In Which, Tobirama Has Shit Luck
~*~*~*~
Returning to the hospital the following morning brought along with it a strange wave of nostalgia. The smell of hand sanitizer and other, general hospitally smells was familiar and soothing. When he reached the Acute Care floor, he handed Kenara the cup of coffee he had grabbed for her, ignoring her raised eyebrow.
“Well, look who came back,” she said dryly, accepting the coffee. “Where have you been?”
“Out and around,” he said airily, taking a sip of his own drink. Kenara snorted.
“Whatever, kid. Come on, morning rounds are about to start.” Tucking a thick binder under his arm, she strode down the hall, turning into the rounds room. One thing he liked about her, was that she didn’t pry. Usually. Madara lingered for a moment, taking in the staff on the floor that day, eyes searching until he found a certain someone.
“Freaking Madara Uchiha, you devil,” Hikaku huffed, leaning against the wall next to him and glaring. “First you disappear from the club, then you vanish from the face of the earth for like 4 weeks, and now you show up like nothing happened?”
“Nice to see you too, cousin,” Madara drawled, and Hikaku huffed.
“I hate you, you know that?”
“I’m sure you do. Coming to rounds?” With that, he strode down the hall after Kenara. He heard Hikaku mutter something under his breath, but he followed close behind, taking a seat next to Madara in the rounds room and sitting close enough for their arms to touch. It wasn’t blatantly obvious, but it was enough of a quiet form of forgiveness.
Inhaling the scent of his terrible coffee, he leaned back in his seat, listening to the overnight charge nurse discuss the previous evening, and felt all of his tension and pent up energy seep out of him. Finally, he was back where he belonged.
~*~*~*~
His first day back was busy, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was odd, however, to willingly drive back to the Senju estate, passing through the gates and parking in the vast, underground garage. The various security guards posted at the doors greeted him with quiet nods, but otherwise left him alone as he strode up the steps of the quiet halls back to his room.
It was strange not to see anyone in the halls too. Not a single Senju brother to stop him or pester him. Strange as it was, it was nice to have some peace for once.
Kurama greeted him eagerly when he entered his room, brushing against his legs demandingly. Rolling his eyes, he tossed his bag aside, scooping up the cat and snuggling him under his chin. He purred loudly, fuzzy tail flicking back and forth.
Seeing as it was already evening, he collapsed on the bed, rearranging Kurama onto his chest. The orange fluffball, still purring loudly, tucked his paws under him, closing his yellow eyes. A nap sounded kinda nice. Maybe he should take a page out of his book. With a sigh, he flung a forearm over his eyes, reflecting on the day.
He passed out for a blissful few hours, and into the wee hours of the morning. A loud knock startled him awake, and right after the doors were flung open. Kawarama and Itama burst into the room.
“Madara,” Kawarama said, his usual flirty tone gone. “We need you to come with us. Something’s happened.”
At the pinched expression on his face, Madara nudged Kurama off of him, sitting up. “What’s going on?”
“Tobirama went after Jiro,” he said, frowning. “And Jiro put up a bigger fight than we expected.”
“And?” Madara pushed, frowning.
“We have some injuries. Tobirama sent me to get you.”
Madara frowned to himself. “And what if I decide to refuse helping?”
“You won’t,” Kawarama said confidently, giving him a sidelong look. “You’re too nice, even if you pretend not to be.”
With a grumble, Madara rolled off the bed and onto his feet. He was right, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be miffed about everyone seeing right through his facade. “Alright, fine. Where are we going?”
“Our base downtown,” Kawarama replied. “It’s in the centre of the city, and that’s where Tobirama likes to run most of his business. He usually orders us to regroup there. It’s well defended.”
“How many injured?”
“I have no idea. Tobirama doesn’t bring me along to these kinds of things, and he didn’t tell me anything else.” His tone was bitter, irritated, and Madara gave him an intrigued look.
“And this upsets you,” he said carefully, wording it as more of a statement than a question. Kawarama snorted, shooting him an irritated look.
“Tell me you’re fine with the idea of your family running around the city streets at night, dodging bullets and getting in firefights,” he grumbled.
