#{fragments

[peepingtoad]

Days, weeks--no one could really say when that last, tense conversation had really occurred. But, Madara had to focus on trying to access the Kama upon his brow, which demanded intense meditation; to the point of shutting the world out, even. Yet, the higher state he chased was reeled back when he suddenly sensed the weight of a head, and the warm, cloudy aura that accompanied it. Still as potent as ever, the Uchiha wryly settled in feigned unconsciousness.

And that heartbeat... Inexorably did his hand hover before settling upon it, consciousness drawn away from reality and into his presence, breaths falling into a soothed, entranced deliberation. Sifting beneath the folds, the heat of his heartbeat drumming into his senses, enraptured.

Was this the understanding you spoke of, sage?

impromptu asks || always accepting! || @asaraltu

Upon seeing the Uchiha wrapped up in a meditative state, of course the only conceivable thing to do was to put it to the test. To see how lost in that nature sauce Madara really was, and whether he had the fortitude to maintain his focus under some degree of, shall we say, duress.  It mattered little to Jiraiya how terribly their last conversation had gone—in what had amounted to yet another display of the two cycling through their clashing opinions and coming to no resolution, like two endlessly circling predators—today was a new day. It wasn’t in his nature to dwell on it. Everything Madara said, he’d heard before… and he’d hear it again, no doubt. But he still held hope that maybe, just maybe, something between them would give... and a new understanding of each other would be forged.

Until that day came upon them, however, Jiraiya was quite happy to do what he did best... That being, of course, to make an utter nuisance of himself.

Quietly did he prowl closer, having ducked back down beneath the cluster of boulders where he’d first spotted Madara with sneakily peering eyes. His stance remained low as he gently and silently pushed aside the long grasses and fronds with hands like treading water—until finally he emerged into a clearer area by the pond, where the earth was even and solid, and a dozen or so scattered rocks were weathered flat, smooth like skipping stones from all the toads and apprentice sages who’d meditated here over countless centuries. Madara was cross-legged atop the largest one, which was elevated at an incline about a foot from the ground, looking perfectly statuesque as he tended to. He seemed not to notice the intrusion. Or if he did, he was doing a mighty admirable job at hiding it (perhaps he was still in a mood with him).

Either way, Jiraiya was now presented with numerous possibilities on how he might prank the (apparently) unsuspecting man. He could shove him into the water, or toss a rock at him. Maybe he could retreat back into the long grass and poke him with a long stick, or—

Casting his eyes around, his attention was quickly grabbed by the plump, pear-like shape of a toad basking on the sloping banks of the pond.

... He could very easily scoop that bad boy up and drop it down the Uchiha’s shirt, couldn’t he? Was that wide collar not just asking for it?

And yet, despite the devious smile that curled his lips, flashing a little sliver of pearly teeth… he didn’t really feel like doing it. Or any of the other things, for that matter. Thus did he find himself wandering over, casual as if he hadn’t just been sneaking through the terrain with ill intent, until he was able to sink down directly in front of Madara with his back facing him. There, he reclined slowly—some (not him) might even say considerately—until the back of his wild, white, fluffy head was cradled within the gentle basin of Madara’s crossed legs.

His eyes closed, and he became very still. The seconds seemed to slow down, and his breathing came practically to a halt, gentle enough that his chest didn’t move in the slightest.

It was like swimming solo, only to suddenly feel the opposing currents of a second, spectral swimmer lapping at him—the ripples gentle, almost playful. He couldn’t see Madara, per se, but he was aware of his presence... or rather, the presence of his spiritual self, in a way that was unique to the sensation of being physically near to him. It was rather like their first spar, come to think of it. Physically close and embroiled in the back and forth of combat, yet all the while their clashing energies had been doing something... rather different.

This time, of course, it was all rather serene... both in the physical plane, and on the spiritual level. Like this, he could calmly observe what it was Madara was doing... not that he understood it entirely. He thought he could perceive the manifestation of energy a little above where Madara’s eyes would be—those being two very distinct pockets of energy in themselves—but it seemed by the sudden fluctuation that he’d made an utter nuisance of himself after all.

