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“Promise you’re not angry?”
Mito knows that Hashirama knows that those puppy dog eyes of his are a deadly weapon, but this is the first time in the three months they’ve been married that Hashirama has looked genuinely afraid of what she might say or do. Setting her empty tea cup on the engawa next to her, she reaches up to cup his cheek, pushing a lock of glossy brown hair behind one ear. “How could I ever be angry with you?”
Getting shipped off to a foreign land like a political bargaining chip certainly hadn’t been Mito’s idea. She has lost everything dear to her—her sisters, her friends, her barefoot walks on the sandy beach. Yes, being married to Hashirama was not her choice…but there are far worse men she could have been doomed to spend her life with. He is kind, warm as summer sunshine, and he has done everything within his power to make Mito feel at ease in her new home.
While she is fond of Hashirama, Mito wouldn’t say that she’s in love just yet. That will probably come one day. She hates to say that her mother was right, but perhaps there was some wisdom to her words when she pulled Mito aside and said, “Don’t be upset, dear. The love will come later on. It did for me and your father.”
Mito fell in love once before, and it left her with a shattered heart. That was years ago—she’s long since recovered—and perhaps the fact that she was able to move on so quickly is a sign that it wasn’t true love. What Hashirama has been going through—what he’s kept to himself for all the months they have lived together—is clearly not the same. She can see it in his eyes whenever he talks about Uchiha Madara that he is the one who owns Hashirama’s heart, a fact that might actually have stung a bit if Mito was in love with her husband.
The story of Hashirama and Madara belongs in a romance novel. Childhood friends, cruelly torn apart because they belonged to warring clans, forced to fight each other day in and day out on the battlefield. Love eventually triumphed, and the era of peace all shinobi are currently enjoying only exists because these two men love each other.
Well, loved each other. Now, Madara is threatening to leave the village, to leave it all behind—to leave Hashirama the way he (justifiably) feels he has been abandoned.
The solution seems obvious to Mito, but it is a bit unconventional in the Land of Fire. If she had immediately fallen head over heels with her groom the way she initially hoped she would, Mito probably wouldn’t even think to entertain the idea. Wetting her lips, she chooses her words carefully so that he won’t think she’s laying a trap. “Hashirama, you know… A marriage, especially one like ours, doesn’t have to be exclusive.”
Hashirama stiffens beside her. His eyes bore into the side of Mito’s head as she watches the birds coming down to roost in their garden’s trees. “You mean…?”
She gives him a gentle smile, her hand reaching out to cover his. “It’s actually fairly common in Uzushio for noble men to have multiple consorts—but I’ve always thought it was unfair for the men to have all the fun. Seems a bit inequitable, no?”
Hashirama gapes at her. “Mito… Of course I—I would never hold you to a double standard. If you’re proposing what I think you’re—”
“So long as we are open and honest with one another, I think we should each have our fun—or maybe even have our fun together? If you’re not opposed to sharing—”
“I’m not.” Hashirama’s face falls, the glimmer of hope in his eyes fizzling out in a heartbeat. “But I know Madara, and I don’t think he will feel the same way. Thanks for the offer—and please feel free to have your fun—but there’s no one else I want to be with.”
Mito lets the subject drop, but the pain in Hashirama’s dark eyes makes her heart hurt on his behalf. She doesn’t love him yet, but her fondness for him is undeniable. There has to be something she can do for him.
The first thing she does in the morning, after Hashirama has left for the office, is take out her best set of brushes and ink and write up a formal invitation. If Hashirama won’t ask for himself, Mito will be the bridge that brings the two of them back together.
~.~.~
The invitation was sent three days ago, and Mito hasn’t heard a word since. She doesn’t really expect him to show up, but Uchiha Madara is a man full of surprises. His face is set in stone as Mito welcomes him into their home and offers him a seat at the head of her table. He looks around the sitting room impassively, distaste pouring off of him in heatwaves, although his face is kept carefully blank. Mito takes a deep breath and tries not to think of all that could go wrong.
She bows as she places a tray of sweets in front of him. “It’s an honor to have you in our home, Madara-sama.”
He huffs and his lip curls, but Madara helps himself to a sweet bun nevertheless. It appears that they’ve already exhausted all pleasantries.
