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Darker Than Ebony

Chapter Text

Izuna takes a big breath in as he usually does, and then snuggles deeper into the warmth he’s curled around.


His hands map out the chest of the person he’s spooning and it definitely doesn’t feel like Aniki (he would have also told him off by now), but who else—?

Izuna opens his eyes to white.

Oh, looks like Tobirama’s still here~

Making a mental note to talk to the medic later, because hallucinations that stay overnight are probably something they should know about, he happily continues to run his hands over pale skin, under a rough shirt and map out all the little scars and imperfections. He rolls and pinches the nipples he finds until they harden under his touch before moving on. Pants. Ugh. Much less convenient than the sleep yukata he’s got on, but considering how his hallucination had climbing through his window, he supposes that’s to be expected.

It’s quick work to pull Tobirama’s pants down past the swell of his ass, which he takes a moment to fully appreciate with gropes and smacks and a few bites. He’s definitely too impatient to deal with untying the fundoshi, so he tugs on it just enough to give him access. He gently rubs the soft opening there and almost questions why it’s not already wet and ready for him, but he figures this is probably exactly what would happen in real life, so he reaches for his thick lubricant.

Who knew that hallucinations could be so life-like?

Izuna watches one finger slide easily in and he groans. He wants in now. It’s so hot around his second finger, a third. So tight and wet and—

Izuna rubs his fingers over his dick before shuffling himself closer, using one hand to spread Tobirama’s ass open and see.

Then he’s sinking into that hot, silky channel and he groans and plasters himself further to Tobirama’s back.

There’s suddenly too much clothing and Izuna hikes Tobirama’s shirt up to start biting at the skin he can reach while working up a steady rhythm with his hips.

He’s face level with a very pretty nipple that’s just begging to be sucked and bit until it’s all puffy and red and—

Izuna latches on, unable to resist.

There’s a groan from his husband and then he’s being squeezed as Tobirama clenches and it’s way too much. He thrusts in a handful more times before spilling as far in as he can push himself.

There’s a confused noise as Tobirama clenches again around him, probably just finishing waking up.

What a good husband he has, Izuna thinks as he rubs his face on Tobirama’s chest.

Chapter Text

Tobirama scowls harder at the Uchiha holding him captive. The Uchiha—Izuna, he’d introduced himself as earlier—sneers back.

“Fuck, I wish you would’ve told me you were messing around in that lab of yours on shit like this, y’know, like a good husband would.” His captor mumbles as they pace the room.

Tobirama struggles not to ask questions, not to inquire about how this Uchiha seems to think he’s married to Tobirama, of all things. He twists his hands again to test his restraints and sullenly admits that they’re pretty good. There’s silence as his captor stares out the window and that’s no good at all. Tobirama has no chance of escaping if he can’t wiggle his way out the ropes, which he can’t do unless there’s more noise—

“Where are we?” Tobirama asks, because waiting for the guy to speak again seems very counterproductive.

Unfortunately, it seems he asked the wrong question, because Izuna snorts and gets right up in his face. Tobirama controls his breathing and pointedly doesn’t tense up as a finger poked his temple a few times.

“Are you a sensor or not? Can’t you feel all the chakra around you?”

Tobirama’s breath catches in his throat. Because the enemy should not know that! No one outside his father, brother, and cousin know! This Uchiha—

“You can’t know that!” Tobirama snaps with all the bite he can muster because—because—because this Uchiha shouldn’t know this, and if he does that means someone told him.

His brother wouldn’t dream of telling anyone, even in passing, his cousin much the same. But his father . . . if he really did marry Tobirama off, wouldn’t that be useful information to know? And father had been talking about what use he is to the clan, before he told him about his sensor abilities.

Taking a breath, he focuses on his surroundings, and his headache hits him with several times more force and speed than normal, due to the sheer amount of shinobi and civilians alike running around. His focus narrows down to his Anija’s brilliant signature and the equally bright, flickering signature next to his.

His eyes open and Izuna’s still sitting close, still studying him.

“It’s the village our brother’s wanted.”

He bristles again, because Anija’s only mentioned his desire for peace to him for the first time just days ago. There’s no way—

“It messed with your whole memory, didn’t it?”

Because of his panic, he makes eye contact with Izuna. Deep, black eyes hold his gaze. It unnerves Tobirama to see the other so open, displaying so much emotion—

Studying the other, Tobirama might even say he looks . . . sad.