Seems like you were doing pretty good, Jiraiya found himself thinking—somehow knowing that the sentiment would make it through. Sorry about that. I’ll just watch. I swear I’m good at it!

It was then that he felt something (something very solid, very real) over his heart, and just like that, his stasis was broken. With an intake of breath so deep as to be luxurious, his ribcage swelled as much as it could swell... before slowly, slowly settling back again, like the briefly incited ocean growing tranquil once more.

Luckily, he’d been still for long enough that red markings had begun to spread over his features like brushstrokes, so he wasn’t jerked out of the moment. The warm and gentle resistance of the hand on his chest seemed to guide his continued breaths, in and out. He smiled.

[peepingtoad]

Juuust comes up from behind and begins massaging at Jiraiya’s chest. “You seem tense, darling,” he murmured in the sage’s ear. (I am... so sorry—)

impromptu asks || always accepting! || @asaraltu

He melts back into Madara, so done that he may well put the Uchiha on the ground unless he supports that weight—the immeasurable heft of a man burdened with so much utter bullshit.

“Ah, I love you! I love you so much—” He says wispily, wearily, nuzzling into Madara’s neck. “Don’t have to give you dating advice, don’t have to explain things that shouldn’t need explaining... certainly don’t need to teach you how to put a damn condom on...”

I mean, they tend to kind of uh... forego them. But whatever.

“You’re amazing.” 

[peepingtoad]

BITES HIS NIPS

impromptu asks || always accepting! || @asaraltu

JUST FUCKING WHIMPERS.

[peepingtoad]

❓Boop

Send ❓  and my muse will answer all questions honestly. || @asaraltu   

||—Does my muse trust yours? 

“In so many ways, I trust him more than anyone else. There was never anywhere to hide with him, which... wasn’t exactly a sign of willing trust on my part, but it was a trial by fire that grew into trust because of how he handled it all. He didn’t always spare my feelings, but as a result it quickly became clear that Madara was no liar. Not that what he says is always right, but it’s honest. 

“Even if things hadn’t turned out the way they did, I believe I still would’ve trusted him in that regard... but because of how things did turn out, I’ve now got someone I can speak to about anything in the world. I’ve entrusted my heart to him, and while he might fumble and drop it sometimes—and while it definitely hurts when he does—I trust him enough to know it’s not because he doesn’t care. I mean, nobody’s ever been able to convince me they love me without even seeming to try before, that’s how honest he really is! Perhaps he’s just terrible at keeping a lid on himself and actually finds it very frustrating, but I’m sure not complaining!

“Of course, it’s been a concern that he could spiral back into thoughts of revenge, but knowing him as I do... I have full faith that all he needs is just one person to tell him what he feels isn’t wrong, to remind him of how different the world is and what he has to live and be happy for now... and to just keep on loving him. I hope I’ll always be that person!”

||—Does my muse dislike yours?

“I really didn’t love how ‘doom and gloom’ and unyieldingly authoritarian he was at first. Nobody tells the Toad Sage what do to!

“... Although nowadays, he can order me around as much as he likes, heh~”

||—Would my muse kill someone for yours?

“Why does my instinct tell me that he’d hate for me to kill on his behalf? Either way, if anyone ever threatened his village I’d deal with them appropriately. Have the entire operation dissolved, if you catch my meaning. Then my hands can stay all heroic and clean for him, right?~”

||—Would my muse kill your muse?

“Unless he was threatening the existence of the entire world again, no. But even in that unlikely event... I’d be going with him.”

Little does he know of Tobidara verse...

||—Would my muse save yours?

“I’d do everything within my power.”

||—Does my muse find your muse attractive? 

“He’s so damn beautiful it makes more than just my heart ache~❤︎”

You think he’s talking about his dick, but actually he means his eyes when he’s crying them out at how Fuckin’ Beautiful Mada is. Psych!

||—Is my muse disgusted by yours? 

“I should be, shouldn’t I? But I can’t hold his actions from a time when he was little more than a twisted shadow of himself against him, even if I should.”

||—Would my muse go on a date with your muse?  

“We did everything so backwards that our first one came rather late. I’d be more than eager to remedy that! A date for every year we’ve lived!”

||—Would my muse kiss yours?  