Mito proceeds through the ritual step-by-step, breathing deeply lest the Uchiha clan head’s heavy, disdainful gaze should rattle her and make her movements sloppy. She purifies each instrument with care and sets them in their designated places as the water heats up. Two scoops of matcha powder and a little bit of water—she beats them together with the chasen until a thin layer of foam appears at the top, then offers it to her guest with a deep bow. Their hands brush as Madara takes the decorative chawan from her steady hands, and he drinks with half-lidded eyes that never leave hers.
Based on the ones Mito has met so far, the Uchiha are a very aesthetically pleasing clan. The sharingan is amazing, but there’s also beauty in the deep black of their eyes in their natural state—even when, as in the present situation, they are unimpressed and resentful. Though he’s careful to keep his expression neutral, Madara’s eyes tell all. It’s difficult for Mito not to shrink from the venom in his gaze, but she is well-trained enough in politics to keep her composure as he hands the bowl back to her. He says nothing, no observations or compliments about the decor or Mito or anything.
No matter. Mito keeps herself calm and steady as she prepares the usucha, carefully adding just the right amount of water. She hands the bowl to Madara once more with another bow that goes unreturned.
She waits until he’s taken the first sip to jump to the real reason he was invited here.
“I know why you hate me,” she says bluntly.
One of Madara’s thin eyebrows rises. His gaze slides to somewhere over Mito’s left shoulder and she gets the distinct impression that he’s trying very hard not to roll them. “Don’t be absurd. I don’t hate you.”
“Don’t you?” She folds the silk cloth she cleaned the utensils with and sets it aside. “You have every reason to. I won’t deny you that.”
Madara says nothing as he searches Mito’s face for…something. He blinks slowly, face betraying nothing. “I suppose there is a point you’re trying to make. I would appreciate it if you would enlighten me as to whatever it is.”
“I know about you and Hashirama.”
The mask of his composure cracks the tiniest bit, one eyebrow twitching. It takes several long, drawn-out seconds for him to speak again. “Is that what this is? Are we here so that you can gloat?”
“Not at all.” Mito offers him a small smile that he answers with a deepening scowl. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
Confusion settles on Madara’s face. Mito rests both hands on the table and tries to make herself look as open and inviting as possible. “I’m offering to share.”
The mask shatters, offense and indignation written loudly all over Madara’s face. He shifts to stand. “Very funny. If you’ll excuse me, I—”
“Wait!” Mito holds back a sigh of relief when he pauses. “You don’t understand… Hashirama is miserable without you.”
“He didn’t have to marry anyone,” Madara sneers. He settles back onto the floor, sitting with his legs crossed, but his posture remains tense, as if prepared to flee at any moment.
“There weren’t many options for him,” Mito calmly points out. “It was either this or lose the treaty with Uzushio.”
“A choice is a choice,” Madara counters. “He made his.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.” Now that his carefully neutral mask has crumbled, Madara’s face is horribly expressive. Pain and anger war for dominance, and both look good on him. Mito is beginning to see why Hashirama is so taken with the man. “Why make yourself miserable when there are other options?”
This time, Madara does stand, but Hashirama chooses that exact moment to enter the house. Something must have happened for him to return from work so early. “Madara?” His voice is breathless. His eyes, confused and slightly betrayed, dart to Mito for a fraction of a second before settling on the Uchiha again. “What are you doing here?”
Madara’s venomous gaze settles squarely on Mito. “Your wife was just offering me a consolation prize, as if—as if I—” Words failing, he moves to storm out the door—only, Hashirama’s body blocks his path. “Move.” His voice is dangerously low and quiet, but Hashirama doesn’t budge.
There’s a question in Hashirama’s eyes when he looks at Mito again. She nods. He takes this as permission to reach for Madara, his gentle but firm hands wrapping around his wrists. “I can’t let you leave the village. Madara, please, can we—”
“I said, move.” Despite the harshness of his tone, Madara does nothing to break Hashirama’s hold on him…for a moment. Then, his chakra begins to swell, electrifying the air. Hashirama’s grip tightens as he also gathers his chakra.
Mito carefully rises, reaching for a seal in her hair in case her intervention is necessary. She hopes that at least part of the house will survive if a confrontation breaks out. Madara’s crimson eyes have all the fury of a cornered animal, but the chakra bleeds out of him, little by little until his gaze, still fixed on Hashirama, fades from red to black. Mito nearly slumps over in relief that her roof and walls will live to see another day.
“Please don’t leave.” The words are barely a whisper on Hashirama’s lips. He looks as though he may cry, his shining eyes boring into Madara’s, begging.
“I think,” Mito wets her lips, “we can find a way to make this work for everyone.”