He’s read about this! Captured people starting to develop feelings for their captors. Well, Uchiha Izuna won’t get the best of him! Tobirama sets his face to a scowl.

Izuna clearly doesn’t appreciate that, and his hand is immediately pressing down hard on either side of his jaw and he’s forced to open his mouth. The other hand’s fingers slide into his mouth and touch the back of his throat, making him gag and tears to spring to his eyes. His attempts at pushing the fingers out with his tongue are met with an amused huff.

“Listen closely, because I’ll only say this once,” Izuna hisses, fingers still uncomfortably petting and playing in his mouth, making him drool, “You’re still Senju Tobirama, meaning our marriage contract is still valid. And while I would never normally consider doing so, the fact that you’re my husband means I can do with you as I please, regardless of your current age.”

Tobirama shivers involuntarily. Father had told him about people like that, people who wouldn’t care if they hurt him, or how young he was—

“So if you stop being so damn stubborn, I could explain this situation to you so you can figure out how to turn back.”

Tobirama gags one last time as Izuna’s fingers hit the back of his throat before both hands retreat and he’s left panting for air, stomach in knots and no way to wipe the tears or drool from his face.

He can only meekly nod in acceptance, and he stays silent as Izuna begins to ramble.

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Izuna stares, unwilling to intervene because his tiny husband looks too damn happy.

Izuna seethes, because that’s his husband sitting on Mito’s lap.

And Izuna’s not stupid enough to think that delicate blush on Mito’s face is from excitement.

Oh, it’s excitement, all right, just not the sort he wants to encourage, to point out in this precarious situation.

This situation of Tobirama blindly trusting—allowing—Mito to, to hand-feed him!

The grip Izuna’s got on his knees hurts, but if he doesn’t preoccupy his hands, he might seriously do something that Hashirama would definitely smite him for. Not that that tree-haired idiot’s doing anything to stop his wife from sticking her fingers in Tobirama’s mouth, too lingering and too deep to simply be familial, from wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer to her bosom.

Mito brings another piece of blueberry tart to Tobirama’s mouth and her eyes dart to him. She sends him a sharp smile, daring him to stop her.

His eye twitches.

Chapter Text

Izuna’s really not sure why he even agreed to be a heat rock for his rival. His gaze travels down to where white hair is buried into his chest, where thin, long fingers are tucked underneath his shirt, where his traveling cloak is wrapped around broad shoulders.

Tobirama’s voice has slipped into nothing as sleep takes hold of him and Izuna’s pretty damn sure that sleeping is the last thing Tobirama needs to be doing.

Well, it’s not like Tobirama hadn’t told him to try harder to warm him up. So Izuna figures that’s like blanket permission for anything that could warm him up, right?


It takes a moment to shuffle them around, what with Tobirama being nearly all dead weight—okay, bad analogy—being nearly all sleeping weight.

But eventually Izuna manages to avoid fatal head wounds from dropping Tobirama and gets them situated laying down by a fire Izuna built earlier.

Robes part easily with a few experienced tugs and Izuna finds himself underneath several layers of clothing, laying on his equally naked rival, on top of a—really, probably the softest and warmest he’s ever felt—fur. No wonder Tobirama wears the fur; Izuna’s sure it keeps him nice and warm on any given day.

Too bad there’s a terrible storm out, but at least it’s doing a good job insulating them from the cold cave floor.

The oil he always carries (hah! Take that, Aniki!) serves them both very well as he slips finger after finger into Tobirama’s tightness—even in his sleep, his rival is still so stuck up!

There’s twitches, small signs of life that make Izuna very, very happy, because otherwise it’s nearly like fingering a corpse, and Izuna would like to scrub his brain clean of those thoughts.

Even sinking into his rival causes a displeased hiss, because what should be the hottest part of his rival is nothing more than warm, and it’s almost enough to make Izuna stop this whole endeavor and find a different way, but Izuna continues stubbornly.

And eventually friction and the chakra he’s sparking into Tobirama’s system do the trick and Izuna can see a flush returning to those pale cheeks, feel the heat around his dick increase as he pumps in and out.

There’s now more than little twitches to mark his progress—there’s gasps, and sighs, and Izuna can feel Tobirama clench subconsciously around him and now they’re talking.

While he could technically stop now, why leave a job half finished?

Izuna’s prepared to take one for the team and make sure his rival stays warm all night, regardless of whether he’s awake or not.

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“Don’t move.”

