mdtb, obkk 🔃❌

Tobirama sucks in a steadying breath to control his racing heart and doesn't yell the idiotic things perched on his tongue. If he doesn’t want to be sneaked up on, Madara will only say, he shouldn’t let himself be so easy to sneak up on. His mouth twitches in a reluctant smile when he lets the breath go.

“I meant to greet you at the gate. You were still hours away the last time I checked.”

“Wanted to be home already,” Madara mutters into his throat. “I thought you heard me coming.”

Madara had been absolutely silent in his approach, body still primed to stalk and fight after a month away; he hadn’t even upset the notoriously noisy shutters as he slipped through the window. That Tobirama hadn’t noticed anything amiss is concerning, but he could blame the lack of destructive intent. He reaches back with his free hand and strokes ticklish hair away from his neck, quickly wrinkling his nose at the sheen of oil that stains his fingers.  

“You need to bathe. Are you injured?”

Madara makes a derisive noise.

“That would have made for a more interesting mission, I suppose,” Tobirama infers with some exasperation. “I take it you succeeded.”

“Always.”

Debatable. Tobirama hesitates and turns in Madara's unrelenting arms. Facing each other, he can tell irrevocably that Madara needs to bathe: oily, sweaty, flecks of blood splattered across his mantle. The smell is more than a little distracting, but Tobirama sweeps back tangled hair and crosses his arms behind strong shoulders—stopping himself at the last second from nudging their cheeks together in greeting. He brushes his mouth over dry lips instead.

Madara seems to pause. Then he smiles and tugs Tobirama's head into place, maintaining the glancing kiss as he speaks. It tickles. “Am I so disgusting that your first choice is a kiss?”

“Yes.”

Tobirama kisses him again, because he is not putting his face in that unwashed thicket of hair or smearing oil and sweat across his face, and yet he does not want to pull away either. He imagines they must make a fine, foolish image: limbs tangled together, their closed lips pressed flush. He holds the odd pose for as long as Madara enjoys it, seemingly a full minute passing before they drift naturally apart. Madara blinks tiredly and slips out of his embrace.

“I sent a clone to present my report and greet my clan. When will you be free?”

“From now until tomorrow morning.”