Hashirama and Madara both startle a bit, as if they forgot she was standing right there with them. Madara stares at her with anger in his eyes for a few seconds before his face twists in pain. He turns his head away from them both, letting his bangs hide him from their sight.
He shakes Hashirama’s hands off of him, and Hashirama hesitantly lets him go. “I can’t trust you,” he mutters after a while. “Not again.”
“I know.” Hashirama cautiously takes one of Madara’s hands and, when he doesn’t protest, reaches his other up to cup his cheek under the heavy curtain of his bangs. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, and I know it will never be enough.” He gently turns Madara’s face to look him in the eye. “Can you at least hear Mito out?”
Madara reluctantly turns his gaze back to Mito, wary but at least willing to listen.
She must choose her words wisely, or else he’ll be gone for good.
“If Hashirama will allow it—” She glances up at her husband and finds him already nodding, well aware of where she’s going with this. “—I’d like to open things up. He can keep seeing you, and in return, I can see whoever I wish. Discreetly, of course.”
“It sounds okay to me.” Hashirama tries not to look too elated, still unsure of whether the third present party will be on board. “Madara?”
Madara’s eyes narrow into slits, accusing. “You’re married to him and you’re not satisfied?”
Mito shrugs. “Love isn’t a finite thing, and affection and sex aren’t mutually exclusive. I wouldn’t say that I’m unsatisfied, but why should either of us limit our happiness when there’s so much more to be had?”
Madara turns his head toward Hashirama. “And I suppose you’ll just sleep with anyone you want?”
“Of course not!” Hashirama pulls him closer. “There could only ever be you.” After a pause, he adds, “And Mito.”
Madara still doesn’t seem convinced. He looks at Mito. “What else do you hope to gain from this…arrangement?”
She takes a step closer, and he takes a half-step backwards. Undeterred, Mito takes his hand Hashirama isn’t holding in both of her own. “I hope that you and I can get to know each other. It may be forward of me to say so…” She smiles coyly. “But I can see what Hashirama finds so appealing.”
This is it. The biggest gamble of Mito’s life.
She moves in closer and drapes an arm loosely around Madara’s neck. When he doesn’t push her away, she reaches up onto her toes and presses her lips softly against his. Madara is still as a statue. He doesn’t push her away, he doesn’t kiss her back. When she pulls away, his wide eyes fly to Hashirama, who is equally surprised by her boldness.
Mito gives her husband what she hopes is an encouraging smile. It seems to do the trick, as Hashirama returns it. They’re on the same wavelength as they each grab one of Madara’s hands and begin pulling him toward the bedroom.
He follows them with just a little tugging.
The bedroom door slides closed, the air thick with uncertainty. Madara lets himself be guided toward the bed. He sits on the edge, and Mito holds back a laugh at seeing such a formidable man looking so lost and uncertain as he waits to see what will happen. Hashirama takes a seat next to him, placing one hand on his lower back while the other comes to rest on his thigh.
Eyes drifting back to Mito, Hashirama gives her a soft, tender smile. “Mito…thank you.”
She smiles back and moves closer. “Anytime.”
Leaning forward to kiss her husband, Mito feels Madara stiffen beside her. Hopefully his jealousy will not be too hard to overcome. It’s probably best, Mito thinks, to make today all about him.
So she lets Hashirama go for now. Madara’s eyes go wide as she cups his cheek, but he allows his head to be turned toward Hashirama, who takes the hint and places a soft kiss on Madara’s pretty mouth. Madara is still for several seconds. Then, he grabs a fistful of Hashirama’s red hokage robes and pulls him closer. Mito backs away for the time being, content to watch as Hashirama takes Madara’s face in both hands and kisses him like his life depends on it. She moves the extra pillows stacked on a chair in the corner to the floor so she can sit back and relax.
Little by little, Madara’s passion rises to meet him. He growls into the kiss and starts to shove Hashirama onto his back, his mantle and mesh undershirt getting lost somewhere along the way. Now things are getting interesting. Madara makes an unhappy sound when Hashirama breaks the kiss to shed his robes, and he launches himself at him again as soon as they’re out of the way, peppering Hashirama’s neck and chest with bruising kisses that make Hashirama groan appreciatively. Hashirama grabs Madara’s hips and grinds against him, sucking in a sharp breath when Madara yanks his hair to have better access to his neck.
Mito hadn’t been aware that Hashirama got turned on by rough treatment. She files this information away for later.