Tobirama’s got the higher ground, perched on a branch slightly higher than the other boy. If his suspicions are correct, this would be Madara’s little brother, and only appears to be a year or so older than himself. Either way, if he thinks Tobirama’s going to let him leave to go tell, go report back and endanger his anija, he’s got another thing coming.

The kunai pressed against his throat might be the biggest (and most obvious) clue.

But unlike how easy it was to sneak up on him, to sense him and come around from an unexpected direction, it’s much harder to keep his advantage. Izuna doesn’t take his threat seriously and instead brings his hands flying upwards in a surge of speed Tobirama hadn’t anticipated. The kunai gets knocked out of his hands as swifter ones press unerringly into the exposed pressure points.

He regrets not immediately going for a more secure hold.

Then he regrets not wearing his armor—his happuri especially—when the other boy’s head collides with his.

Dazed, the forest floor hits his back hard and the added weight that follows him down makes him struggle to catch his breath.

“Hold still and I swear I won’t kill you!”

Tobirama stills, but only because he knows he can’t throw the older boy off him, and struggling will only exhaust him. Besides, if the feel of his chakra is anything to go off of—

“Your word means nothing,” Tobirama hisses, “Uchiha.”

Fingers grip his hair and slams his head into the ground and Tobirama grits his teeth as spots swim in his vision. He bats ineffectively at the hands grabbing his wrists, pulling his sleeves over his fingers and then pinning them above his head with shuriken and kunai.

He regrets wearing full-length sleeves.

Tobirama needs to stay calm, he needs to breath, assess the situation and plan—!!

“Stop! What are you doing!?” All thoughts screech to a halt as his pants are tugged off, as he’s fondled through his fundoshi.

He jerks his arms, desperate, and the wires he didn’t know were there bite into them, pinning them even more effectively.

“Now, now, just—”

Tobirama kicks.

It connects with a satisfying thump on the Uchiha’s jaw, and he’ll take it. Anything to stop him from coming closer, from continuing to raise the hairs on the back of his neck from unwanted touches.

“Ouch”—and Tobirama feels a surge of triumph course through his system—“You brat, I was trying to be nice!”

One again outclassed, it’s a short struggle before Tobirama finds himself folded nearly in half, more wires and shuriken serving to tie his legs down. Mortified, Tobirama blushes horribly and closes his eyes, even though he knows that taking the eyes off his enemies can mean death. But if this Uchiha wanted him dead, he would already be dead.

Instead, he turns his head away as fingers pluck and poke around his fundoshi, untying it and stripping away his last defense.

There’s a weird, wet noise that sounds so out of place that Tobirama almost opens his eyes to check what the other boy was doing, but right as he works up the courage to peek, he feels the boy lean over him, feels a fingertip rubbing around his, his—!

Then his chin is gripped and he’s forced to turn his head.

“Open your eyes.”

Tobirama doesn’t.

“Open. Your. Eyes.”

Tobirama’s heart beats faster at the growled demand, at the finger that plunges fully inside him. Sparks of pain race up his spine. A second finger presses up against him.

“I could make this even more painful, if you don’t cooperate.”

He considers resisting more, considers the pain he’s feeling now and surely, surely it couldn’t get worse? Then a second finger starts entering him and his eyes fly open as he gasps, one part surprise, the other part instinctual, blind panic.

Tobirama has an upfront view to an activation of the sharingan, and he watches in horrified fascination as black fades to red and a single black fleck.

“Don’t look away.”

Tobirama feels the command, is helpless to push against the genjutsu that settles deep in his bones.

And so he watches as his attacker stretches his most vulnerable spot open, as he’s filled and then filled. Watches through watery eyes as his face is patted before his attacker leaves him there, still tied up.

Tobirama’s going to get faster. He’s going to learn whatever jutsu he can to make sure even if he’s tied up like this again, he can still attack. And he’s sure as fuck never wearing full length sleeves again.

Chapter Text

Tobirama flinches away from the hand that reaches out towards him, curling further into a ball.

“Tell your father: I told you I’d make you regret what you’d done.”

There’s only silence in the small clearing Tobirama’s in, but all he can remember is the slap of flesh on flesh accompanied by the pain with each one, remember the way his small body was pulled and bent and used, remember Uchiha Tajima pulling his hair and forcing his head up, telling him to hold still otherwise they wouldn’t be even.

“If you move, I’ll have to try again”—like the grip the older man had on his hair could allow any movement—“if you hold still, I’ll even give you a little gift.”

