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Shinobi have a predilection toward gossip.
Information is a useful tool of their trade. Any good shinobi is one that’s learned to be inquisitive, nosy, and subtle enough not to get caught. Gossip tears through any clan faster than a plague, be it truth or a cleverly crafted lie.
The lies can be as useful as the truth, to any shinobi worth their title. It does not particularly matter what is true or not. It matters what the general public consciousness believes, at least in matters of state and clan and country.
The gossip has only gotten worse during the founding of Madara’s village.
Though the war hawks like Izuna remain vigilant and wary of their new circumstances, Uchiha civilians are not quite so discerning. Civilians interact more easily than not – a chat with a neighbor about the price of vegetables, a pleasant conversation with a server about the special of the day, two children playing with each other under the feet of the adults trying to work. It is far easier, for them, that harmless information is spread.
Izuna keeps an ear out for gossip. Of course he does. Beyond Madara’s blind, infuriating optimism of the future of Konohagakure – which must be kept dutifully in check by Izuna – it is also simply good practice. Izuna is, after all, a good shinobi.
Little tidbits of information make their way to his ears. When he eavesdrops on an Uchiha civilian mother, chatting with her sister as she hangs their laundry. From a newly trained shinobi, so wet behind the ears that he never saw a single battle against the Senju, spilling everything he’s learned to his slightly younger clan-mate.
Izuna keeps up to date on the happenings within the village.
That is how, when a rumor begins to spread regarding Senju Tobirama, he learns of it immediately.
Gossip about the Senju brothers has been simmering for weeks. With the elder Senju and clan head Hashirama freshly married to Uzumaki royalty, it was a bit of a debate over what would become of the younger. While not necessarily required that the younger sibling should take a wife – Izuna would know, as things are much the same among the Uchiha – it is still good practice from most points of view. Securing the lineage, and all that. Things the old bats bite their nails about.
Izuna hasn’t paid much mind to such whispering.
Hashirama’s circumstances are annoying, of course. The Senju have firmly allied themselves to a clan besides the Uchiha, and a powerful clan at that. It puts him at an advantage that Madara does not have in turn. It is frustrating. For all that Izuna cannot openly and outright attack his Senju enemies as he would in the past, the politicking and power grabbing is all the more infuriating without the outlet.
Tobirama, though? Izuna doesn’t care who he marries.
They have not spoken much at all beyond an official function. Their purview are almost entirely separate. Izuna is kept on village defense, on managing their information networks and representatives in the Daimyo’s court. Tobirama is kept mostly to village construction and administration. They have no reason to seek each other out outside of such circumstances. Not one that Izuna can think of, anyway. Madara would never let Tobirama within kilometers of Izuna without supervision, not without having a crisis over the whole thing.
It hasn’t been worth it to push, is all. It’s not like Izuna wants to see his mortal enemy, who he’s pretty sure is still plotting the demise of the Uchiha from the shadows. He does not have the excessive attachment to Tobirama as his brother has apparently harbored for Hashirama all these years. He has a spy in the administrative office already, obviously, but there’s no real reason for him to get personally involved.
It is a bit… weird not to see him as often as Izuna used to. There was something to be said about fighting the same man for a decade and a half, on having the surety that you would be matched strike for strike, knowing that you would have to put every bit of focus and skill into each battle or lose your life. That alone is not exactly an excuse enough to go visit the man unprompted at the administrative tower. Izuna would probably just be kicked out and embarrassed.
Yet, beyond his distance and apathy for Tobirama, Izuna is surprised to overhear another rumor about the man, this one far more interesting.
Tobirama prefers men.
The Uchiha housewife in question, the one spreading such a rumor with an almost malicious sense of excitement, is whispering conspiratorially to her friend. Izuna can hear her even through the thin wood of the fence surrounding their property, separating her house from that of the main line Uchiha family. Izuna blinks slowly at the rhododendron bush in the corner of Madara’s garden, processing.
Tobirama prefers men?
Izuna’s brain sticks on it for a long moment, like taffy under the summer sun. The chatter of the civilian women beyond the fence fades away.
