Ever since Madara started seeing Inuzuka Kiba, a few unmindful individuals, who are aware of Kiba's presence, have voiced out their thoughts on how the two do not look like a couple.
It is Hashirama. His entire being takes up the proportions of several individuals.
Madara keeps his relationship on the down-low but somehow, word has gotten out that he is seeing someone. There has not been a week without someone pointing out the same thing. An up-and-coming prosecutor and a fresh graduate who was also a star basketball player in the university league. The former does not mind holing up in his family’s priced library for days while the latter would blast Fuck Tha Police when his neighbour threatened to call the police on him for ‘suspicious get-up’. Not to mention the eight years gap between them.
(The last bit was from his dear father who has yet to show signs of senile decay).
Of course, they don’t match. Because they are not dating. Whoever spread the rumour left out the key part of their relationship. Whether it was for the better or worse, Madara has yet to find out.
Sure, they do hang out at each other’s places, mostly at Madara’s — because as much as he is intrigued by Kiba’s incoherent choices of room decor, he shares the house with two roommates who Madara refuses to be around for more than an hour. But most of the hanging out is spent fucking and then, if time allows it, idle lounging and eating.
Clearly, they do not have commitments to each other outside the scope of their standard friends with benefits dynamic. Madara would dispassionately argue that they are not really friends as they do not have much in common. However, the friends that have welcomed themselves into his life have a terrible case of annoying him whenever the opportunity arises. That is if he excludes Uzumaki Mito, an enigma who appears to be more like a thousand years old spirit who was accidentally released if Madara’s life is a satire fantasy comic set in the current timeline.
Kiba, on the other hand, simply leaves him to his own devices after sex. The brunette would either cook up a meal for both of them or just pass out on his bed after shower. Working in the same room while the younger man dozed off was as futile as convincing Hashirama that presenting Mito with a bundle of unprofessionally picked flowers by a park is illegal and not romantic. The languid silhouette of the slumbering man tangled in his fresh white duvet — a warm golden brown so enticingly soft, luring him in for a nap.
When it is neither, Kiba sticks to his side, earphones plugged in, making another attempt to soldier through his thesis while Madara pours over a book or a cold case. At first, Madara reminded the brunette of the concept of personal space. Kiba made a face at him after a few reminders and made a verbal observation that then nested into his mind as another consciousness; he was too uptight and had a fear of proximity. Did Madara realize his problem and attempted to fix it? No, he had argued back, which then led to more sex.
“But this doesn’t bother ya?” Kiba had grunted out while he was deep inside Madara with his pelvis flush against Madara’s body.
He did eventually realize how closed off and defensive he was when he found his senses shooting into hyperdrive when Hashirama patted his back during a conversation with their acquaintances. Apparently, that is not normal. Madara did not admit it to Kiba but had since learned to let the man lean on him whenever they are together, alone.
Today is one of those days when Kiba practically jumps on his lap, eager for more attention. Madara's tired stare follows the shirtless man sauntering over to his end of the sofa. He picks the remote control off the table and plops between Madara’s legs. He is even careful enough to not knock over the cup of coffee that is yet to wake Madara up from the summer’s lazy haze. Kiba stretches his legs over the two vacant spots of the three-seater sofa. Madara gets a whiff of his scented shampoo when Kiba shakes his damp hair, wet strands fall over his face, softening the crisp edges of his slitted pupils.
There are so many parts of this that sit weirdly in his chest.
Madara personally does not like sharing his hygiene products with others, not even his nosy brother, but still lets the man use them. Strangely, he likes his smell on him.
They did not do much today beyond making out — if that could be called a make-out session. Kiba pulled away from his neck, gave him a once over, and told him to shower and cool down instead. He even helped him wash his hair — a good massage to top it off. It felt… domestic, jarringly different from their usual endeavors.
And here he is, no awkward limbs when Kiba dropped himself on him. His arm braces Kiba’s back as he stares at his coffee in contemplation. He could not think of the right word to place over this… whatever this is supposed to be.
Is this normal for friends with benefits?
“Cable shows? In this day and age? C’mon, Rama. Just get a streaming subscription!” Kiba mutters as he abuses the buttons to flick through the channels.
Kiba also has a habit of giving him nicknames. Rama, Mads, Rambo, wolverine. Maddie if the goof decides to provoke his ire. Kiba calls it team building. Madara calls it for what it is, a pesky man in need of punishment.
“I don’t watch TV all the time,” Madara mumbles in between sips of his coffee.
“What am I supposed to do when I’m here?” Kiba throws himself back against the armrest dramatically.