“Again? Oh, go on then.”

||—Would my muse betray yours? 

“He once voiced his concerns that my heart belonged to certain others, and I’m not sure if he still feels that way now, but knowing him... 

“Anyway, let’s just highlight that I’ve never considered marriage a serious option until now. I’ve never agreed to monogamy with the intention of it being forever, nor with the confidence it could be forever, until now. I could never betray that.”

My muse’s favourite thing about yours is... “When he’s really sleepy and squinty and his hair is all over the place! Oh, aside from the whole ‘making me feel cherished and appreciated’ part, of course.”

The thing my muse dislikes about yours is... “I’m still wondering when disaster’s gonna strike next.”

[peepingtoad]

❤

meme asks; {new years kiss!} || @asaraltu

Jiraiya doubted that they’d ever quite become soft and domesticated enough to usher in the new year with some measly television countdown, but it didn’t mean that they didn’t observe the occasion in their own cosy, personal, private way—that is, once they’d found an appropriate enough time to abscond from the big village celebrations.

Music and revelry and the continued popping and cracking of fireworks were but distant drones now that they were in their bubble, tipsy from numerous festival drinks, with Madara sparing no time in pulling the taller down to receive all those kisses he’d opted not to shower him with in public.

Plus interest, from the looks of it!

It certainly made exercising patience worth it, to finally have his beloved all to himself. Even his bold exhibitionist streak could be set aside for tonight, wanting nothing more than to strip and be stripped of the layers of finery, to be close to Madara, to see him in the way nobody else ever could, dishevelled and debauched and bathed in the rising light of a brand new year.

Beautiful. Exalted. His.

“So... how’s it feel to begin the new year as my fiancée?” the sage purred, grinning utterly shamelessly and rubbing noses with him. “From my end, I must say it’s pretty damn amazing...”

He paused to catch his breath and bask in the moment, but resourceful as ever he was, also took the opportunity to hold Madara’s face in both hands, where their eyes could meet tenderly, unwaveringly as he continued in a low murmur.

“I know that this year... is gonna be the happiest I’ve ever had. And it’s all because of you, my love.” That final word melted seamlessly into a long, slow kiss that barely even broke before adding, “I just hope I can return the favour.”

[peepingtoad]

It was one of those modern marvels he was a little slow to the uptake, but one he could appreciate. In the modest living room of Madara's apartments, bare-footed and on the soft tatami mats did they slow dance to the charmingly static strains of a jazzy tune, Jiraiya's hands on the small of his back while his own perched on Jiraiya's shoulders. Without his geta, it made it easier to sway with touching foreheads, soft, enamored gazes completely transfixed on the other's. (take it, basard :|)

impromptu asks || always accepting! || @asaraltu

The way Madara had squinted at the notion at first, one would almost think he’d been talking about some sort of witchcraft rather than simple radio technology—especially when he’d revealed it was based not on chakra or ninjutsu of any kind, but pure human ingenuity. Still, he supposed back before the Hidden Villages were conceived, shinobi were even more distanced from their civilian counterparts than even he was ever used to. He recalled reading once that even getting a camera in to take Hashirama’s portrait, along with the portraits of the first graduates, had been considered pretty novel.

Now, of course, he couldn’t help but think about the fact he’d never seen photographs of Madara in those books. Had Hashirama purposefully left only a stern stone visage standing as testament to the fact that Madara had existed as a founder of the Leaf? Were there pictures he’d hoarded to himself, aging and cracking in some box somewhere?

... Ah, but what did it even matter? Jiraiya knew, absolutely, that nothing like a photo or statue could ever measure up to the reality in his arms, before his eyes, swaying in time with him so slowly that it seemed at points they forgot to lift their feet at all. He doubted that anyone had ever seen the Uchiha’s features so soft and adoring—his beloved brothers, perhaps, but even so, it wouldn’t be with quite the same eyes as this. Eyes that were totally vulnerable, without fear, that knew how utterly adored he was with no strife to be seen.

With this thought in mind Jiraiya smiled widely, almost dopily, unable to stop himself from humming in blissful, bubbly elation.