“Valid point,” Madara conceded, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.” Kawarama nodded, putting a hand on Itama’s shoulder and guiding him out the room and down the halls. Madara followed, tugging his hair tie out and ruffling his inky locks. Tobirama’s silver sports car was pulled up in front of the mansion, and Itama hopped into the backseat, while Kawarama slid into the drivers. Despite not having his licence.
The drive was fast, and quiet. The early morning hours allowed for very little traffic. Kawarama screeched to a stop in front of the doors of a massive, gleaming skyscraper. Not inconspicuous at all. A squad of black cars were parked haphazardly out front. Kawarama shut off the engine before the car was fully stopped, all but leaping out. Itama scrambled to follow, and Madara trailed after them.
Kawarama led them inside, jogging down the wide hallway and turning at the end of it, bounding up a flight of stairs, then turning down another hall. At the end, wide double doors stood imposingly, and Kawarama threw them open with a bang.
The room beyond the doors was large, white, and virtually bare, besides a few makeshift medical beds and a few tables.
Over a dozen people were gathered in the room, all of them in various states of disarray and looking very roughed up. Tobirama was by the bed closest to the door, helping one of his men lay down, his expression twisted into a grimace. As they entered, he glanced up, his anxious expression soothing.
“Madara,” he greeted, clasping his mans shoulder before straightening up to fully face him.
“What happened here?” Madara said in return, scanning the men and mentally tallying up the injuries, organising them by priority.
“Jiro wasn’t willing to go easily,” Tobirama growled, expression warping into a scowl. “He was ready for us, managed to put up more of a fight than we expected.”
“Clearly. How many?”
“14.”
“Who's the worst off?”
“I think Kenji.” Tobirama pointed to a man on the far side of the room, sprawled out on the bed. He was covered in blood, and Madara couldn’t tell if it was his own or someone else's. Frowning, he headed towards him, tying up his hair in a high ponytail, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. Kenji was sprawled out on his back, staring vaguely at the ceiling, one hand clamped tightly over a bleeding wound on his abdomen.
“Kenji,” he greeted quietly, pausing beside him and feeling his wrist for his pulse. It was slow, but strong. Good. The man turned his head towards him, blinking slowly.
“Heeeyyy, I know you,” he said slowly, his speech slurred. Well, maybe not so good. “You’re that pretty nurse from way back.”
“Glad to see I made an impression.” Patting down his pockets, he found his penlight, shining it in Kenji’s eyes and checking his pupils. Much too slow of a reaction. “Did you hit your head, Kenji?”
“Ohhh, yeah. Real hard. And then that bastard stabbed me. Can you believe it?”
“How rude of him,” Madara agreed, glancing down at the hand clenching his abdomen. He glanced around for Tobirama, but the Senju was helping another one of his men peel off his blood stained shirt. “Kawarama!” he called instead, beckoning him over.
The younger Senju jerked, looking startled, but scurried towards him. “Yeah?”
“Do you have anaesthetic here?”
Kawarama blinked. “Um. I don’t know?”
Madara frowned, glancing around. For being their main base, it was abysmally poor stocked.
Dismal. How the hell has this mafia made it so long with such a rudimentary mock medical centre? “Tobirama, this is pathetic,” he snapped, irritated with the lack of resources, and the blanchette glanced over, raising his hands.
“Hey, in my defence, we don’t often get into scraps this bad.” Madara snorted, grabbing his bag and digging out his phone and stethoscope. He dialled up a certain someone, heading back to Kenji.
The phone picked up after only a few rings, and a cranky voice immediately blasted in his ear. “First you disappear for weeks, then you show up like nothing happened, and now you’re calling me at 3:30 in the morning?”
“Nice to talk to you too, Hikaku,” Madara said dryly. “I need you to do me a favour. You still at the hospital?”
“Yes, I’m pulling an 18 hour shift,” Hikaku huffed.
“Good. I need you to go to the supply room and pull me some stuff. I’m going to send someone to the hospital to pick it all up, but I need it within the hour.”