Madara’s eyes do not miss the marks he made a few days ago adorning the stretch of Kiba’s abdominal muscles when he arches his back over the curve of the armrest and groans. The bite mark near the dark pecks of his nipples is healing nicely. He takes a rather huge gulp of coffee when he gets a delicious view of Kiba’s exposed neck with a worn-out dark brown suede wrap necklace further accentuating the crane of his throat. If it was not for the bone-deep exhaustion plumbing his palette, he would have claimed every other spot he failed to mark the last time, starting from Kiba’s neck. Alas, his life loves to be a pain in his ass so he downs the rest of his coffee with a huff.
“Why are you so boring?” Kiba does not hesitate to put his opinions out in the world if he feels like it. His acute sense of social cues and surroundings are the only things keeping him from his demise. Madara has heard this same comment expressed in varying iterations multiple times when they are together. He would usually have a put upon glare and quip at the man, picking at him instead.
Bickering is quite common to them both. Kiba has the energy of a vocal husky and Madara has the tolerance of a crumbling statue. They have had countless debates about the most random topic. Like that time when Kiba pointed out that chameleons are living green screens and almost bought one to test its camouflaging skills on a perfectly cooked sunny-side-up egg — the debate was mostly one-sided with Madara being the unwilling victim to bounce his ideas off of.
Their disputes have gone too far at least twice. The silent treatment did not last longer than two weeks of no sex and strangely ending up at the same party, with both giving each other the side-eye. The nature of their relationship gave them no reason to make proper amends.
Nonetheless, Madara did not feel like finding another sex partner since many eagerly fell at his feet with ulterior motives hidden behind their sickly sweet smile. Kiba had welcomed him with a mere lopsided grin when he found Madara at his doorsteps, laughed his ass off when he caught a glimpse of Madara blue-ticked desperate messages he received for days from someone.
Madara was very amused, much to his dismay, by Kiba’s elaborate and tireless scheme of spamming him messages that went along the lines of ‘Ya know what else would be better than a warm sub sandwich? Your dick’ and basically did a live update of his life and how it would be better if they could just fuck again.
“Don’t do you have anything fun to do, like ever ?” Kiba’s exasperated whining snaps him out of his stupor. “Man, it feels like I’m the only fun part of your life,” the brunette jibes.
He probably is.
“Then, what do you suggest?”
Instantly, Kiba’s face lights up, his smile ten times cuter with his dark brown locks drying in wispy curls over his eyes. “Wanna go out?”
The coffee cup hangs limply in his hand as he stares at Kiba who starts suggesting activities they could do together. The remote is left forgotten on Kiba’s belly as he animatedly describes what he has in mind. The pleasant hum in his chest returns to the forefront. He feels slight unease with the expanding feeling that constricts his chest. There is a word he knows of, a word Hashirama has uttered too many times in delight when it comes to the subject of his sleeping partner. He does not dare spell the word in his mind, not even imagine the sound of it.
“Naruto said The Gutsy Ninja movie was good. Maybe we can go to watch that. Ooh! Or we can hit up my favourite arcade!” Kiba bring himself close to Madara, as if he isn’t already pressed against him, wraps an arm around him to keep him from moving away — Madara was not planning to move away from the warmth Kiba is exuding unwaveringly — and fully deploys his signature cute puppy dog eyes look on him. That move is absolutely unnecessary. Madara could not will himself to move away from Kiba’s words early. Anything more than those eyes, Madara will need to seclude himself from all human contact for a week.
It feels too much, not in a bad way — Madara just lacks the requisite processing skills to understand what is transpiring right in front of him and the mixed telling of his heart. He feels excited, eager in a non-sexual way. But, he also feels dread lining his ribs with fear.
Suddenly, the fatigue he was nursing moments ago comes in full force.
They have never gone out for anything other than a short meal at their preferred cafe before or after a meet for their usual arrangement. They needed only one thing from each other. When did it become more than that?
Madara gives in to Kiba’s pleas, “The movie better be good.”
That earns him a loud kiss on the cheek and a gentle kiss on the lips. He easily melts under the kiss.
Kiba takes his coffee cup and pulls him out of the seat. “Go take a nap first. I’ll book the tickets.”
Madara cocks an eyebrow at him. With one last smooch, Kiba pulls him to the direction of his bedroom. Madara is aware of Kiba’s exuberant nature but that does not stop him from commenting on it once in a while. “Did you start drinking that awful energy drink again?”
“Bijuudama is not nasty, okay?” Kiba nudges his shoulder in defiance.
“It smells like a child's antibiotic with too many artificial sweeteners.” Madara pulls a face when he remembers the smell of said drink.
“And yet, we still made out that one time, right after I drank it.”
“I was doing your body a favour by getting rid of the hazardous remains.” He defends weakly. Kiba slaps his ass and makes a quick retreat for the kitchen before Madara can lunge for him. Madara does not miss the skip in his steps.
“Whatever, hot ass. Bijuudama is a healthy energy drink!” Madara hears his retort as he makes his way up the stairs.
A small smile plays on his lips.