But Tobirama couldn’t respond, couldn’t do more but start crying harder and scream as a knife cut a slice on both cheeks and one on his chin, sharp pain to contrast the dull, achy pain lower.

“I told you I’d make you regret what you’d done.”

Then Tajima had slapped his face with a bright red powder that made his cuts burn, temporarily causing him to cough and hack as he breathed it in, which in turn meant his lower pain came back with even more force than ever before. A red-stained hand gripped his throat as the thrusts picked up before something hot that Tobirama was sure wasn’t blood started filling him up.

“I told you I’d make you regret what you’d done.”

Tobirama had signaled just like how Father had taught him to. Had flared his chakra again and again and again


He curled even further up at the sound of his Father’s voice, half out of the shame of being found like, like this—the other half: betrayed that his Father had done nothing, hadn’t come in time to stop any of this from happening.

Father sighed, and all Tobirama can hear is those words whispered right into his ears.

“I told you I’d make you regret what you’d done.”

Chapter Text

Tobirama probably should test out his newest jutsu more before moving on to human subjects, but, his animal trial was more of a success than Tobirama had thought possible, so it’s entirely likely he’s simply riding the high of an exciting result and this time nothing’s actually going to happen.


And this is why Tobirama should probably make a seal that tells him when it’s been three days with no sleep and too much caffeine. He would! But the only sound he’s been able to make it produce is—

Tobirama feltheardhis ears pop as Uchiha Tajima’s hands boxed them.

A project to tackle later. Much, much later.

The Edo Tensei is a much better experiment and he has just released his old childhood cat back to the Pure Lands.

Tobirama pet the cat that had become a constant companion ever since returning with Tajima’s “message” for Father. She didn't care about the crisp, bright red lines adorning his face now.

With Madara’s hair firmly in the center of the seal (honestly the hardest part of this whole mess to collect) over the body he’s painstakingly found and brought back—a giant white mass in a similar shape to a body yet completely unresponsive—he hopes that Izuna will find his way back. Because Tobirama hadn’t—he hadn’t—

Tobirama darted forwards, intent to kill the bastard who took from his body, tarnished him, scarred him. His blade struck true, and the anguished cry snapped him out of whatever trance he’d fallen into.

Tobirama hadn’t meant to strike Izuna down. There was something about how Izuna shifted his stance, drew a shorter sword than normal that had Tobirama seeing his father, seeing Tajima, overlaid.

But if this works, then this will be his finest work yet.

The light makes him close his eyes, makes him turn his head and then, as the light grows brighter, cover his eyes with his hands. It wasn’t nearly this bright for his cat!

Spots still dancing in front of him, he uses his sensing to—his breath hitches.

“Well, well, if it isn’t cute little Tobirama. Not so little anymore, are you?”

No. Nonononono!

Somewhere, in the deep of Tobirama’s caffeine-fueled, sleep-deprived mind, he realizes that Madara shared blood not only with Izuna, but also . . . also . . .

Cool hands grip his throat as Tobirama brings his kunai up and stabs.

There’s no response from—from Uchiha Tajima.

Then a dark chuckle sounds and all of Tobirama’s hair stands up on end. Because it’s happening again—!

His lab wall is hard as his back hits it. He grits his teeth and nearly bites through his tongue when cracked skin rasps against his, long fingers from a nightmare shoved too far into the back of his mind coming upwards to pinch and twist his nipples.

A tongue licks at the marks on his face and Tobirama tries to blink his vision clear of the sudden burn of tears because he’s stronger than this! All that extra training Father made him do, only to be powerless as everything happens again.

“Oh my,” Tajima tsks, his eerie black on black eyes making a show of looking him up and down, “whatever did Butsuma do to you?”

Tobirama tenses up at his father’s name, which is a mistake, because somehow fingers have found a way into his pants.

“Don’t talk about him!”

“And why not?” Tajima gets even closer and Tobirama turns his head away so he doesn’t have to look at him straight on. “He did so regret, in the end.”

Tobirama clenches his eyes shut and trembles as fingers follow a pattern across his skin in a way he never wanted to remember—

“His last words, final, whispered thoughts about his most cherished son.”

His legs, much larger now, still seem to be lifted with ease when Tajima wants them higher.

“Sh-Shut up!” Tobirama knows it’s futile, knows that there’s no way that Father saw him as much beyond pathetic, if somewhat talented, after his assault.

