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You write an amazing smut! Hashirama is such a sneaky bastard. He knows exactly how to manipulate Madara. Madara will never leave him. Not now when he knows how Tobi is manipulate and hurt. Uchiha couldn't leave Tobirama alone at Hashirama's mercy.I don't know if you plan to continue the series, but if so, I have some suggestions. I would like to read the promised double penetration or scene where Tobirama was rude and must be punished.

Hahaha, thank you!!! I’m having a ridiculous amount of fun writing it, and I’m definitely happy to take suggestions - I only have one part planned after this, so more prompts are welcome!

Accordingly, per your prompt (and, as usual, for @blackberreh-art!), here’s part four of the I-really-should-name-this-something series

Tobirama stumbles a little when he leaves his labs, but that’s probably just because he ran out of food at some point and didn’t bother to stop what he was doing to get more. It’s fine, though. Totally worthwhile. He’s come up with something really great, tested it and recorded it, and once his chakra reserves are back the way they ought to be, he’ll show it to Hashirama and -Hashirama’s here.Why is Hashirama here at home in the middle of the day? Tobirama squints at his brother, who has his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl. “Don’t you have work you’re supposed to be doing?”“I declared a holiday.”That gets Tobirama’s attention. “Anija, no!” he exclaims. “Do you know what an administrative nightmare a new holiday would -”“He’s joking,” Madara interjects, because he appears to have also skived off work for the day. Is Tobirama the only person with a work ethic around here? “We finished today’s meetings early and took the rest of our work home. We’ve been worried about you.”Tobirama blinks owlishly at them. “Worried…?”“You’ve been in there for six days,” Madara continues, scowling. “And from the look of you…have you slept at all?”That depends; do catnaps count as sleep?…maybe he shouldn’t answer that question. Not that it matters; he’s sure the bags under his eyes tell the truth for him.“You’ve been very naughty, making us worry like that,” Hashirama says, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “That’s not very nice of you, you know. I think you need to be punished.”Tobirama is going to protest, because whatever Hashirama might think he is not a child anymore, except suddenly Hashirama is shining very bright, chakra overwhelming, and it’s going straight to his head and -Tobirama wakes up feeling considerably more refreshed.Also, in a more concerning development, unable to move.At all.There are roots and vines twined everywhere around him, immobilizing each limb, crossing over his chest and hips, even climbing up to hold his head and neck steady. His chakra is being suppressed – with an Uzumaki seal, no less, so breaking it will cost more than it’s probably worth.He’s stuck.But not unsafe.“Oh, good,” his anija sings out from somewhere he can’t see. Not that it matters; his comforting chakra is everywhere around, meaning that Tobirama hasn’t tensed up or started to panic. “You’re awake!”The roots ripple around him - a surprisingly pleasant feeling - and next thing Tobirama knows he’s suspended upright, hanging from the wall and still unable to move.“Why?” he asks, meaning his current situation, since asking to be let go would clearly be futile. Hashirama cups his face in both hands, pressing a kiss to Tobirama’s forehead. “You worked yourself into near chakra exhaustion. Again. What if you’d collapsed in your labs?”Then he would lie there until time had healed him, like he’d done before. Obviously.Equally obviously, telling Hashirama that was not going to be conductive to getting out of this.“You shouldn’t worry your big brother like that,” Hashirama continues sternly. “If you can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, I’m just going to have to do it for you.”Tobirama sighs. He knows where this is going. "You’re just going to be punishing yourself, too, you know, keeping me tied up like this,“ he tries. "If you don’t let me down, you’ll have to do my paperwork.”Hashirama’s grin tells him his gambit isn’t going to work this time.Whatever. It’s fine! While admittedly this level of total immobilization is moderately new, Hashirama has locked him away before, tied him up like this before, it’s something he does when he wants to reestablish control; Tobirama can handle it. Sure, he’s helpless, but it’s just Hashirama. Hashirama would never truly hurt him…unless he thought it was for Tobirama’s own good, anyway.Still. He’s mostly safe.“What. What are you doing?”…right. Madara lives here now, too. Tobirama feels the back of his neck go hot with embarrassment. Madara’s presence is…new. He’d tried to go home after their little week together - and seriously who was Hashirama kidding with his concerns about chakra exhaustion, he’d nearly killed them all with sexual exhaustion - only for Hashirama to announce that it was rather inconvenient for members of the Hokage’s office to live far away from the administrative center and that Madara, as the only one distant, should move in with them.

