"Excuse me? Could you tell me a bit more about this New York piece?"

I went towards the middle-aged man with my hands behind my back and smiled warmly.

"Ah! One of my personal favourites!" I said. I said that about all of my photos, to be honest. "This was taken from the top of the Empire State Building. Usually, New York views are obscured by smog. But I was lucky this day. There was a crisp coolness in the air that made the skyline visible unusually far away."

"How much is it?" the man asked.

I mentioned a sum that made me blush. I didn't believe I was worth that much money, but the gallery owner had insisted.

"You don't know how good you are, Hashirama!" she had said.

"I'll take it", the man said without a moment's hesitation, and I blinked.

"Of course, Sir", I said and tried to sound as if I was used to people paying the amount of a kidney transplant for my photos. "Thank you for supporting a local artist!"

I went into the innermost room of the gallery. There hung the photos my heart burned for the most; the portraits. What had started as a fun experiment had soon become my biggest passion. I had hired several different models in all shapes and sizes, and become quite well-known for my unusual style.

Hashirama Senju has the rare ability of taking something classical and making it unique.

The words of the magazine that had first published my portraits. Not counting the stolen ones my former friend the studio owner had had published in his name, of course. 

I had never published or sold anything of Madara, though. First and foremost because we were not in touch, so I couldn't ask him, which I wanted to do even if I owned the pictures and legally could do whatever I wanted with them. But also because I wanted this little piece of us for myself.

That was, until now.

The gallery owner had insisted, and I had finally agreed. One portrait of Madara, where he stood among the cherry blossoms, was the centrepiece of the portrait room of my exhibition. It was also the largest and most expensive piece, and it already had a red dot next to it, marking it as sold.

I stood in front of it, looking at it dreamily when suddenly, I felt something eerie. It was as if someone was touching my back, although I didn't feel touch but an entirely new entity that I couldn't explain. It took me a while to realize what I was feeling was someone watching me from behind; their gaze upon me.

I turned, and it was like turning to a second, even more beautiful photo than the one I had stood before just a second ago.

"Oh, God..." I burst out before I had time to think and put my hand over my mouth, feeling my face crumple up in emotions.

Madara smiled shyly, as if uncertain what he should do.

"Hi", he said.

"Hi", I said.

We stood there for a second that was a long as an eternity. 

"You cut your hair", he finally said.

I pulled my fingers through my new, short hair, cut in quite a preppy style with a side-part. I had had it like that before, and found it refreshing.

"You like it?" I asked.

"Yeah..." Madara said, suddenly breathless. "You look just like when..."

I frowned.

"Like what?"

He looked up at me then.

"The day I met my ex was in a bar." What? "Before he bought me a drink, there was a bartender." Something started ringing then; a bell far, far back in my mind. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about that bartender. What would have happened if I told my ex to fuck off and chatted up that bartender instead?"

"Madara..."

"It was you", Madara said. "You were that bartender."

The room started spinning around me. 

We left the exhibition early in the evening, while it was still light. When he told me, I had remembered him. Of course I had remembered him, from that night in the bar, so beautiful. God knew I would have chatted him up if he hadn't chatted me up, or been taken by someone else who bought him a drink.

"Did you have time to get over us?" I asked, afraid of the answer but dying to know it.

He looked at me quizzically.

"Get over what?"

"Me being with your ex."

"You thought that was why I needed a break?" Madara asked.

I knitted my brows.

"Wasn't it?"

Madara shook his head.

"No. You didn't know. I stopped blaming you the second I understood. I needed time to be alone. I know it was selfish of me, but after everything that happened..."

"Madara." I had stopped and turned to him. I put a finger beneath his chin to capture him, the entire essence of him. "It wasn't selfish."

He looked up at me, eyes wide, lips glistening and pleading, until I turned and started walking again, and he followed.

"By the way", Madara said after a while. "Who bought the portrait of me?"

I smiled.

"I did", I said.

I took him to my home. I still lived in the same loft, and Madara smiled as he remarked it hadn't changed. God, my apartment looked better with him in it. My life looked better with him in it. 

"Lay down on the bed", I ordered.

I didn't recognise my own voice. Usually tender and timid, it was now harsh, leaving no room for contradictions. 

He turned to me, and when he saw I was lifting my camera and fixing its settings, he did as I said.

The light was perfect. It was bright but soft, not creating too much contrast. Madara lay down on our bed with his arms over his head and looked into the camera with a shy smile.

"Beautiful..." I murmured without even realising I did.

Madara turned so he lay on his stomach and rested his head on his hands with his elbows out. Another set of beautiful photos.

Then, he turned back and unbuttoned his trousers, and pulled them down to his thighs, leaving his underwear on.

"Don't stop", he whispered.

I hadn't even realised I had stopped taking pictures. But I started again, and took photo after photo as Madara undressed himself for me, peeled layer after layer off for me, until all that was left was his soul.

I spent half an hour taking the most erotic photos I had ever taken in my life. Madara arched his back, played with his hair, splayed his legs. He fucked my camera to such an extraordinary amount, I almost became jealous of it. In the end, when he was leaking and clearly couldn't stand it anymore judging by the way he was panting, he started touching himself.

He moaned, and I grunted, wanting to go to him.

But I couldn't miss the opportunity to capture this moment with my camera, of Madara being himself and enjoying himself to the fullest.

In the end, after hundreds of photos, I was trembling.

"Come", Madara said. "Come to me."

I did, and I put a hand on his face, and he put both of his on mine, and we looked at one another.

"I thought you didn't want me anymore", I murmured.

"I did", he said. "I do."

And finally, we kissed.

Madara, already naked, sat down in my lap, unbuttoned my trousers to get my cock out. I slid my arms around him and finally myself into him. He sat down with his hands on my shoulders, and started jumping softly, leaning his head back as he moaned.

I didn't have the patience to let him jump me much. I leaned over so I had him on his back and pulled my shirt off.

"You've worked out", he said softly and placed a gentle hand on my abdomen.

I couldn't help but smirk.

"I guess I dreamed about going out running together again someday. I had to step it up."

"Hashi..."

We kissed again, and I took him lovingly, gently, one hand on his head so I could look at him as I thrusted, his legs on my shoulders.

I saw in Madara's eyes when he was close. His lower lip started trembling in preparation for screaming.

And as he came, I captured that scream with a kiss, and I thrusted all the way to the shaft and then some, and then I came to him as well, hugging him close, biting his shoulder as he dug his fingernails into my back.

"I love you", I panted. "I will never hurt you again."

"Hashirama", Madara said and grabbed my face surprisingly harshly. "You did nothing wrong. You didn't hurt me. He hurt me."

I hugged him close to me, not wanting him to see me cry, finally allowing myself to take him fully into my heart.