“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” he said softly, a languid hand falling away from Madara’s back to snake between their bodies and hold his jaw with utmost care, as if he were handling the most precious bone china.  

“Of course, the other benefit is that we don’t have to embarrass some poor musician with our flagrant displays of affection, heh...”

And if Madara took that as a sign he was about to be kissed, deeply and indulgently... well, he’d be absolutely right, wouldn’t he?

[peepingtoad]

For some it might be considered an odd way to help his beloved unwind, but for them, it was simply how they were. With his kimono tunic hanging sloppily off his biceps and mesh armor bunched to his collar, hickeys bloomed lividly on the sage's pectorals and his abdomen, purring where the muscle rippled and tensed under his onslaught. While the pants still clung to his hips, Madara bit Jiraiya's inner thighs sensuously, wanting nothing less than to hear his love whine for more.

impromptu asks || always accepting! || @asaraltu

“M-Madara...”

Breaths came hot and heavy from parted lips, something of a respite from the soft groans that had been drawn from him so effortlessly thus far. Madara knew all his most sensitive spots like the back of his hand by now, and he sure spared no mercy in assaulting each and every one—from his jaw to his jugular, to his heaving chest to the muscled meat of his ribs and abdomen—until his eyes were glazed and hazy upon reopening, albeit pouting slightly at the perceived cease in attention.

Not that the misunderstanding lasted long, as the Uchiha dipped further down and set to bruising his thighs with equally possessive bites, causing his almost reproachful frown to ebb drunkenly away once more.

Jiraiya hissed at first, the tenderness of the flesh there making him jerk slightly, only for the aching pressure of embedded teeth to work each spot into tingling, stinging bliss before moving on to another. Without the faculties to consciously hold them up, his knees fell a little wider apart, causing more of his weight to fall to the heels of his fists that were knotted up in the sheets, and his shoulders that were slumped against the headboard. 

Ah, to think that all of this, his subtle neediness masked as impatience when his back arched and his hips squirmed into the mattress, came without even undressing him first. That Madara was so impatient to have him that he couldn’t even wait to unwrap his meal before digging in...

Perhaps just as much as the sensations themselves, that was exactly what Jiraiya loved about this so much. How debauched and dishevelled and utterly desperate Madara could render him, and at the same time make him feel so wanted—so cherished—by doing so relatively little...

A particularly sumptuous bite at the very top of the sage’s inner thigh prompted a moan that couldn’t be restrained by the front teeth sinking visibly into his lower lip, although the devious curl of the upper said rather clearly that Jiraiya hadn’t even cared to try. Somehow, that particular spot had sent a delicious ripple of electricity right to his nipples, which might have been funny if it wasn’t for him delighting in such a sudden and intense sensation. 

“Mmm, yeah~ Show me who I belong to, babe...” The words stumbled forth mindlessly. His cheeks were ruddy with lust, his grin wide and dopey and panting, and his eyes oozing with adoration... but the most obvious sign of approval above all that was the occasional twitch from the confines of his clothing, both loving the teasing and yet desperate to be freed. One calf wound itself lazily around Madara’s back, the weight of it seeming to urge him in some way... 

But ultimately, it mattered not how this would play out, nor how fast or slow it did. Whatever Madara wanted to do with him, and however he wished to do it, Jiraiya would eat it up. Let it sink into his bones and envelop his soul. Nothing his beloved could do would ever make him feel anything less than adored, and his trust in that showed so wholly in his soft, grey eyes.

“Show me I’m all yours...”

[peepingtoad]

🍺 oops?

(very old) meme asks; {x} || @asaraltu​

🍺 - Get drunk and wake up completely naked cuddled up to my muse

It was deathly quiet when he woke up. 

That meant that whatever the hell had happened last night, he’d gotten smashed enough for the big guy to finally reach his limits and pass out. 

Impressive! 

Probably more impressive, however, was the fact that once his dark eyes fluttered unevenly open to gaze upon a dim scene of carnage he had absolutely no recollection of (not unusual in itself), it quickly became apparent that he was still absolutely wasted. There was definitely at least four of everything he saw, and there was no telling whether the world was tilting, or he was, or both—so he soon gave up on pushing himself up onto his elbows and rolled over with a gravelly groan…

… Which turned into a series of splutters and huffs as he was forced to rid his mouth of sudden… hair?

