Yes.”
“What’s in it for me?”
Tobirama frowned at him, thinking over what he could offer him to get him to cooperate “I’ll give you your car back. And the freedom that comes with it.”
Madara tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. “Fine.”
“Excellent. Wear this.” He pushed the bag across the desk towards him. “It’ll help make that impression I want you to.”
“So demanding. Anything else?”
“No, that’s about it. Be ready at the doors at 9.”
“Fine.”
Satisfied, Tobirama leaned forward, carefully reaching out to grip his chin between his fingers. Madara let him, his body language guarded. “Can I?” he asked, leaning forward further.
Madara’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. “No.”
Tobirama sighed, dropping his hand. “Tsk.” With that, he stood up again, leaving Madara in peace with a wave. The moment the door closed behind him, he let out a relieved sigh. That went better than expected.
~*~*~*~*~
A little before 9, Tobirama met his men in front of the house. Three cars had been pulled up, his favorite silver sports car among them. Hashirama and Kawarama were talking with his other three selected men, and they all straightened up and saluted him as he strode down the stairs towards them.
“Good evening, boss,” Chuya greeted, with a little smirk. Tobirama nodded at his cousin.
“Chuya. How went todays shipment?”
“As smooth as always.”
“Good. Chiko, Haru, all went well on your end?”
“Of course,” Chiko said easily, his smile just as loose and relaxed.
Tobirama glanced down at his watch. Just as the hand struck nine, the doors of the mansion opened, and their last companion sauntered down the stairs. Tobirama sucked in a sharp breath, willing his expression to stay neutral, while his mind abruptly screeched to a halt.
He could pull off a lot of different looks, but it was like he was born for this one. Black was most definitely his colour. And the way the straps crossed over his skin, highlighting his slender grace, hiding the strength Tobirama knew he possessed. He still looked unimpressed, his annoyance more than obvious thanks to his hair pulled back into a high ponytail.
But his dark expression only added to the appeal, only added to the air of displeasure and danger that hung around him. The outfit fit perfectly, just as Tobirama knew it would, hugging every curve and every angle. The long, off-the-shoulder sleeves that tapered into fingerless gloves had small slits running along their lengths, showing off flashes of pale skin beneath, and the network of interconnected straps that crawled up from the low top of his shirt to the base of his throat highlighted sharp collarbones and faint, fading bruises from two nights before. Similar straps crossed over his chest, torso, and hips, before wrapping around the top of his thighs, running overtop of his thin shirt and snug pants.
He’d certainly make one hell of an impression.
Chuya chuckled quietly, stepping past him and nudging him in the side. “Damn boss, you are a fox.”
“Shut up, Chuya,” he grumbled, turning away from him. “Evening, Madara. You ready to go?”
“Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here,” Madara snarked, needing no prompting to turn towards Tobirama’s silver sports car. Tobirama opened the passenger door for him, and Madara slipped in without another word. When Tobirama pushed the door closed, Chiko started laughing.
“Ohhhh, boss you’ve got it so bad. Good luck with that one!” Before Tobirama could snap at him, Chiko hopped into the drivers seat of the second car, and Chuya and Haru joined him. Shaking his head in amusement, Hashirama beckoned to Kawarama, and they claimed the third vehicle.
Sighing, Tobirama slid into his car, and it roared to life. Putting it in gear, he peeled away from the mansion, and the other two cars followed close behind. “So, where exactly are we meeting this guy?” Madara asked after a few minutes of silence.
“You remember Tsukuyomi? The club where we met after two years?”
“Yeah. That’s where you’re meeting him? Doesn’t seem very conducive to a business meeting.”
“The club itself isn’t. But beneath it I do a lot of dealings.”
“Oh? I saw you before at one of the private booths.”
“That wasn’t a very important meeting, and privacy wasn’t top priority. But for this, I’d like to be away from prying eyes, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“If things get messy, and someone decides to call the cops. They’re on our payroll, but it’d be an annoying hassle.”
Madara snorted, tightening his ponytail. “I’m sure it would be.”
Tobirama chuckled quietly, reaching out to put a hand on Madara’s thigh. He felt the muscle’s tense a little under his palm, before they relaxed just as quickly, and he rubbed his thumb back and forth over the leathery material of his pants. The rest of the drive was quiet, until they pulled up to the doors of club Tsukuyomi. It was barely 10 by now, but it was already busy. People were lined up down the sidewalk, waiting for entry.
“Come on,” Tobirama said, pulling up right to the doors and shutting off the engine before stepping out. Madara followed suit, and without asking for permission, Tobirama looped an arm around his waist, tugging him against his side. The bouncers recognized him, of course, and let him and his men in with a respectful bow.
Inside, the music was deafening, and the flashing lights bright and blinding. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, speaking right into Madara’s ear. In the flashing of the lights, Madara’s sharp features looked even more striking.
“I’m surprised you’re offering to buy anything. Don’t you own this place?”
“Yeah. I don’t have to pay for anything, but it sounds more romantic to offer to buy you a drink rather than just get you one.”
“Hey, no judgment here,” Madara said, lifting his hands. Chuckling, Tobirama waved his hand to the bartender, who immediately abandoned his work to whip up two drinks for them. Tobirama nodded his thanks, handing one of the glasses to Madara. The Uchiha made a face at the burn of alcohol as he drank it.