She also hadn’t realized what a turn-on it would be to see her husband with another man. She’s hot under the collar, watching them roll around half-naked on her bed, beads of sweat dotting her brow. Both men’s attention is pulled to her as she rises from the chair—again as if they had forgotten she was there. No big deal, Mito will be sure to get her share.
They stare as she unties her obi and lets her green and gold kimono pool on the floor. Layer by layer, she slowly reveals herself, and it is with great amusement and flattery that she observes a bit of curious appreciation in Madara’s gaze. Good, he’s attracted to her after all. That will make things much easier.
When she’s fully undressed and has unpinned her hair, she makes her way over to the bed. “Mind if I join in?”
Madara looks like he does mind, but he sits up, still straddling Hashirama’s hips and says nothing as Mito kneels beside him. Hashirama is propped up on his elbows, watching in curiosity as Mito takes Madara’s hand and gently presses the palm against her breast. Madara looks down at her body, and a tiny bit of the uncertainty fades from his dark eyes. He squeezes. Mito lets her hand fall away as he brings his other up to cup the opposite side of her chest.
Success.
He peers back up at Mito’s face, and, finding nothing but encouragement in her expression, slowly dips his head to take a nipple into his mouth. Mito can’t help the appreciative moan that leaves her at the feeling of his tongue circling the hardening nub. He only uses a hint of teeth, and his hands are deliberate, careful as they grope her…and Mito can’t help but feel disappointed in the way he holds back with her. She wants some of the roughness she’s seen him bestow on Hashirama. She’ll have to prove to him that she can take anything he’ll give.
Hashirama sits up and extracts himself from beneath Madara, who is slowly trailing his lips up to Mito’s mouth. Madara’s lips are hot against hers, slightly chapped and hesitant. She weaves her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull and pulls him closer as her tongue traces the seam of his lips, and he opens up beautifully for her, his tongue sliding against hers in a languid game of cat and mouse. From the corner of her eye, Mito sees Hashirama untying his pants and reaching a hand in to fist his cock.
So Hashirama likes to watch, too. She also files this away for later.
Sitting up on his knees, Hashirama positions himself behind Madara. He moves his hair to one side and kisses the spot where neck meets shoulder. Madara sighs into the kiss, and his hands gradually become more confident, fondling Mito’s tits, her ass, and finally, finally, trailing down to tease her slit. Gathering her wetness on two fingers, he brings them to her clit and rubs excruciatingly slow circles around it. Mito’s breath hitches at the first touch of his slicked up fingers, which prompts Madara to deepen the kiss. Hashirama grinds into him from behind as he sucks bruises onto Madara’s skin. Mito wonders if he will offer to heal them after.
When they break apart for air, Mito pulls back to search Madara’s face. His irises are almost too dark to make out the dilated pupils, and his eyes are brimming with an intensity that makes Mito’s face flush almost as red as her hair. Whether it’s fury or lust, Madara’s eyes bore into her with the same singular focus and zeal, and Mito is grateful that it’s lust this time. His concentration slips when Hashirama reaches around him to grab his dick, and Mito helps by untying his pants. They fall around his knees.
“Lie down.” Madara raises an eyebrow at her request, so she adds, “Please.”
He does so cautiously, and Hashirama unties his fundoshi while Mito unwinds his leg wraps and pulls his pants off completely. Only Hashirama has any clothing left—his pants hang loose around his hips as he gets on hands and knees. Taking Madara’s cock in his hand, he licks a long line up the underside of it.
Fuck. Mito finds herself chewing on her lower lip at the sight of her husband taking another man’s cock into his mouth. He swallows it, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving Madara’s. Mito is starting to feel like a wallflower again when she feels warm fingers tap her outer thigh. Madara beckons her closer with a curl of his finger, and as she approaches, it becomes clear what he wants her to do.
Well, well, well. Someone is becoming more and more of a willing participant.
Maneuvering herself over him, she worries about how he will breathe, but Madara pulls her down roughly by the hips, covering his face as his tongue reaches out to trace her slick folds. Surprised and pleased, her eyes flutter closed for a moment. When she opens them, she finds Hashirama looking up at her, his eyes dark with lust and his mouth full of dick. It’s the situation itself as much as Madara’s mouth that makes her come suddenly.
“I’m— ah!” She collapses forward with her hands braced on Madara’s stomach, barely catching herself from bashing her skull into Hashirama’s. Madara laps at her clit as she gets through it, and Hashirama pulls off his cock so that he can kiss her.