And an abundance thereof, no less. 

But more notable than that though, was the fact that his bare chest found itself pressed against an equally bare back, emanating warmth and expanding gently with each slow, soporous breath. Ohohoho, well fancy that! Looked like he'd bedded himself a gorgeous… (blindly and clumsily his hand groped, finding the slight curve of a hip, then traversing up the expanse of tacky flesh until, with an indulgent squeeze)… man!

With difficulty, Jiraiya forced his eyes open again, stuck shut as they were with the crumbling remnants of black kohl. The sticky residue of sweat he could feel coating him from head to foot also lent his unfamiliar partner a deliciously sleazy glow as he carefully coaxed him closer, rolling him onto his back, his head lolling towards him… which had his jaw going slack.

Well fuck… he’s gorgeous!

Greedily his eyes took the stranger in, multiple after-images and all, which perhaps enhanced what an absolute catch he’d somehow landed himself with. He was pretty damn sure this couldn’t just be a severe case of beer goggles, and as his gaze slid down the man’s supine form in all its lean beauty, so too did his hand follow, until the thin blanket that only just covered his modesty proved too strong a temptation to resist.

So he didn’t.

“Nice,” he mumbled out loud, nodding with approval.

There was, however, a niggling sense that there was something else he should be remembering here, something nebulous that was stirred into being as he peered shamelessly at that which was no longer hidden beneath the sheets in his grasp. Something about how the previous night started that made him think there was something very different about this guy, but…

Meh. Don’t care. Too drunk. 

Why trouble oneself over the details, besides, when there’s a perfectly good chest to lie on and a beautiful body to hold?

Hell, maybe when the guy woke up he’d even be up for another round!

[peepingtoad]

When midday came, the time for Jiraiya’s ritualistic nap was when Madara would meet him after his own duties in the village. Taking him by the hand to the couch, the Uchiha drew his love to lay comfortably atop him. There, a hand caressed through hair and stroked his scalp, the other rubbing and soothingly touching his back. It was a hard-won peace long overdue.

|| impromptu asks; always accepting! || @asaraltu

Normally the sage would take his impromptu naps wherever he happened to be lying (or sitting, or leaning, or slouching) at the time, the urge for sleep overcoming him like a gradual buildup of fluffy ash to snuff out a dwindling flame. On this occasion, however, he was accosted when the threat of it had his cheek hovering dangerously close to ink that had yet to dry, the gentle yet insistent tug of his hand willing him to rise. Somewhere in his foggy mind, even if it didn’t quite rise to the realm of conscious thought, he clearly knew it’d be worth it not to protest against that guiding hand...

And boy, was he right.

Madara’s loving caresses made history of whatever tension might have arisen thanks to his crappy posture, the warmth of the Uchiha’s thighs a cradle that added all the more comfort and security to the sleepy embrace as his arms wiggled their way beneath his back to hold him tight in turn. But most of all, it was listening to the steady, unceasing rhythm beneath his ear that lulled Jiraiya ever more deeply into restful bliss, even while a part of him held on to the waking world with all his might, just so he could keep experiencing Madara’s touch, his scent, the sound of his heartbeat—everything.

“Mm, stoppit...” he grumbled groggily, a little edge of a bratty whine to his tone, and mustered just enough energy to press his temple into his beloved’s sternum before adding nonsensically and without any context, “makin’ me miss ya...”

[peepingtoad]

@asaraltu​ sent ✉️ for ...  (can i ask for any of the sad ones or--) ... a worried note it is, then! | meme asks | x |

Unfinished, unsent, but probably very much discoverable:

‘ I wish you would talk to me.

Actually, scratch that, because you talk to me plenty. 

What I actually wish is that when you talked to me, at least some of those things would actually just leave you for good. That talking to me actually made a difference. Because whatever I say in return, whether I relate to you or validate you, or even if I simply let you feel and say what you do without trying to come back with something, it’s still clinging to you, pulling you down like a tar pit.

And I just want you to be out. I want you to feel the sun with me, and not be constantly aware of the shadows. I want to look in your eyes and not see that endless hollow just beneath the surface. I want to hold you and feel like you’re not gonna vanish. 