“Wait, wait, what? Madara, have you lost your mind?!” Hikaku demanded. “I can’t go into that room and just…..steal stuff for you! I could lose my job! Oh, and so could you. No way.”
“Hikaku,” Madara growled. “You’ve never been one to follow protocol, why start now?”
“Yeah, but I’m not exactly willing to stick my neck out for you, family or not.”
“Come on. I need your help. I’ll take your shifts for a week.”
Hikaku was quiet for a moment. “You are so manipulative, you know that?”
“I’m well aware.”
“Fine, you absolute shit head. Only because it’s quiet and there’s not much overnight staff tonight.” On the other end of the line, he could hear the door lock beeping as Hikaku punched in the code. “What do you need?”
Madara set the phone on speaker, sliding it into his pocket so he could work at the same time. “Itama, can you find me a few bottles of water, please? And some small towels or napkins or something?” he requested, before rattling off a list of needed supplies to Hikaku. His cousin was cranky about it, but conceded to his demands.
The moment he hung up, he waved down Kawarama. “Head to the hospital, meet my cousin there, he’s getting me a few supplies.”
Kawarama blinked. “Shouldn’t I take him with, too? I feel like you’ll need a hand here…”
“That’s why I have you and your brothers. Now, get going, I expect you back in 20 minutes.”
Kawarama scurried off to obey, darting out the doors just as Itama scrambled back in, carrying an armful of bottled water. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do for now. Itama looked anxious, and the best way to soothe an anxious mind was to keep it busy.
“Ita, help me clean him up,” he ordered, tearing through Kenji’s shirt and discarding it. Itama paled.
“I…I don’t know how, it-”
“I’ll teach you how, relax.”
They really couldn’t waste much more time. Kenji had lost a dangerous amount of blood, and given the vacancy of his stare and his slow responses….
By the time Kawarama finally got back, Madara was losing his mind with impatience. But Hikaku had made good on his list. “What do you need?” Kawarama asked, unpacking the supplies and spreading them out on a counter.
It was nice to have little assistants. Loyally, they followed his orders, helping him clean the wound. It was nasty, but not as deep as it first seemed. A few stitches and lots of rest, and he’d be fine. While he worked on Kenji, he sent Itama and Kawarama to prep his next patients, removing torn and dirty clothing, and cleaning wounds and surrounding areas.
On the other side of the room, Tobirama helped where he could, silently prowling around the room. Madara watched him out of the corner of his eye as he worked on another man, scanning him for injury. He seemed to be okay, but….
Even a hardened mob boss couldn’t hide the way he held himself stiffly, the way he avoided certain movements, the barely there grimace on his face. ”Hey,” he called, waiting until Tobirama glanced up before beckoning. “Come give me a hand here.”
Tobirama raised an eyebrow, but sauntered over. “Take this, hold it steady so I can stitch him up.” Obediently, he took over the clamps Madara currently held, gingerly adjusting the angle to bring the edges of the wound he was working on closer together. It was a somewhat awkward angle. The slash was on the man's side, over his ribs. “Take like half a step back,” Madara grumbled, pushing at his chest lightly until Tobirama obediently moved backwards to give him some room. He couldn’t hide the tiny wince that flashed over his face, and Madara inwardly rolled his eyes.
Typical. “Where’s Hashirama?” He carefully stepped up in front of Tobirama, hunching under his outstretched arms so he could stitch the shallow slash wound. The man grunted, wincing as the needle pierced his skin, but otherwise was still and quiet.
“Damage control,” Tobirama replied. “He took off just before you got here. There’s a bit of a mess to clean up.”
“And what of Jiro?”
“Managed to escape, the slimy little weasel. He escaped down a rabbit hole and will fester and die there.” Madara hummed, focussing on his work, and trying not to dwell on Tobirama’s presence at his back. The man he worked on twitched at the tugging of the needle and stitching thread, biting his lip until Madara finished, tying off the stitch and gently applying a wide bandage to cover it.
“Keep it dry, don’t pull at the edges,” he instructed. “If it feels warm and there’s discomfort, come to see me right away. Otherwise, I’ll check in with you after a week.”