Tobirama downed his quickly, waiting impatiently while Madara took his time, sipping his drink and eyeing the crowd. When he finally finished, Tobirama dumped their glasses at the bar, took his hand, and pulled him onto the dance floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Madara snapped as Tobirama led him through the packed crowd, until they were in the middle of the dancing bodies.
“Relax and live a little,” Tobirama replied, shifting his hand to wrap around Madara’s wrist and spin him around. Then he settled his hands on Madara’s hips, tugging a little until his back was pressed flush against Tobirama’s chest.
“Senju,” Madara growled, his voice dropping as Tobirama started moving, drawing Madara into the dance.
“Calm down, kitten,” he scolded, nudging at him instantly until Madara finally gave in, letting Tobirama guide him along to the music. Satisfied, Tobirama pressed himself closer, hands moving from his hips to loop around his waist. At the same time, he leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against the bare skin of his neck, exposed and so enticingly revealed by the complicated straps creeping over his collarbones and shoulders.
Madara stiffened, and he squeezed him slightly, trying to entice him to settle again. “Senju,” he hissed, and Tobirama hummed quietly, working his way up his neck to his jaw, nipping gently. “Be decent, we’re in public!”
“Is that your only worry here?” Tobirama drawled, nipping a little harder, and delighting in the full body shudder it earned him. “That we’re not in private? Worried about the prying eyes watching?”
“Yes,” Madara grumbled. “That, and you didn’t ask for permission.”
“I thought that only applied to kissing you?”
“And what exactly are you doing right now?”
“This isn’t kissing,” Tobirama snickered, nipping him under the jaw again. Madara started to protest again, so Tobirama pulled him closer, splaying his fingers wide to brush over the top of his thighs, and sucked a blooming mark into pale skin. Madara made a quiet sound, his head tilting to the side to give him more access, and Tobirama was quick to take advantage of the new opportunity.
Unbidden, his hands started roaming, not satisfied to stay in one spot. The breathy sound Madara made was encouraging, and he slowly worked his hands in, brushing the inside of his thigh and then working up under the sheer material of his shirt, wiggling under the straps criss crossing over his torso.
“You look great, by the way,” he crooned, mouthing his way along the underside of his jaw. “You look dangerous. It’s sexy.”
Madara grunted, and he felt even warmer than usual as they danced, bodies pressed against each other. Tobirama could have stayed there for hours, urging Madara along to the music, subtly grinding against him.
But 11 pm came all too soon. Lurking along one of the far walls, Chuya caught his eye, and tapped his wrist meaningfully. With a regretful sigh, Tobirama stepped back, turning Madara around with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time,” he said, admiring the new hickies blooming over his throat.
Madara’s gaze looked a little unfocussed, maybe because of the very strong drink, the dancing, the touching….Or maybe all of the above. But he nodded, and Tobirama took his hand, threading their fingers together. He led him off the dance floor, and towards the back of the club, where they passed through a cleverly concealed door. A narrow flight of stairs led to the basement.
“Before we go, I have something for you,” Tobirama said, tugging Madara down the stairs, and then pushing at his shoulders gently until he sat down on the top step, his expression bewildered as Tobirama crouched down in front of him.
“You said last night that scalpels were your preferred blade,” he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his light jacket. What he grabbed was wrapped in a thin cloth, and Madara watched curiously, and with a slight air of caution, as he unwrapped it.
As the cloth fell away, it revealed two long, very slender blades. “Think of them as surgical scalpels, but longer,” Tobirama explained, holding one up. It was a beautiful blade, long and thin and deadly sharp, and it’s hilt was just as thin and narrow, wrapped in thin paracord. “I’m giving these to you, as a gift, so please don’t stab me or slit my throat or anything with them.”
Madara held out a hand, taking one of the blades and examining it. “It’s….kinda beautiful,” he admitted, balancing the blade on his finger.
“Had them made just for you,” Tobirama drawled, taking the blade back. “And there’s a reason I asked you to wear this specific outfit.”
He balanced the blades on his knee, letting his hands drop onto Madara’s thigh. Slowly, tantalizingly, he slid down his leg, past his knee where the top of his boot reached. He pulled the top lip of the inside of the boot down a little, taking one of the narrow blades and sliding it into a small, hidden fold inside the boot. “There are sheaths for the blades built into your boots,” he explained, setting the second blade in place in his other boot.
With the blades firmly in place, he curled his hands around the back of his calves, feeling the muscles behind the thick leather. “Now you look like a proper assassin,” he added. Madara stared down at him for a long minute, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Is that the role I’m supposed to play?” he asked coyly. “A lover and a killer?”
“You’d look damn good doing it,” he shrugged. “You ready?”
Madara’s dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “I’m only doing this so I can get my car back,” he reminded.
“Yeah, I know, but I can still enjoy the sight.” Tobirama stood up, holding out a hand meaningfully. After a short pause, Madara took it, letting Tobirama pull him to his feet, and followed obediently as they made their way down into the basement. “And, I’ll enjoy the sight of Jiro quaking in his shoes at the sight of you.”