I want you to be able to live.

I want ’

[peepingtoad]

@asaraltu​​ said: “You know, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known. I mean it.” It’s punctuated by a few tender, warm kisses to the corner of Jiraiya’s mouth and cheeks, and corners of his eyes— (I’m not apologizing—) | impromptu asks | always accepting! |

His eyes squeeze shut under the feather-light assault, one followed by the other, accompanied by a sheepish grin and a very much uncontrollable flush. Beautiful—now that’s a word that gets him somewhere ridiculously soft and gooey.

“Heh… what’s got you all mushy all of a sudden, hmm?” he teases gently, nose wrinkling in mild embarrassment despite the hold around Madara’s waist coiling just a touch tighter than before. It’s moments like these that he can’t help but reflect on this, what they’ve become—how simultaneously insane and blessed they are considering the opposing poles they once occupied, vast in difference yet both swathed in the shadows of a self-imposed burden.

This introspective whim of his leads him to a sudden thought as he shifts to gently nudge Madara’s nose with his own, his eyes questioning and curious despite the misty appearance of them.

“Say, darling... is it better than how I looked back then?” The question is posed quite lightly, the sage smirking rakishly despite how pointedly he gazes into Madara’s eyes—those eyes he knows to be so, so much more than hues of warm earth would suggest. “I always say I’ve aged like a good whiskey, but you’ve gotta admit I was a little firmer back then. A little fresher lookin’.”

He lazily draws a hand up to his face, rubbing his own cheek before sliding it over the opposite jaw and squishing it slightly.

“Hmm... never quite lost the baby fat, though...”

[peepingtoad]

It’s almost irreverent, the way that frowning mouth and silver tongue were reduced to heated moans in the wake of this dreamed scuffle, strong thighs hitched to his waist while erratic digits claw through Jiraiya’s hair. Between frantic, wet kisses did that lithe form arch into the sage’s, desperate with want that wants him fervently, with enough passion to burn a nation’s forests to ashes. Bare and hot, beneath him does this phantom writhe wantonly, desperate and pleading for him.

Wet dream meme; {x} || @asaraltu

4: Very aroused with a hint of 2: Confused/Uncomfortably aroused because I made it so!

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment that dirty fighting had turned into fighting dirty, seamless as the transition was. A low sweep turned into a grapple that turned into fists in hair, and grinding hips, and tearing at clothing like wolves over scraps of meat, caring not for the blood drawn in the process, nor how it stung grazed flesh to be rubbing up against another. Caring for nothing at all besides satisfying that need to be inside, to be on, to fill that smartass mouth with nothing but his tongue, his breath, his name.

The alluring taste of salt and metal was a driving force for him to go harder, faster. Possessed with a painful need to feel that oozing mercury between their mouths become solid with the bite of tooth or sharp blade of a breath. Skin so hot he half expected one or both of them to catch alight, for flames to lick beautifully over their entwined bodies as though the sweat glazing their skin was in fact gasoline. 

Maybe if they ignited now, it would be the ultimate bliss—the two of them, dissolving together, rendered to ashes, their particles combined.

Oh, but then he wouldn’t have those luxurious moans, the voice that sent shivers of excitement down his spine at its most haughty and cutting, now begging. For him. He needs him. He aches for him. He’s incomplete without him.

His breath shook ragged over a throat pulled taut by arching spine, vibrating under the unsteady thrum of low moans whose rhythm matched the possessive tides gripping him, pulling him deeper and deeper into oblivion... so hot... so enveloping... so safe.

Tenderly, he kissed that throat.

And just like that, the body beneath him stiffened, went cold, twisted—until pliant flesh was nothing more but gnarled bark in the shape of a man screaming neither in pleasure nor in agony. Its splinters bit his flesh, and his arms were trapped in winding branches like sinew he couldn’t tear away from. His brow pressed against the wooden chest, and a dry tightness that began in his throat spread, taking over his body slowly... surely...

Jiraiya woke with a start, bolt upright and gasping in combined panic and arousal. The sky above was still dark, and aside from the empty bedroll beside him (and the constant influence of this godforsaken forest) he seemed to be alone in the aftermath of that fucked up dream. 