The man grunted, accepting Madara’s assistance to sit up and wiggle into a clean shirt. “Thanks doc,” he said, nodding.
“Not a doctor yet,” Madara muttered, waving him off and changing into fresh gloves before meandering over to his next patient; a tall, lanky man with a bullet wound on his shoulder. Not dangerous, but very uncomfortable. Then the guy with a knife sticking out of his thigh. After that, the scowling woman with a nasty head wound and a broken hand. And then just a few more cuts and scrapes on a few more members.
Itama came over to help him, watching with avid interest as Madara cleaned the wound and carefully fished the bullet out. “Can I keep that?” the man asked, eyes gleaming as he dropped the blood stained bullet onto a small tray.
“Whatever for?” Madara asked, tidying up the wound some more. It didn’t look like it would need stitches, but it should probably be immobilised for a little bit. With that in mind, he bandaged it and made a makeshift sling to keep his arm still.
“It’s a battle trophy,” the mobster said with a crooked grin, and Madara rolled his eyes.
“Do what you want with it.” The man grinned, grabbing the bullet and hopping off the bed. “Don’t move your shoulder too much, give it a chance to heal some. After a few weeks you can focus on regaining your range of motion, but until then, let it rest.”
“Got it.” With a two fingered salute, he pranced out of the makeshift medical bay, and Madara focussed his attention on his next case.
~*~*~*~*~
It was enthralling; the way that Madara demanded attention so effortlessly in his field. The seamless way he took charge of the situation, confidently giving orders and expecting them to be followed. And how his own men, hardened and experienced members of his syndicate, immediately obeyed, offering up no protest or argument.
Madara was quick and efficient, working through the injuries methodically, but with a rare display of empathy that Tobirama didn’t often get to see. It was also rather….sweet, to see him instructing Itama and Kawarama so patiently and calmly, teaching them the basics of wound care.
One by one, his injured men and women were tended to and sent home to recover. Kawarama took Itama home as they finished up, seeing as his youngest brother could barely keep his eyes open. And then, it was only Madara and Tobirama left in the medical centre.
With a sigh, Tobirama rubbed his eyes. The effects of the long night were getting to him, but he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it. They had all had a rough night. Jiro was much more prepared than he expected, and his lack of preparation irritated him.
Madara was fiddling with something at one of the wide metal tables, his back to Tobirama, and he took a moment to eye the long ponytail, the tip brushing against the small of his back. The ghostly feeling of the softness of those inky locks tickled his fingers.
At that moment, as if sensing his gaze, Madara turned around, meeting his eyes. Something in his expression changed; darkened. And then, the Uchiha was stalking towards him, dark eyes narrowed, hair swaying behind him enticingly.
As he approached, Tobirama arched an expectant, curious eyebrow. Madara put a hand on his chest; warm and grounding, and pushed. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he had to take a step back to maintain his balance. Madara kept pushing, kept nudging him backwards, under the backs of his knees bumped against one of the hard metal chairs and he sat down ungracefully, tilting his head back to gaze up at Madara curiously.
Expression entirely unreadable, Madara stepped closer again, nudging his legs apart and stepping between them, and then dropped elegantly to his knees in front of him. He splayed his hands out over Tobirama’s thighs, leaning forwards, and Tobirama inhaled sharply, hardly daring to breathe.
’Was he about to….?’
Madara leaned further forward, and unconsciously, Tobirama leaned forward as well, until mere centimetres separated them, and he could feel Madara’s warm breath on his lips. The Uchiha’s hands creeped slowly up his legs; over his thighs, the crease of his hips, and under his shirt, dancing over his skin, sending tingles of pleasure through him at the teasing touch.
They were so close. Soooo close. All he had to do was tilt his head just a little, and their lips would touch. Madara’s eyes gleamed mischievously, as though he knew what Tobirama was thinking, and leaned forward just a little bit more.
Screw it. He reached out, cupping Madara’s face in his hands, and moved to bring their lips together.
A flash of pain made him curse and flinch back. Madara snickered, leaning back on his heels. Under Tobirama’s shirt, his hand pressed against the wound on his side. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice you trying to hide this, did you?”