Madara asked, very politely, if he was insane.

Hashirama responded by suggesting, very kindly, that if Madara preferred to limp on home, stinking of sex and newly applied ink, to explain himself (and the brand-new tattoo on the sole of his foot) to his brother and the rest of his clan, he was welcome to do so.

Madara agreed to move in with somewhat alarming alacrity.

Tobirama hadn’t quite understood what was wrong with explaining (he himself would never, of course, but then he’s a very private person, while Madara had always struck him as rather extroverted in comparison, particularly with his close family), but he’d been cheered, briefly, by the thought that maybe, just maybe, he could finally escape being used as Hashirama’s favorite cuddling pillow every night.

No such luck.

It turns out that Madara is also a rather aggressive cuddler, and somehow Tobirama seems to always end up lying right in the middle. It’s a good thing he enjoys being warm at night or else he would be forced to murder them both as they tug him back and forth between them in their sleep.

Really, is it any wonder he retreated to his labs at first instance?

Though maybe – and he’d never admit this out loud – he may have gotten a little bit carried away, if it was enough to make Hashirama break out…this.

“I’m punishing him!” Hashirama chirps, entirely unphased by Madara’s twitching. “So that he learns it’s not good to worry us like that.”

Notably, Hashirama doesn’t suggest that he thinks this will be effective at deterring Tobirama from doing it again in the future should Tobirama think the cause justified. He’s at least figured out that much.

Madara’s mouth opens and closes mutely for a moment. “So you tie him up on your wall? Naked?” he finally says.

“He clearly can’t be trusted to take care of himself,” Hashirama sniffs. “So I’m going to have to do it for him.”

Tobirama really isn’t looking forward to being spoon-fed again. It’s humiliating, even if Hashirama takes such glee in doing so.

It’s not that Tobirama minds being hand-fed in the normal course of events – he’s certain that Hashirama’s been sticking food in his mouth with a “Try this, Tobirama!” since he was a baby, so at this point he’s resigned himself – but he has a distinctive distaste for being fed because he can’t use his arms.

Worst punishment ever.

“…he seems uncomfortable,” Madara finally says, after apparently dismissing at least five other objections that seemed to come to mind.

“It’s a punishment,” Hashirama points out. “He hates keeping still –”

“He sits still all the time.”

“No, he fidgets. Haven’t you seen him playing with that spinning figurine the Nara gave us, the one on his desk?”

“I thought he did that just to irritate me.”

No, that was just a fringe benefit.

“I’m fairly sure that’s just extra fun,” Hashirama, who knows him too well, says with a shrug. “He used to fidget with his arms but he – doesn’t anymore. Anyway, he hates being kept still, which makes it a perfect punishment. I usually keep him like this for a few days.”

There’s an entire history in that brief pause, of Tobirama’s one point of contention with their father and tears shed on Hashirama’s shoulder and the way their father sometimes coughed up flower petals in the weeks before he died while Hashirama smiled, but that wasn’t history Madara needed to know.

Not when Madara’s already done so much for Tobirama already, the hot press of his lips on Tobirama’s chest and the wash of forgiveness turning a mark of shame into nothing but old scar tissue. There was no need to burden him with more.

“A few days seems a bit much,” Madara says, crossing his arms. “Especially since the village will probably fall apart without him.”

“See, anija?” Tobirama can’t help but say. “I told you.”

“We manage fine when he goes out on mission,” Hashirama says, ignoring him entirely.

(That was the other part of this punishment that Tobirama disliked: Hashirama would dote on him or ignore him, but Tobirama never has any say in the matter when he was bound like this.)

Madara’s still frowning, though, so Hashirama finally heaves a great big sigh and says, “Well, if you like, I could do something faster if you promise to help.”

Madara squints at him suspiciously. “Promises to you are dangerous, as I’ve recently learned,” he says.

Tobirama can’t help but snort at that. “Recently? You’re the one who promised to build a village with him; now look where we are.”

Madara doesn’t look at him, keeping his eyes focused on Hashirama, but he hasn’t mastered Hashirama’s ability to compartmentalize anything he doesn’t immediately care to think about so Tobirama still sees it when his lips twitch upwards suspiciously.

Hashirama shrugs grandly. “It’s not like I’m going to force you –”

“Since when?” Madara and Tobirama ask in unison.

Definitely a twitch of Madraa’s lips then.

Hashirama pouts at them both.

It’s an absurd expression on someone so powerful.

“Tobirama, what do you think?” Madara asks, surprising Tobirama. “It’s your – er – punishment.”