“Oh but I won’t, Tobira-chan”—cold steel touches his inner thigh and Tobirama can’t do anything, stuck between the last time these hands touched him and now, stuck as his too tired and vulnerable body is put on display again—“Now that you’ve brought me back, it’s only fitting I should say thank-you and give you another souvenir, seeing as you’ve never forgotten about me.”

No. No!

He can, he can get out of this, think of a way to—

His screams echo through his lab as the dual sensations of blunt, burning pain along with sharp, cutting pain assault him again.

Chapter Text

Tobirama jolts awake when he hears the first wolf call.

That sounded suspiciously like a hunting howl.

Oh, oh no.

Without another thought, he takes to the trees, streaking a path in the hopes the wolves don’t catch his scent as easily. He’s clearly miscalculated Madara and Izuna’s desire to catch him, if they’ve gone to the Hatake to track him down.

The baying gets louder, and Tobirama pushes himself further, faster, because if they’ve caught his scent then there’s really no good place for him to go to get them off his trail

He drops from the branch as a katana swings at him. The Hatake follows him down and then Tobirama’s fighting three of them, which shouldn’t be possible, they didn’t fight like this back in his dimension! They were always behind the wolves, and never used the wolves as a distraction—!!

With no sword of his own, Tobirama’s stuck with his footwork, his speed, to dodge their swings. They’re overly aggressive, pushing him to use some more inventive ways of slipping out of their guards. But they have a numbers advantage, and quickly overwhelm him.

Tied up, Tobirama glares up at his captors as they circle him, giving pats to the wolves that are getting a little too close for comfort.

“Hey, hey, he’s an omega.” Tobirama nearly snarls at the Hatake who spoke.

“Have you no honor?” He snaps before he can think better of it. Because the Hatake in his dimension were so honorable and definitely didn’t think about taking liberties with a captive.

The Hatake snorts. “Honor? Why would we have that? Let the other clans believe we’re feral beasts.”

Tobirama feels his blood chill. He needs, he needs to figure a way out, quickly.

“We can’t.” Another Hatake. “We’re getting paid extra to not touch him.”

Tobirama nearly sags in relief, until a cold nose bumps into his forearm. The wolf seems friendly enough to him, tail up and slightly wagging at him. And then there’s more wolves coming up to him, nosing and licking—!!

“Stop it!” He shoves the snout away from his crotch.

His cry garners no sympathy from his captors.

We can’t,” that Hatake from before says, “but our wolves worked so hard and deserve a treat, right?”

There’s a chorus of ‘right’s that sound out and Tobirama fights. He snaps at the hands that get too close, kicks out as hands work to remove his clothing, leaving him bare for them all, face-down in the dirt.

“He’s dripping, boys!”

Laughter from all around him echoes in the small clearing in the forest, causing Tobirama to blush and fight back the sting of tears. It’s not—there’s just so many alpha pheromones in the clearing from all the Hatake! His instincts are just reacting to them and the position he’s in—convincing his body that this is the best breeding position. Tobirama doesn’t want this!!

Tobirama yelps as a hot tongue laps at his cunt. There’s more laughter, as if his wriggling and attempts to get away from the wolves’ curious noses and tongues are the best sort of entertainment. More tongues start licking him open, licking his cock that, to his horror, begins to harden under their clumsy, pointed attention.

Burying his face into his folded arms, he tries not to let the jeers affect him, tries to remember that he’s suffered worse physical torture before, tries to—

White noise fills his entire brain as a wolf hops over his backside. There are hands on his shoulders, pushing down, keeping him from twisting out of the position as the wolf humps forward, wet tip just shy of entering him.

No, no no no—

He keens as the wolf finally finds its mark and starts hammering his cunt, the raucous laughter causing him to whimper and hide his face in his arms.

The wolf isn’t stopping, the terrible alphas around him aren’t pulling it off him, aren’t stopping him from—from—

“No! No, please!” Tobirama lifts his head, all too aware of what will happen if the wolf knots him and uncaring of the tears that have escaped his eyes.

The Hatake were part of the village in his own dimension, after all. He didn’t know that omegas could carry anything other than normal pups until they joined and he witnessed an omega give birth to . . . to wolves.

“Sorry, sweet thing”—the Hatake leans down to whisper in his ear—“but this is part of the payment your alphas granted us to run you down.”