“Brat,” Tobirama hissed, leaning back in the chair. Madara snorted, tugging at his shirt.
“Take this off.”
His tone left no room for argument, and Tobirama obediently shrugged out of his shirt, trying not to aggravate the injury and toss it aside. He had been lucky, compared to some, but even he couldn’t get out unscratched. He hadn’t been able to dodge the knife, and had gotten himself a long, narrow slash on his side, just under his ribs.
He thought he had been good at hiding the injury. With so many of his own injured, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. But Madara was an observant little bastard. Nothing got past his sharp eyes.
Sulking to himself, he watched Madara clean the shallow wound and inspect it. It stung, but he had had much worse. “It’s not too bad,” he said after a minute. “But you could use a couple stitches.”
Tobirama groaned. He hated stitches. They pulled and itched and felt very uncomfortable. “Do I have to?”
“Yes. Stop being such a baby. For a big, bad, mafia boss, you are a bit of a wimp.” Tobirama puffed up indignantly, insulted.
“I am not! Ow, hey, be gentle you-”
“Not a wimp indeed,” Madara mocked, piercing his skin with the needle and binding the edges of his wound together. Tobirama grumbled a quiet insult under his breath, and Madara poked him a little harder than necessary.
Tobirama scowled at him, but sat still as Madara finished stitching him up, smoothing out a white, flat bandage over them. “Same orders. Keep it dry, try not to move too much.”
“Yes sir,” Tobirama drawled, watching closely as Madara set his supplies aside. The moment his hands were free, he grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. “Did I ever tell you how sexy you look doing the whole doctor thing?”
“With the way you’ve been staring at me all night, it was heavily implied.” He started to pull back, but Tobirama tightened his grip.
“Can I?” he breathed, glancing down at his lips meaningfully.
Madara stared at him for a long while, just to make him wait. “As reward for my hard work?” he said, almost mockingly. Tobirama just quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well….you’ve been a decent patient. And a passable helper. Why the heck not.”
Needing no more urging, Tobirama hauled him forward, pressing their lips together. Every time they kissed, it only grew more and more addicting, more intoxicating, like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.
He pulled him closer, half dragging him onto his lap, his hands sliding down to grip his waist tightly. Madara twitched, his own hands resting on Tobirama’s bare chest. The feeling of his warm palms pressed against his naked skin….It flared the flames of desire that had been smouldering with him.
He couldn’t hold back anymore. Growling, he surged to his feet, hooking his hands under Madara’s thighs and hoisting him up. Automatically, Madara clamped his thighs around his hips, arms circling around his neck, hands fisting into his hair tightly, kissing him back with just as much demanding need. Tobirama carried him across the room, setting him down on one of the tables. With a sweep of his hand, he knocked the contents of the table to the floor.
Tobirama drank in Madara’s heady gasp, gripping him tightly, needfully, biting his lip and delighting in the quiet, almost undetectable moan it brought him. Madara abruptly turned his head away, biting off the sound, and Tobirama hummed, mouthing his way down his neck, kissing and sucking gently, yet firmly.
“Don’t hold back,” he crooned, nuzzling the underside of his jaw, feeling the tiny quiver it brought him. “Let me hear you, Ojo. Let me hear every gasp….every whimper and moan and plea.”
Madara exhaled shakily, his cheeks flushed pink. “I don’t plea,” he reminded, even as his eyes closed and his head tilted back, allowing Tobirama more access.
“Ohhh, you will,” Tobirama drawled. “Don’t you remember what I said before?” Madara’s full body shiver told him that he did, in fact, remember. Pleased, he worked his way up to the corner of his mouth. “I stand by that. I will make you beg for me.”
“Have fun with that,” Madara snipped back, and oh, how Tobirama loved that defiance.
“Oh, I will,” he promised. “I’ll enjoy this immensely. But so will you.” He cut off Madara’s snarky reply with a biting kiss, devouring the others' touch, his taste. Hands on his hips, he tugged him closer to the edge of the table, stepping closer and forcing his legs to spread further apart to accommodate his presence. The tight grip Madara had around him; the unyielding force of his fingers digging into his skin, the warmth of his body pressed against him, it send all of Tobirama’s blood rushing south.