“I feel like asking that defeats the purpose of this exercise,” Hashirama grumbles.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make me suffer either way, anija,” Tobirama says, automatically reaching for a way to comfort and support his brother. It’s a terrible instinct, especially under circumstances like this.

Hashirama brightens, though, and that’s worth anything.

…he thinks.

“Fast and with audience participation it is,” Hashirama declares, because of course he thinks that any decision left to Tobirama is his to decide, and unfortunately he’s not wrong about that.

Tobirama still takes the time to nod at Madara, who in a rather confusing turn of events seems to care much more about whether Tobirama agrees to things and who prefers confirmation that Tobirama doesn’t mind. Which he doesn’t! He’s already resigned himself to whatever Hashirama has in mind – especially since Hashirama will be absolutely insufferable if he doesn’t get a chance to try whatever he’s thought up – but also he really would rather be able to move sooner rather than later.

So it’s basically the same as him agreeing.

Then Hashirama whispers in Madara’s ear, which is mildly worrying, and Madara smirks, which is more worrying, and next thing Tobirama knows he’s got Madara’s mouth on his cock, which is very worrying but also mind-blowing enough that it distracts him from worrying.

“You realize, anija,” he chokes out, trying desperately to thrust into Madara’s hot mouth even though he knows logically that it’s a terrible idea and he’s only setting himself up for future misery, and anyway that it’s pointless because his hips are being forced into stillness right now, “that sexual deprivation isn’t going to work every time.”

“I don’t know,” Hashirama says, sprawling out in a chair that curls its way out of the floor. He’s never bothered to go get an existing chair in his life, even if there is one two feet away as there is now, and this is why Tobirama’s always giving people sets of slightly mismatched chairs as housewarming presents. Eventually someone’s going to figure out his motives. “I think I have a good window of time before it stops being effective. That’s good enough for now, Madara, come back here.”

Tobirama whines when Madara retreats, which he knows is essentially conceding Hashirama’s point, but still.

Madara’s chakra crackles, making him whine again as the nerves down his spine light up, and it’s really entirely unfair how quickly Madara learned to do that.

It’s also unfair how much Hashirama has warmed to the idea of providing visual stimulation (if by stimulation Tobirama means additional torture, which he does), because he’s pulled Madara into his lap and watching Madara sprawl out like that, all boneless and moaning and head lolled back onto Hashirama’s shoulder as Hashirama’s clever fingers work him over –

Unfair.

Tobirama struggles to move, even knowing that he can’t, and he feels that burn of humiliation that he always gets when he fails to escape except now it’s mixing in with lust in a way that speaks worryingly of Hashirama’s future plans and how he’s playing right into them but he really can’t bring himself to care right now because he just wants – something.

“You’re doing so well for me, Madara,” Hashirama purrs into Madara’s ear. “Helping me like this, worrying about Tobirama – you’re the best friend a man could have.”

“I – I feel like we’ve gone – ah – somewhat beyond – yes, that, more of that– beyond friendship at this point,” Madara pants.

“Nonsense. Whatever else we are, we’re still friends,” Hashirama says. “You’re my dearest friend, my precious person, and I’ll love you forever and always, no matter what.”

And he means it, too, shining and sincere, charismatic enough to make anyone believe in him even if he were lying but it’s all the more potent because he’s not.

Tobirama feels what is almost a prickle of jealousy, but he learned that he must share his brother’s love with Madara years ago by a riverbank and had that lessons seared into his mind again during that previous week, so instead of jealousy he just feels envy that Hashirama is praising Madara and not him.

If that’s the punishment, it’s a very good one, but somehow Tobirama suspects there’s more to it.

“In fact, you’ve been so good, I should reward you,” Hashirama continues. “Would you like a reward, Madara? Say please.”

Madara grunts.

Hashirama leans down and bites Madara’s shoulder, sharp and sudden, and Madara’s whole body spasms in a way that suggests he enjoyed it tremendously.

“Use your words, Madara,” Hashirama scolds, if anything said in that low growl, menacing and overwhelmingly sexual, could be properly classified as scolding. “Come on, pet, you can do it for me.”

It takes another minute of torment, but eventually Madara forces out a desperate-sounding “please” between his lips, biting them with his teeth until they’re red and plump and Tobirama wants to kiss him more than anything.

Well, maybe not more than he wants to come, watching them like that, or more than he wants to join them, but – more than anything else.

Hashirama’s not done, though.