“I love you,” Hashirama whispers against her lips. It fills Mito’s heart so full that she fears it will burst.
When her legs stop trembling, Mito moves to the side. “Madara?”
“Hm?”
She wets her lips and glances at Hashirama for approval, then back to Madara. “Would you like to fuck me?”
Madara props himself up on his elbows, and it’s his turn to look to Hashirama, undoubtedly wondering if he minds. Hashirama grins and nods. “You heard the lady.”
“I suppose…” Madara looks back at Mito. “If that’s what you want.”
She offers him a soft smile. “I do want it. Come here.”
Settling onto her back, she watches as the two men kiss once more before Madara positions himself between her legs, his hands gripping the back of her knees. Then, his cock, slick with her husband’s saliva, slowly slides in. He fucks into her with short, shallow strokes, waiting for her to adjust to his size. He’s not as big as Hashirama, but it still takes some time for Mito to take him all the way in.
Hashirama moves in closer, and Madara grabs him by the hair and pulls him in for a savage kiss. Even while biting Hashirama’s lower lip and yanking on his hair, he’s mindful not to be too rough with Mito. He pauses once he’s fully seated within her, and Mito clenches around him.
“Madara… move.”
He does, but slowly. Gently. He thrusts into her carefully, with none of the passion he’s shown with Hashirama. Mito’s fingers curl under his chin, pulling him away from Hashirama to meet her gaze.
“I said that you should fuck me.” Madara’s eyebrows pinch in confusion. “I’m not made of glass. So fuck me.”
Determination hardens Madara’s eyes. He pulls back until only the tip of his dick remains inside her and pushes back in forcefully. Finally. Mito whines as he pulls out and does it again. And again. His heavy-lidded gaze burns with something that looks as much like disdain as desire.
“Hashirama,” she gasps.
He leans down and pushes a stray lock of hair out of her face. “What is it, love?”
“Take off your pants and come sit over here.”
After shucking his pants, Hashirama sits where Mito taps on the pillows beside her head. Before she can even make the suggestion, Madara is leaning forward to take his cock into his mouth. Both of Hashirama’s hands disappear into Madara’s hair, and he thrusts up to meet his mouth while Madara continues to plunge in and out of Mito.
They continue this way for several minutes, until Hashirama breathlessly whispers, “I’m close.” Madara hums around his length, but Hashirama pulls him off of his dick by the hair.
Madara slows his pace in fucking Mito as his confusion mounts.
“Madara…promise me… Promise me you’ll stay.”
“You want to discuss this now?” Madara strokes Hashirama’s dick with his hand, making him whine a bit.
“Yes. Promise me.”
Madara is silent for a moment, his rhythm slowing to a halt. He looks from Hashirama to Mito and back again.
“Fine… I will stay, for now.”
A relieved grin spreads across Hashirama’s face. Madara leans forward to suck him again, and it takes no time for Hashirama’s breath to turn into ragged pants as he spills down his throat.
Madara wears a smug little grin as Hashirama slumps over. Mito erases it by pulling him down to kiss her, never minding the taste of her husband’s seed on his tongue. She rakes her fingers through his hair, then pulls hard. When some energy returns to Hashirama, his fingers find her clit. He pulls Madara’s lips away from Mito to claim them for himself, uncharacteristically selfish for once.
Only a few more strokes and Mito comes hard around Madara’s dick. How can she resist with the erotic sight of Hashirama and Madara kissing each other as if they intend to devour one another just above her? Her thighs tremble around Madara’s hips as he fucks her through the best orgasm of her life.
“Shit! Gonna…come…” Madara pulls out and begins to stroke himself. Hashirama leans down and swallows his cock, and Madara holds him in place with a hand in his hair as he fucks into his mouth. He comes down Hashirama’s throat with a voiceless shout. His eyes find Mito’s as he’s coming down, a sleepy but amused grin curling his lips.
Getting up on his knees, Hashirama kisses Madara again. They pull apart after a few seconds, resting their foreheads together. Hashirama pushes the bangs from the Uchiha’s eyes and kisses him on the forehead. “I love you, Madara.”
Madara exhales through his nose, his amusement gone. “I’m still…unhappy with you. It’s going to take some time to get used to…” He waves a hand vaguely in Mito’s direction. “...this.”
Mito feels a bit insulted, but she’s confident that they’ve made significant headway today. Marriage feels much less oppressive than it did a few months ago, now that she is a semi-free woman, and Hashirama, who deserves all the happiness in the world, can keep what is precious to him. Everyone wins.