How he wanted to ruin him, to win over his defiance, to have him willingly surrender to him, to make him his own forever. A pang of lust; of desire and need and want; shot through him, startling him with its intensity.
He rocked his hips forward, and Madara let out a soft moan at the contant, his hands tightening in Tobirama’s hair, gripping so hard that it hurt. But he ignored the pain in favour of leaning forward, pressing Madara down until he was sprawled out on his back on the table. Tobirama shimmied his hands up his shirt, hiking it up to his chest, kissing and sucking dark marks on his fair skin, mapping out constellations of love bites.
Madara arched up into his touch; whether consciously or not, Tobirama didn’t care. All that mattered to him was that he was responding, so beautifully and desperately.
He grabbed Madara’s chin, holding him still and pressing their lips together, tangling their tongues together. The sound Madara emitted was addicting, heady. It made him wonder….What other noises could he wring out of him? What other reactions?
He licked along the column of his neck, tasting small beads of sweat on his skin. The aching hard on he had was getting difficult to ignore, and he gave a shallow thrust forward, grinding against him, delighting in Madara’s strangled whimper and the brush of friction.
He dropped his hands down to his hips again, pulling him back a little and grinding against him, chasing after the friction; the pleasure it brought. Madara groaned, hands dropping to his shoulders, then to his chest, clawing down over his muscles, his erect nipples, most certainly leaving red scratches over his skin.
He needed more.
Growling quietly, he tugged at Madara’s waistband, fingers dancing over his warm skin as he worked his hand under. Madara jerked violently, and Tobirama soothed him with a trail of gentle bites along the side of his neck, feeling the soft vibrations on his lips when he hummed quietly.
Then, the med bays doors swung open.
Madara scrambled away from him, flailing wildly, loosening the tight, near death grip his legs had had on Tobirama’s hips, his cheeks flaming red. Tobirama whipped his head around, shooting a venomous glare at the intruders, discreetly adjusting himself.
“Sorry for the interruption,” Chuya drawled, glancing back and forth between them with an amused smirk. Behind him, a few more of his best men flanked out. A few looked entirely too curious, and others looked knowing, giving the smirks and sly looks they shared with each other. “Boss, there’s been some news.”
“It had better be damn important,” Tobirama snarled, not feeling even an ounce of guilt for the venom in his tone. Next to Chuya, Chiko slung an arm over his shoulders, grinning.
“Oh, it is. We caught sight of Jiro and the rest of his men fleeing the city. Running like dogs with their tails between their legs."
That was good news….But he was still pissed off.
Now that he wasn’t so….distracted, he realised that his side was aching. Maybe he accidently pulled some stitches….
With as much grace as he could muster, Madara sat up and hopped off the table, tugging his shirt back into place. His hair was a disaster as a result from Tobirama’s searching fingers; shorter strands had escaped his ponytail, and were either sticking up in every direction or clinging to his face, dampened with sweat. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, turning to pack up the remaining supplies.
“No vigorous activities for at least a week,” he said to Tobirama in an undertone, his voice slightly hoarse. And that order was certainly a shame. Tobirama had very much been hoping to partake in some very vigorous activities today….For a few hours, or even better, all night. Not alone of course, but with Madara.
“Is that all?” he asked impatiently, turning back to his men.
“That about sums it up, yeah,” Chuya nodded, nudging Chiko. “We’ll leave you to your business.”
Well, it was too late now. He doubted Madara would let him pick up where they left off. “I’ll take you back,” he said gruffly, and Madara hummed, not looking at him.
“Right.” He slung his bag over his shoulder, and scurried out of the room, skirting past Tobirama’s room and all but fleeing down the hall. With a sigh, Tobirama followed, bemoaning his lost, golden opportunity.
They took Tobirama’s car back, and Madara hunched in on himself, staring out the window as they drove through the city. “You know,” he said after a few minutes of heavy silence. “For being such a rich and powerful organisation, your so called medical centre is abysmally pathetic.”
Despite the oddness of the situation, Tobirama couldn’t help but laugh.