“Please what?” he asks, eyes round with innocence.

“Please – reward me,” Madara chokes out between groans. “Please!”

“Well, all right. Since you asked so nicely. How about a nice show?”

Show? What type of –

Tobirama feels one of the vines curled around his legs unwind just a little, making its slow, creeping way up his inner thigh.

Oh.

That type of show.

No, wait – Hashirama can’t mean – not with his Mokuton, not with vines and roots instead of hands and fingers and –

“Anija!” he shouts, feeling the vine slide up higher and start to prod in a purposeful sort of way. Hashirama’s used the Mokuton on him before, of course, and even during that week he used it liberally enough to hold him down or move him in place but he’s never – not inside –

“Shh,” Hashirama says. “You’re being punished; this is Madara’s reward. You should be quiet and let him enjoy it.”

Tobirama opens his mouth to say – something, he’s not sure what, but he’s certain he would have come up with something adequately snarky and cutting, except before he can get a word out there’s a thick wooden branch sliding between his lips, fat and heavy on his tongue, and he can’t do more than make incoherent noises around it as it forces his jaw open wide.

“Oh,” Madara says, a half-choked off sound full of something like wonder, and Tobirama feels his face burning again. It hadn’t occurred to him how it would look, his lips wrapped around the branch as if he were sucking it, but now that it has he can’t stop thinking about it.

It’s only made worse when Hashirama’s murmur – “Look what a pretty picture he makes” – drifts over to him.

The roots binding his body start shifting then, too. They don’t give him any leeway to move, but crawl all over his body, alternatively tight and confining or soft and stroking, and Tobirama finds himself whimpering as they curl up on his chest, flicking at his nipples until he’s sure they’re bright red against his pale skin, as red as his cock is, hard and straining and wrapped around with one of Hashirama’s vines that start moving back and forth in a pale imitation of what Hashirama’s hand is doing to Madara.

It’s such a conflicting burst of sensations – the tightness around his cock, the branch in his mouth, the feelers on his chest, the feeling of two chakras pouring over him, the sight of Madara falling to pieces before him – that Tobirama, unforgivably, forgets for a moment about the vine between his legs.

Naturally, that’s the moment that it pushes into him, slick and wet with its own sap, and the surprise makes him shout, muffled by the branch in his mouth as it is.

“What are you doing to him?” he hears Madara ask, but he’s distracted by the strange way it feels – the vine is cool, not warmed with blood the way fingers or a cock would be, and it twists around inside of him in an altogether unfamiliar way.

“Let me show you,” Hashirama says, and suddenly Tobirama is moving – not of his own volition, but being moved, the roots rearranging his body as if he were a doll to be posed at Hashirama’s pleasure – for Madara’s pleasure.

The posing comparison is particularly apt, he finds, as the roots put him on display. He feels himself burn up again, that overwhelming humiliation-tempered-by-lust sweeping through him again, as his legs are spread open and raised up so that Madara can see him, pinned and immobile, getting fucked not by a person, no, but by the manifestation of Hashirama’s will, watch him reduced to writhing and grunting and moaning by nothing more than a vine –

A second vine slides up his legs, a smaller one, twining around the one already there, and Tobirama has less than a moment to realize what it’s going to do before it does it and suddenly there are two vines moving in and out of him, one dedicated to hitting that spot within him that makes him see stars and the other to opening him further, pushing in deeper and harder, and he moans.

“Fuck,” he hears Madara say. “Oh, fuck, look at him – just look –”

“I bet I can fit another in his mouth, too,” Hashirama says conversationally, and Tobirama doesn’t think he’s right because his jaw is already aching but apparently he’s wrong, he can fit in two, and now he’s got them thrusting in there as well – less a gag now than a substitute for a cock, and he can feel himself drooling all over them, leaking from the corners of his mouth, messy and filthy; he must look disgusting –

“Beautiful,” Madara says. “So beautiful.”

And now Tobirama’s burning again, embarrassed beyond belief that Madara is seeing him like this, skewered open like this.

Even his hands are being used now, thick vines slipping in through his fingers and with the barest encouragement from Hashirama he finds himself working his hands up and down them as if they were real.

“Beautiful,” Madara says again, and that’s enough, that’s reason enough even if he knows he’ll wake up in the middle of the night for weeks thinking of this moment, blushing furiously at the sight he must be making, the display he’s putting on, whorish, so greedy that not even the half-dozen thick vines Hashirama is forcing on him is enough.