Thankfully. 

[peepingtoad]

@asaraltu​ said: From behind does a hand snake around the sage's neck to fan and grip the frame of his jaw like spidery limbs, palm caressed against his jugular. "Tell me: do you take pleasure in defying me like this? Even though you're mine and no one else's?" His voice, devilishly lustrous, croons in Jiraiya's ear. It drops an octave lower, darker. "Don't forget that only I can claim you. No one owns you like I do, my darling sage. Your body won't let you want anyone but /me/." | impromptu asks | always accepting! |

Commitment was something he really, truly (and perhaps a little unbelievably) had committed to, sure—but there were certain leaves Jiraiya simply couldn’t turn. Such as his tendency to potter off, get good and drunk somewhere, and the fact that with that pleasant, inhibitions-melting buzz also came a certain wanderlust of the ocular variety. 

All look and no touch, of course. Harmless, right? It wasn’t like he had a lover who could pretty much see everything right down to the subtle roaming of his gaze over a particularly pleasing swell of curves, was it? Noooo.

Needless to say, the atmosphere when he returned home hinted rather strikingly as to just how wrong he was. He was no strong sensor, particularly not while compromised, but there was no mistaking the tension in the chakra permeating the place, which prickled and perked up at his presence.

So it’s like that, is it?

A lopsided grin formed on Jiraiya’s face as he fumbled to slide off shoes and haori, then slouched inside.

But maybe it was just a coincidence, after all. Maybe the dark and fiery presence he could feel drawing towards him from elsewhere in the building with not a second to spare had nothing to do with his little outing. Maybe he was just missed, the way lovers miss each other, in a totally normal way. It was with that in mind that he went to fetch himself a nightcap, then, as he sank into the seat to take a generous swig, attempt not to shiver too visibly at the encroaching shadow.

Before he could swallow that first mouthful of whiskey was when smooth fingers, free of their usual gloves (as was so often the case of late), crept over his throat and gripped him in such a way that every muscle was suddenly seized with deliciously tingling tension, his eyelids fluttering under the combined weight of drunkenness and abrupt arousal. When he swallowed, the pressure of the hold was restrictive enough that he could feel his throat struggling against it just a little, and the next breath he took was more of a cross between a gulp and a gasp. But it was the low purr into the sensitive flesh just beneath his ear that had him worrying the inside of his lower lip, trying his damnedest not to squirm or shudder as little electric ripples licked their way over his form with each phrase, or at the brazen possessiveness of them.

Shit. And there go the nipples. Gods, what that voice could do to him. Madara knew it far too well, too—as if it wasn’t bad enough that a certain touch and tone of voice was all it took to have the sage oozing within his grasp, even without the content striking some chord in him like a taut bowstring suddenly released.

“Ggh, you…” He wanted to have a good comeback, he really did—but every warm breath that fluttered over his skin seemed to damn him to further depths of weakness, his awakened nerves crying out for Madara’s touch, and so all he could do at first was grip his glass tighter as a petulant little croaking sound loosed from his throat. That weakness was too damn sweet and addictive to resist, and it showed in the way he twisted his neck a little to offer more of it up to him while nuzzling into him slightly—yet he found his bearings enough to at least form a sentence through a wavering grin, black irises sliding to the corners of his eyes despite being unable to see him. 

“Your wicked words won’t sway this gallant heart, villain~”

[peepingtoad]

★ (for mada :V)

Send my character a ★ and I’ll bold everything they feel toward your character. (accepting!) || @asaraltu

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you (he very much wants to, and therefore he does despite... well...) // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you (look, at points--) // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[peepingtoad]

@asaraltu​ said: For someone as disciplined as himself, one would think him amenable to a partner who was an early riser. Except, that's where Madara fell utterly short. Petulantly did he latch his arms around the sage's waist, blinking owlishly that lost the potency of his glare. "The sun isn't even up yet..." he groused softly, pouting at the man. | impromptu asks | always accepting! |

As he was tugged back into the warm dip in the futon he’d barely even escaped, the strength in that hold quite the surprise given his beloved’s languorous state, Jiraiya could once again only marvel at the fact that someone so feared the world over could be so very, painfully adorable.