Ice works its way through his veins for a second time, and he openly starts sobbing as the wolf finally knots him, giving a few last thrusts before swinging its leg over his back, tying them together. His orgasm is ripped from him then—instinctual—but just as blinding, making him whine as his cock jerks and spills over the grass.

More hoots and hollers; the surrounding Hatake calling out bets as to how full they could get him, how many pups he’ll get fucked full of, how much all of their wolves deserve a good romp with him.

Tobirama feels his body instinctively milk the wolf’s cock, and despairs.

Chapter Text

Tobira’s the best runner in town. He doesn’t know exactly what’s in the packages he carts off from the back steps of the houses with the pretty Neechans, but he knows that they’re probably worth a lot, considering the people he delivers them to are sometimes so heavily perfumed they make his eyes water.

The fact that he can get around the people with the pulsing-swirling inside them without being detected is apparently well sought after. He’s never without a package, and that means he’s never without some dinner.

But he’s seen what the pretty Neechans get, seen how they can walk into the stores and come out with more food than Tobira can even imagine. They sometimes even come out with different colored fabrics that make Tobira want viciously.

So he watches. He stays up well past the sun sets to observe the Neechans as they smile, as they wave at men and take them inside, or sometimes even into an alleyway. They never seem to take very long, whatever they do there, and Tobira wonders at how hard that could be.

Tobira feels weird, trying to imitate their poses, their gestures, but no one else is in his alley to make fun of him, so he simply continues on. After a few weeks, he feels confident, now all that’s left is to try it out. Quickly, he dashes towards his bolt-hole, and uncovers the red silk he scavenged from the trash of one of those awful perfumed people.

It’s much too long for him, the silk trailing on the ground and the sleeves falling past his fingertips, but it will have to do. He’s even made sure to brush his hair so it’s not too spiky.

(The white silk obijime is all he has to tie it with but he’ll have to make due. The rope has a bit of red at the ends, so that means it matches, right?)

Tobira bites his lip, waiting for an opening. There!

He dashes forward, making sure not to catch his too-long kimono on anything and slips into the lineup of Neechans. There’s a few elbows that catch his head, since he’s so much shorter than they are, but eventually there’s enough room to move around and twist his body like he’s seen all the popular Neechans do.

Whistling seems to draw even more attention to him and Tobira blinks up at the tall man who steps in front of him. His face is lifted even further by the hand on his chin and the hair on the back of his neck rises.

“Hmmm, you’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

The grip on his chin turns into a tight one around his jaw, and then his skin is crawling at the man’s other hand that’s cupping his butt—!!

“No!” Tobira pushes the man away with all his strength and suddenly there’s Neechans tugging him away, crowding the man and forcing his attention elsewhere.

“This one would like your time, if it pleases you, honorable sir!”

“Honorable sir, over here, over here!”

Tobira’s eyes are wide with fright as he’s pulled into one of the nice houses that the Neechans live and past the big rooms into the kitchen.

“I’ll go get the Madame.”

Absentmindedly, he allows the Neechan to sit him down on a chair and takes the cookie she offers.

What just happened?!

Chapter Text

Tobira shifts on the futon, admiring his kimono.

(An actual, real kimono! With the inner AND outer layers, a wide, solid obi that ties prettily in the front—!!)

The Madame had said she would get him started, and that she would take care of the money side of things for now and let him get used to living this way. It’s been a few hectic days of him following the Madame around, getting poked and prodded as he gets fit for his first kimono, gets his hair cut, and learns about the warmth and comfort of a roof over his head.

(At first, it felt really uncomfortable, sleeping on a spare futon in the Madame’s room. She said it was to keep an eye on him until his own room is ready. But the futon offered a comfort Tobira has never known, and so it was quite easy to sink into a soft, warm sleep.)

He’s confused now, however, because she told him that she would get the Neechans to help train him before being all alone with clients, but she said that tonight—his first REAL night—would be on his own.

Anxious, he fiddles with his fingers and bites his lip, smooths down the bold red of his kimono again and again.

Madame said that he couldn’t mess this up, that his actions reflect on her and the establishment, and he needs to do everything this client says to do otherwise he’s back on the streets.

(After knowing the warmth and security of having reliable shelter and food, Tobira’s not very keen on disappointing the Madame.)

The shoji door slides open and a tall man comes in who feels—who has so much of the pulsing-swirling inside him that it makes his head hurt! He comes in and Tobira bites his lip as the Madame follows, coming to sit down on a plush cushion in the corner. She pulls out her kiseru and raises an eyebrow at him.