And he hears Hashirama saying as much, too, laughing at him, teasing him, “Look at him,” he says, “all that and he still wants more, don’t you think? Look at my stern, serious little brother, always proper, knowing every rule of etiquette; look at him now, what do you think of him now?”

“I think he’s perfect,” Madara says, his voice low.

“Oh, he is,” and Hashirama’s voice is fond as ever, fond and loving, and that’s why Tobirama lets him do things like this, obscene things he’s never even imagined, all because he loves him so. “He’s always perfect, my Tobirama – perfect fighter, perfect scholar, perfect administrator, perfect little slut.”

Humiliation should make him thrash with fury, embarrassment should make him turn away in shame, but instead his cock is leaking and tears stream down his face as he tries so hard to thrust his hips only to be stopped by the vines. As an object lesson, it’s a very good one: he’s not in control here, not at all, not even over instinctual responses that his body is begging him for.

Everything about him belongs to Hashirama, now just as always, and by hurting himself he’s hurt something of his brother’s and that is not allowed.

“What do you think, Madara? Look at him – perfect, just like you said. Putting on a display like that, the perfect wanton little whore. The best brothel in Konoha couldn’t put up someone better than him, taking all of that at once like that and enjoying it too. Doesn’t seem like much of a punishment, though, does it, with him enjoying it so much – I bet he’d do it for real if we asked nicely enough, don’t you?”

Tobirama writhes, red in his cheeks and his ears and blush going down his chest because he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, surely, he has too much pride than that, too much dignity –

But if his brother asked…

“Think about it,” Hashirama laughs in Madara’s ear, Madara’s eyes spinning red as he brands the image Tobirama is making into his brain forever. “The village’d never lack for money if we rented him out. People would line up for the privilege, and no one would care how many he’s had before as long as he takes them, too. Or maybe we could offer him to visiting diplomats as a perk – see how well they negotiate in the morning when they’ve had him on his knees the night before, sucking them all off, letting them come on his face, on his hands, on his body until he’s sopping wet –”

“No,” Madara growls, and his gaze is so intense that Tobirama imagines he can feel it on his skin, burning and hot and dark the way his chakra is, bubbling oil scorching him from the inside. “No one else. He’s ours.”

Tobirama wants to say something, do something – wants to kiss Madara, take him into his arms, thank him somehow – but he can’t do anything, anything at all; he’s entirely at their mercy.

Hashirama laughs again.

“All ours, yes,” he says, smug and satisfied. “All mine, both of you. I could have you like this any time I want, Tobirama, you know that, right? Doesn’t matter where or when: all the houses are made of wood. Just think about that for a moment. You could be in my office, sitting at your desk; you could be kneeling at the dinner table at home; you could be snug asleep in your bed, and none of it would matter. You’d never have the slightest warning until my roots are wrapped around you.”

Tobirama’s thinking about it, oh, he’s thinking about it. Thinks about waking up in the middle of the night already split open, legs pushed apart before he was ever aware; thinks about his office chair suddenly reaching up for him when his mind is preoccupied with paperwork; thinks about the flimsy door to the Hokage office and the window where shinobi come through on a regular basis without warning – where they could see –

Yes, he’s thinking.

He really wishes sometimes that he could stop thinking.

He wishes he could beg Hashirama for forgiveness, for mercy, for relief, but gagged as he is he can’t do more than plead with his eyes.

“Should we have pity?” Hashirama asks Madara. “I don’t know. I’m not sure he’s adequately made it up to us, all that worrying he’s put us through. I think we need a little more.”

Tobirama’s not sure what more he can possibly give.

But Hashirama’s voice is dropping too low to be overheard and he’s whispering instructions in Madara’s ear, Madara nodding obediently – because everyone obeys Hashirama eventually – and the next thing Tobirama knows Madara’s not in Hashirama’s lap anymore, he’s pressed up hot and heavy against Tobirama, and the vines between Tobirama’s legs are pulling out, leaving him empty, but Madara’s there for him, pushing in instead.

It’s so much better, hot flesh giving easily the way the wood and plant matter didn’t, and Tobirama moans, helplessly approving.

The branches slip out of his mouth, too, and Madara kisses him, whispering, “Beautiful” at him even though Tobirama knows his face is wet with tears and drool. He’s not beautiful, he knows he’s not, and especially not now, but sometimes when Madara says it he could almost believe it.