Indeed, there was no way he could muster up the resolve to say no to those blearily blinking eyes, nor to the soft downward curve of a mouth already so inclined towards resting sulkiness. His heart was weak, and he wouldn’t even try to deny it.

“Madara... darling... I love you,” he said softly, and with only the fondest lilt of amusement in his voice as he twisted to cup the Uchiha’s cheek and kiss him on the lips, enjoying the way his skin felt ever so cutely toasty from where he’d been swaddled in their shared blankets, “however I also really, really need to pee.”

Of course, without any intervention ‘needing to pee’ would inevitably have changed into ‘needing breakfast’, then ‘needing a smoke with a piping hot lapsang’, then ‘needing to jot down that idea I’d had just before drifting off last night’... really, the list could (and would) go on, seeing him remain awake until a post-brunch drowsiness overcame him. 

Oh, but how this one had a way of making him rethink his usual habits! Arms curling around him in a secure embrace, Jiraiya found himself settling back into a half recline as he nuzzled into Madara’s thick mane.

“Just lemme go real fast, and I promise I’ll be right back before ya know it.”

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to spend the morning lounging lazily in bed with the one he adored, reading a book while he snuggled into his chest; or alternatively, he could simply lie there and watch as the sun filtered ever more golden and bright through the drapes, listening to the irregularly fluttering zephyr that would be Madara’s breaths, feeling his rib cage expand slowly in his hold with each intake.

Had he not earned such a simple joy? Having spent a life seemingly fated never to be allowed pause for reprieve? When he thought of it like that... yes, this was something he could really start to enjoy.

There was only one lingering problem, he recalled as his arms gave a single, only slightly firmer squeeze, hoping that if his wild-haired hawk had ebbed back into sleep’s embrace during his moment of introspection, his grip would lull him from it again with the utmost of care.

Ah... but he was sure he could hold it in just a little longer.

[peepingtoad]

@asaraltu​ said: Getting drunk wasn't something Madara commonly did, especially when hoisted by his own noble reserve, but sometimes, well... Molding their bodies together with drunkenly lidded eyes, his hands came to shamelessly round and fondle the sage's posterior, a heady purr in his throat as his lips trailed along Jiraiya's jugular. "I take it you came here alone?" he purred against the sage's pulse, tongue lewdly trailing it. | impromptu asks | always accepting! |

Jiraiya could smell it right away in the hot puffs of breath that caressed his throat, which carried on their crests a sharp tang that might have burned the nostrils of a lesser man... or, perhaps, simply a sober one. Because of course he’d had a few himself, enough to lend a certain pooling warmth to his cheeks, and it was times like these that really highlighted the difference in their tolerances. Jiraiya couldn’t picture Madara having had any more than his standard daily dose, and yet the effects were stark, to say the least.

Perhaps that said more about himself than it did the Uchiha, but now was hardly the time to speculate.

“Heh, bit too late to spare your modesty either way, isn’t it?” He commented, voice velvety and teasing as he repaid the affections with a peppering of kisses from Madara’s temple to the corner of his lips, guiding his face upwards with a gentle hand. “But don’t worry, love--your secret slutty side remains a secret... this time.”

It was about that point, when their hot breaths mingled momentarily, that he could taste the potent fragrance of wine they were so close--although he abstained from kissing those tempting lips in favour of gazing into endlessly dark eyes, committing every detail from thick lashes to distinguished tear troughs to memory. A powerful and tender moment it may have remained, if not for the fact a fumble in Madara’s ministrations led to quite the ticklish spot being brushed by eager yet clumsy fingertips. The sage shivered, but by the skin of his teeth he managed to save his sultry smirk from crumpling as he butted his forehead playfully into Madara’s, then captured his lips in a bold kiss--all tongue and teeth and the raking of nails over scalp as he gripped pitch dark hair by the roots, then sighed into his parted mouth.

“Y’know, I kinda like it that way,” he murmured, ghosting his lips over chin and jaw with languid relish, then marking the spot beneath his ear with a brief bite, “knowing that this Madara's all mine.”