Three Sentence Ficathon

"What the hell is that?" Madara wheezed, almost dropping the plate of sansho unagi to the table and accepting the bowl of plain rice his lover handed him with eager hands.

"You breathe literal fire," Tobirama said, shaking his head and pouring Madara a cup of tea, "I've seen you spit damn near lava, how is that-"

"Tobi," Madara said through a mouthful of rice, glaring just a bit - he'd chosen something he at least thought his lover would like, and he had indeed enjoyed the motsunabe, "fire is not spicy, it is just hot."