But then Hashirama’s there, too, pressed up behind him, pressing up inside him, first fingers and then cock, sliding in easily where the vines have already stretched Tobirama open, and – oh –

“Anija,” he whimpers. “Anija – you’re – you’re inside – you’ve never –”

It’s not really the first time he’s had his brother’s cock, not really; during their week together he’d learned to suck him, had him in his mouth while Madara rutted inside him, and certainly he’s had Hashirama’s fingers in him from well before then (that horrible talk about the importance of masturbation in maintaining one’s health, fuck, the demonstration portion of that went on for hours and hours and he’s still mildly shell-shocked to this day about it) and Hashirama certainly talked about doing this, but somehow, somehow, the reality is still different.

“Fuck,” Madara says, and buries his face, red and hot, in Tobirama’s neck. “Oh, fuck, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, fuck, why does that do it for me –”

“You’re so cute,” Hashirama coos, even as he wraps his long arms around them both. He really is far too tall; he can make even Tobirama feel small. “Both of you, my precious people, so cute. Tobirama, make that cute little face again and say ‘please fuck me, anija’.”

Tobirama has no idea what face Hashirama’s referring to, but he needs to show that he can be good, too, the way Madara was being good earlier, so that Hashirama will be pleased with him, will praise him, too, so he obediently says, “Please fuck me, anija.”

Madara groans and stops holding still, starting to move, and Hashirama’s moving, too, and somehow this is nothing at all like the two vines from earlier, it’s less coordinated, less timed, and it’s so much better. Tobirama’s being tugged between them, as helpless as he was beneath the roots, being used by them, feeling their cocks rub up against each other inside of him, hearing Madara curse and Hashirama laugh and it’s so good, he loves it, he’s so happy that he can do this for them when even a few weeks ago it would have seemed impossible.

“So good,” Hashirama says. “You’re so good, Tobirama, taking us both like this. Don’t you like it when we share?”

“Yes,” he gasps, and his voice is slurring as if he’s drunk, drunk on pleasure instead of sake. “Yes, yes, please, please share me, share me whenever you want, have me, use me –”

“How are you this perfect,” Madara says, and his hands are tight on Tobirama’s hips and his chakra is metal-bright and warm on Tobirama’s tongue and he’s not even asking a question, not really, he really thinks that, he thinks Tobirama is perfect, no one thinks that, no one but Hashirama.

And Madara, now.

“Anija, please,” he begs, because he can do that now, he’d forgotten somehow. “Please, I’ll be good for you, I won’t make you worry, please, just let me come, please –”

“Us first,” Hashirama says, not without sympathy. “This is a punishment, after all.”

“Please, anija, I’ve learned better, I know better, I won’t, I’ll be good, just please –”

“No, Tobirama. Us first.”

“Don’t worry,” Madara grunts. “I’m not going to take long.”

He doesn’t, thankfully, and Hashirama loves seeing them after they’ve come, all fucked out and mindless and split open right down to the core, so he’s coming not much longer after that.

Tobirama can feel them, both of them; feels them both pull out, their come dripping down his thighs and mingling together until it’s impossible to tell whose it is, and he’s sore and he’s hard and he whines, long and high, and finally, finally, Hashirama has mercy on him, releasing him from the vines – all of them, even the ones that were stimulating him, and reaching down with an amused expression to push his fingers inside once again, coating them with his come, with Madara’s, and just thinking of that has Tobirama coming at last without any more help than that.

He’d be ashamed of himself, of how easy he is to please, except that he doesn’t have any space to feel anything other than pleasure and relief so sharp it almost hurts.

“Shh, shh,” Madara is saying, his hands running across Tobirama’s overheated body gently. “Come down, nice and slow, we’ve got you.”

Tobirama comes back down to earth, finding himself on the floor with Hashirama on one side and Madara on the other, and he doesn’t want to move a single muscle ever again.

“I think that was a good punishment,” Hashirama says, satisfied.

“Stop gloating and go to sleep,” Madara says, his eyes already heavily lidded. “Though I guess someone should probably go get some water to clean us up.”

Tobirama considers the possibility of someone leaving right now, even for so short a time, and finds it unacceptable, so he lazily makes the signs one-handed and douses them all with warm water pulled from the humid air right outside their window.

“That,” Madara, now awake again and glaring, says, “was not what I meant.”

Hashirama starts laughing.

Tobirama decides he doesn’t care – Madara still hasn’t left, after all, and the water was hot so really he has no basis to complain even if his hair will probably get a little tangled from it – and so he closes his eyes and goes to sleep, his brother’s laughter and his lover’s grumbling still ringing in his ears as he does.

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