Right. She’s only here to ‘observe what she’s got to work with’.

Looking back at the man, he feels so overwhelmed at those intense dark eyes, the way they trail over him makes his hair stand on end.

“I am Uchiha Tajima”—the man comes closer until he’s standing right next to the futon, making Tobira crane his neck—“what is your name?”

Tobira resists the urge to glance at the Madame. Surely, surely this must be a test? Because Madame said that the man coming tonight knew everything he needed to know. Surely his name was among that?

“T-T—” Tobira clears his throat. “It’s Tobira, Tajima . . . -sama?”

Tobira is thankful he remembers the honorific when the man’s—Tajima-sama’s—lips quirk into a smile.

He’s sitting upright, looking up at his first client until he’s not. Between one blink and the next he finds himself laid flat on his back, blinking up at the man above him. A shiver works it’s way down his back as a large hand brushes down his sleeves, down his side, down his legs—!!

Blushing, he squirms, unable to really tell the man his touch is unwanted because the Madame is in the room, and he was told to allow anything. That hand traces the outline of his legs, up and up until Tajima-sama can thumb at the underside of his white obi, can thumb the part of his kimono open and expose his legs.

“Eep!” Tobira quickly slaps his hands across his mouth as his eyes widen. Oh no, what if he’s offended Tajima-sama—

A quiet chuckle.

“You’re shivering, poor dear. The Madame didn’t tell you what would happen tonight, hm?”

Tobira feels trapped, but shakes his head in answer, desperately trying to think even as a hot hand comes up and tugs his hands away from his face, tugs on his wrists until he’s forced to raise his arms.

“You’ll be a good boy for me and keep those there, won’t you?”

The faintest of nods, despite Tobira’s pulse jumping.

More fear spikes in his veins as he watches those dark eyes swirl into red, and this close, he can see some darker flecks in them. He doesn’t get much time to think about them before hands are parting the upper part of his kimono, causing him to instinctively flinch and then he’s really struggling not to move his hands.

Because Tajima-sama’s large hands are making his tummy feel weird, are pinching and pulling on his nipples until he sobs, are lifting and splaying his legs further out, are going further up and under his kimono—!!

“Ahh—nnnn!” Tobira bites his lip to keep the sound in as a finger, slick with something, presses into him.

He shivers more and squeezes his eyes shut as he squirms. It feels weird—especially as more fingers press into him!!

The Madame said that he can do anything, the madame said that he needs to do whatever the client wants—Tobira repeats this over and over as he feels completely overwhelmed and wants to get away get away make it stop stop stop

A thumb brushes against his mouth, tugging his lip from between his teeth and he blinks open his teary eyes.

He gasps as the fingers leave him and he grips his wrist with his other hand that’s still above his head so hard it hurts because now he feels even weirder, he’d actually gotten used to the fingers in him.

And then his legs are being lifted, being wrapped around Tajima-sama’s waist and s-something is rubbing against him! Pushing in—

His hands fly to Tajima-sama’s shoulders to push push push against him because he’s never—he can’t—he’ll die—!!

It keeps coming and coming and Tobira’s long stopped caring that he’s crying, that he’s thrown his head back and arched his back. Large hands take advantage of his arched back to raise his hips up and pull him even further down, filling and stretching Tobira in new ways.

And then hot lips and teeth touch his exposed neck and Tobira trembles, openly sobbing.

Distantly, he wonders what the Madame must think, how this will be his undoing, all because he doesn’t understand what’s going on, doesn’t understand the confusing signals his body is sending him.

Movement hurts, and Tajima-sama keeps moving in and out and in again and again and keeps whispering about how good he’s being, how tight he is, how every sound he makes is music to his ears.

And finally, after what feels like hours to Tobira, he feels Tajima-sama stop deep inside him, and he whimpers at the hot feeling filling his tummy.

Panting, he lays there, kimono open and feels something dribble out of him onto the soft, absorbent inner layer. His cheek gets caressed and he blinks away a few tears and those red eyes stare back at him before swirling back to a deep, dark brown.

“You’re such a good boy, I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”

Then Tajima-sama is standing up, and Tobira feels too boneless to even sit up, so he watches as his first client goes to the door, the Madame standing up to show him out.

But Tajima-sama stops, and turns to look at him once more.

“Perhaps I’ll come back, once you’ve been all trained up and take you all for myself. I look forward to seeing you again, Tobira."