Doubt

13.

Hashirama:

Boy, did I regret being so cocky to the media.

Did I regret the confidence I had portrayed to everyone in the country when it came to getting exactly what I wanted in court.

Madara didn't just make a fair case.

Madara put me into his mouth, chewed my up and spit me out.

He obliterated me completely.

He used flawless rhetorical techniques to make a perfect case.

He found not just one but three loopholes in favour of the women and children, all three of them related to them having been drugged. He must have specialised deeply in the drug department, just as was his dream.

Madara had become a far better lawyer than I was, by lightyears.

The court went on for twelve hours, with a break only for lunch during which Madara shot out of the room and disappeared until it all started again one hour later, and by the end of the day, it went nothing like I wanted it at all but exactly as Madara had spoken for instead.

And it would continue tomorrow and the day after that as well.

I was exhausted.

I was completely and utterly exhausted.

"Wow, he's really something else", my assistant next to me murmured into my ear.

He truly was.

When the court was dismissed, I darted out of the courtroom, making sure I was out before Madara so I could catch him before we went out to where the journalists would inevitably be waiting to dig their claws into us.

And I got him.

He was looking down at his phone, a slight smile on his face, his laptop underneath his arm, not noticing me standing outside the enormous oak doors.

"Madara..."

His head jerked up.

And we made eye contact for the first time in five years.

He stopped and looked at me, but his facial expression did not change.

His face had become more stern, more sculptured, more beautiful in the five years since I last saw him. There was still a slight awkwardness to his demeanour that he had had when we were a couple, but he had mastered it in a way that enhanced the power he radiated. I was still a lot taller and broader than him, but his whole posture made me feel intimidated. And his hair... His short hair enhanced his cheekbones and Adam's apple in a way that made him look more masculine. It suited him incredibly.

The seconds ticked by and Madara didn't answer.

"Would you..." I cleared my throat. "Could I buy you a coffee?"

"No", he said simply, no warmth in his voice, no hint of a smile on his face.

He turned and left, seemingly completely undisturbed.

He dialled a number on his phone and put it to his ear.

"Hi, love. Could you please look in our fridge? Do we have bell peppers?"

And that's when I noticed.

On his left ring finger was a golden wedding band.

Madara:

I came home that night to something delicious bubbling on the AGA.

There was no one in the kitchen, so I went and lifted the lid, stirring it a little. It was a delicious-looking minestrone soup.

Suddenly, a hand sneaked around my waist from behind.

"Jesus Christ! You scared me!" I exclaimed and felt a surge of happiness course through my body.

"Hmhm", my husband laughed warmly. "Gotcha..." His voice was now muffled as he had dug his lips into that space where my neck met my shoulder that he loved so much. And me too, to be honest.

I turned round and put my arms around his shoulders.

"Welcome home", he said warmly. "How was it?"

I grimaced. "Awful. But I think I hid it well. I kinda owned that room."

"I know you did", he said, placing hot, wet kisses on my neck. "Fuck, I love you in a suit..."

"Haha, Christopher, stop!" We both knew I had no desire for him to stop. He pulled down my suit jacked carefully.

"Too bad it's in the way for me to access your body."

Christopher, Hashirama's old friend, had sent me flowers when I was hospitalised in the psychiatric ward after the night at Katie's house. He had visited me often, never asking me anything personal, just keeping me company. Sometimes, we just sat in one corner each of my hospital room, reading a book each, throwing a bag of sweets between us. When I had moved, I hadn't thought more about him, until a letter arrived that had his address in the top corner. An actual, handwritten letter.

And we had kept writing.

One day, after two years, I had confessed my feelings for him in one of my letters for him. The second he got that letter in his hands, he'd phoned me for the first time.

"Madara..."

"Christopher", I said, my voice cracking with nerves.

Since then, we were inseparable.

"I smoked pot that night, too. Why don't you mind?"

I had smiled at that. "That was before you knew me and my wishes. You've known them ever since that day, and you told me you haven't touched drugs since. I believe you and I trust you."

After two years in a relationship, he proposed on a trip we took to Costa Rica, and now we had been married for four months. I was indescribably happy. There was nothing in the world that had burst our bubble. Not until...

We lay in bed together, naked after our play, him pulling my fingers through my short hair. I had chopped it off as soon as I moved universities, and realised how much I loved it short.

"It affected you more than you will let on", Christopher said warmly.

"What?"

"Meeting Hashirama again."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"Please, don't apologise. It wasn't a critique. Did he approach you?"

"He asked me out for coffee afterwards." My husband jerked. "I said no."

Christopher took me into his arms, pulled me into his chest. As opposed to me and Hashirama, me and Christopher sometimes changed dynamics between us, so that sometimes he was on top, and sometimes it was me. I had topped him during our fucking this time, and now, he took care of me. It felt good, familiar, to have his arms around me. I loved this man so, so much.

But I couldn't deny something was scratching in the corner of my heart.

Hashirama:

I rarely drank.

And when I drank, it was a glass of my favourite sparkling wine in front of my fireplace on a Friday after a good session in the gym.

But now, I was drunk.

I was well and truly drunk.

You shouldn't be in the fucking bathtub, Hashirama...

I sighed and leaned back in my tub, imagining what Madara was doing with his husband. The thought infuriated me, made me reach for my cock with my hand and starting to beat softly.

"Hahh, fuuuck..." I sighed. I hadn't done myself in a week. I felt my hand sliding over the skin underneath the water, the muscles on the insides of my thighs starting to twitch. "Fuck, Madara, more!"

And with an ear-splitting roar, I filled the bathtub wit the seeds of my love for him that hadn't diminished at all in all these years.

Not even a little.