Title: Genkaku (Illusion)
Author: Gyaku no Sekai
Rating: M
Warnings: hard yaoi, genjutsu play
Pairings/Characters: Madara/Hashirama, mentions of Hashirama/Mito
Summary: "Free will is an illusion. People always choose the perceived path of greatest pleasure." – Scott Adams. | Hashirama prefers the illusion of love. | Madara/Hashirama hard yaoi.

A/N: NEEEE-SAAAAAN! GOMEN NASAI! Your story is going to be uber-late, but I'm going to make it really long to make up for it! Here! In the meantime, have a one-shot!

He has always known that it is not that easy to kill Uchiha Madara.

If it was, the red-eyed fire breather would have died long ago in one of their many legendary battles before the founding of Konoha. If it was, Hashirama's "Outer Path" would have become nothing more than a statistic, another dead Uchiha, their battles simply flashes in the night. Never the glorious exchanges that sang through his blood and made all others stop to watch with open mouths.

He doesn't believe for a single instant that Madara is really dead.

Konoha celebrates. News such as the "death" of the rogue Uchiha apparently warrants a month-long festival. He watches from the Hokage Tower, fingering his chakra crystal necklace, and waits. Months pass in silence. When the two-year anniversary rolls around, the Shodaime finds himself growing impatient, how very unlike him. At the four, he is practically tearing his hair out in frustration. He wants and he wants and he wants and he wants.

In the fifth year, he is rewarded. A hand on his shoulder in the dead of night makes his eyes snap open. The obsidian tomoe and crimson irises catch his gaze.

The Tsukuyomi draws him in.

Hashirama remembers that when Madara finally releases the Tsukuyomi, he jerks away, blood pumping fast and hot. He reaches out to ensnare the Uchiha, force him to stay and finish what he so teasingly started, but the other is already long gone.

So again he waits. A month later, the other is back again. This time, the Shodaime has fallen asleep at his desk amidst piles of paperwork. Some of the stacks shift, the rustling making him stir, and he is caught once again before he is fully awake. This time, Madara speaks. "You're going to work yourself to death, you know," he purrs, sliding his hands over the other man's shoulders, "I disapprove."

"Why is that?" Hashirama asks breathlessly, reaching back to pull the Uchiha closer.

He feels the other nin's lips curl into a sinister smile against his neck. "Only I am allowed to kill you," he breathes, "not the pathetic pleas of your village."

The Shodaime ignores the jab at Konoha, instead letting out an incredulous laugh. Madara takes umbrage at this, and bites his neck in retribution, pressing his chest against his foe's back. Hashirama moans at the feel of the other's erection grinding against him. He aches to turn and face the beautiful Uchiha, but his body is bound in place by the Tsukuyomi, rather than the water swirling around them.

At first, he does not recognize the oasis Madara has painted around him in shades of black and red. He is too distracted by the Uchiha's hands on him, even the slightest brushes burning hotter than the Amaterasu. Their mouths meld in a hungry kiss, though to call it a kiss would be akin to calling their battle in the newly-dubbed Valley of the End a "scuffle."

Hashirama eventually remembers that this is where they met.

He was practicing his Mokuton at the time, concealed in the trees, when he sensed the approach of another person, not one of his clan. The eight-year-old quickly grew a blind to conceal himself, and peered through the branches. Another boy, feral but beautiful, was crouched at the edge of the oasis, drinking straight from the bubbling spring. His long black mane, tangled and wild, was trailing in the water, making him look even more unusual than he already was.

The Senju took a step back. A branch snapped under his foot.

The boy's head jerked up. His crimson eyes were wide and fierce, the tomoe stark against his irises. Hashirama watched the water slide down from the boy's mouth, and couldn't help but think that blood would suit him better.

The Shodaime moans loudly in the silence of the Tsukuyomi, torn free of his reverie when Madara bites at his neck again, this time with the promise of real violence behind it. "Get out of your head," he murmurs, licking up the blood that he's spilled, "or I'm leaving you here."

"Don't do that," Hashirama says, grinding back against the Uchiha, "Besides, it's your own fault. If you had chosen another place…"

"Is that so?" Madara's hand cups his erection through his trousers, making the Shodaime notice that his Hokage robes are gone. "Well, how about here?" He spins the Hokage around and shoves him down on a bed that springs from nowhere, the rest of the room dripping into place around it.

It is his bedroom, where his wife is no doubt sleeping, blissfully unaware of her husband's infidelity. That thought flees from his mind when Madara slides between his legs to grind against him. His back arches as his hips roll against the other's, hands clamping down on his shoulders. Madara tuts, illusory ropes binding the Shodaime's wrists and tugging them up to the headboard. He can see the rogue nin smirking above him, his lust as potent as poison as they move together.

The look he gives the Uchiha when he withdraws is as black as the sin they are committing. He receives a chuckle by way of a response. Fingers dance over the bulge distorting the front of his pants. Hashirama tries to thrust up into the touch, but the other shinobi's weight is pinning his thighs to the mattress. Madara unties the drawstring holding his pants closed, the Hokage moaning as his erection springs free of the cloth. He lifts his head enough to see the other slide down his body, smoothing his tongue along the underside of his cock. Hashirama lets loose an aching moan in response, shaft twitching. Nimble fingers pull his pants off his legs, and then Madara's mouth goes right back to teasing him, so much so that he fails to notice the aforementioned fingers probing at his entrance.

Hashirama's eyes lock with the Uchiha's Sharingan, his breath leaving him in harsh gasps. Madara smirks and growls around his cock. As a result, the Hokage arches like a bridge over water, hair flying, lips parted to let loose an aching moan. He struggles even harder against his bonds, even manages to form a hand seal to bring forth his Mokuton, but nothing happens. Here in the Tsukuyomi Madara is god and God – and he is a supplicant, kneeling before the altar to beg for the blessing of his lord. His thrashing earns him a smirk and an amused hum around his shaft that makes him go limp with pleasure. "Dammit, Madara…" he breaths, face flushed. The slight pain of being stretched adds a delicious razor edge to his pleasure, even more so when the Uchiha finds his prostate and rakes his nails over the bundle of nerves.

That almost makes him come, but the Uchiha controls him as easily as he did the Kyuubi during their fight. His body is played like an instrument, strummed by his will and desire. His painfully hard cock is released, the faint chill in the air thrilling over the spit-slicked flesh and earning a whimpering gasp. "God, stop teasing!"

Another sinister smirk. Madara's clothes vanish, baring his nude and equally aroused body to the Hokage's appreciative eyes. His fingers withdraw from Hashirama's entrance, leaving him free to replace them with his dripping shaft. Hashirama gasps sharply as the nuke nin penetrates him in one swift thrust, releasing his hands in the process. His nails find purchase in the other's shoulders as Madara grips his hips, their bodies slamming together with as much force as they can muster. This has been building between them for a long time, maybe since the day they met, and only now does all of the fighting and violence that is their foreplay come to fruition.

Hashirama orgasms first, his cock spreading a slick of semen over their stomachs, reducing the friction between them. It enables Madara to move faster, harder, and the Hokage peaks again just as the Uchiha achieves his own release.

He wakes at his desk, alone once more, his pants damp and uncomfortable with the faint aftershocks of orgasm still thrilling through his veins.

It has been many, many years since that day.

Hashirama is on his deathbed, alone in his room. His wife – so aware and yet entirely unaware of the fact that he does not love her – has gone to get a medic to try and preserve his life for a little while longer. His brother is in the Hokage Tower, slaving away at the desk he also spent years working at. It all seems a million miles away.

A set of crimson and obsidian eyes appears overhead. The former Hokage focuses on Madara's eternally young face as he feels fingers running through his gray hair, the strands catching faintly on the calluses of the other's hands. Age has sapped his strength, his chakra, until there is nothing left, while the Uchiha is even stronger than ever.

He lifts a weak, frail hand to touch the other's cheek. Madara's face is devoid of all emotion, but there is a faint sadness in his eyes, a sense of loss. "Take it," Hashirama manages, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The Uchiha is confused for a moment, until he continues, "I know you want my Mokuton. Take it."

Madara's face blanks even further. His arm loses its strength and falls, but the other catches it before it hits the bedding. "I will," he murmurs, kissing the Hokage's palm, "later." His eyes pull Hashirama in one last time.

The Hokage expires before he leaves the Tsukuyomi, his last moments those of long lost youth and pleasure and lust – not love, because Hashirama prefers the illusion of it.

Owari.