Izuna never noticed such an inclination in their time fighting. A moment later, he discards the foolish notion. They were fighting for their lives. At what point was Tobirama supposed to lay down his arms and say, Uchiha, did I mention I have homosexual inclinations? Let’s have a rousing discussion about my sexuality while I attempt to behead you.
Izuna shakes his head to rid himself of the scenario.
Tobirama being human enough to have feelings in the first place was a lot to swallow. Now, he has enough of them to have a preference beyond whatever the Senju elders have ordained for him? He has been so vocal about such preferences that Uchiha housewives are discussing it like fact?
Huh.
Izuna can grudgingly respect that much, at least.
It may have ended there, really. Maybe. Izuna is an inquisitive creature – that has already been established – but he could have moved on with this information without it affecting the way he interacted with Tobirama in the future, probably.
Until he tuned back in to the conversation happening beside him, and his future became something else entirely.
The discussion is turning disgusted.
The civilians are uncharitable toward this revelation regarding Tobirama. They are outright hostile, really, and disgusted at their own hypotheses about what exactly the Senju in question gets up to.
Logically, Izuna knows it makes sense, given their place in the Uchiha clan. No matter what Tobirama did, Uchiha civilians would probably still hate him for it. Peace was still too new. The graves of their kin are not yet cold enough that time has dulled the pain. Izuna understands why these Uchiha in particular relish the opportunity to find a weak link in Tobirama’s armor, something they would never achieve with direct prowess.
He is willing to be that generous to his kin.
Still, despite how much he understands why they would react in such a way, a burr of discomfort lodges in his throat, barbed and sticky and unwilling to be brushed aside. The small affiliation he just felt for Tobirama, the little thread of respect and connection when he considered such a little piece of gossip, grows stronger. It feels like the Uchiha in question are including Izuna in their judgment. It feels like some of that scorn has misdirected toward Izuna, despite how uninvolved he is in the entire thing, really.
It is not logical. Still, that burr is unyielding, and the discomfort does not leave.
Izuna does what he does best. He pries.
It is exceedingly easy. Madara’s village is still in its infancy. Not all of the civilians yet know each other, and shinobi are willing enough to accept a slight henge and the idea that they may simply not recognize an Uchiha combatant.
Senju, unbelievably, are easier. They avoid looking Uchiha in the eye so adamantly that it is difficult for them to recognize distinct Uchiha faces. Izuna only needs to cast a minor, hardly altering genjutsu, to make himself slightly different than normal.
Shorter hair, a less distinctive jacket, a fuller face – easy. Now he is just another Uchiha shinobi.
Izuna lingers in the shadows. He draws shopkeepers into polite gossip. He pokes and prods at every level of hierarchy he can manage to get a better grasp on the situation.
What he learns makes the burr grow into something entirely unmanageable – a confused, persistent rage directed anywhere except Senju Tobirama.
The Senju’s sudden preference is village wide gossip. Everyone has a comment about it. Everyone is discussing how – when confronted by Senju elders in an open forum within the clan – when the Senju elders attempted to bully their way past Senju Hashirama’s authority in allowing or denying matches for his immediate family – when they attempted another alliance, with yet another outside clan, to bolster the strength of the Senju even further –
Tobirama informed the Senju elders, as well as the observing Senju crowd, civilian and shinobi alike, that he would not be marrying a woman at all.
Izuna does deeply wish he could have been there to see the looks on the Senju elders’ faces. If Izuna was more bold, he might try that on his own elders, and activate his sharingan preemptively.
The reaction though – is surprising, as well as infuriating.
Tobirama is judged, and judged harshly. There is a distinct tone of disgust, of morbid imagining, of dismissal and degradation, whenever the news is discussed. Izuna hears such sentiments spit from the mouths of Uchiha and Senju alike, from shinobi to civilian – their ire, for once, united and directed at the same person.
It is baffling. It is wrong. The Senju have killed countless Uchiha, have orphaned children and taken other young ones from their mothers far too soon, and this is what is deemed evil? Tobirama avoiding a political marriage with a woman he can never love?
Uchiha are supposed to be above this. It is not unheard of that an Uchiha shinobi does not have any affection for women. The reverse is true, as well, for kunoichi. Izuna has never heard such hostility against them. Sure, if the Uchiha in question has activated their sharingan, it is generally expected that they will produce a child of some kind regardless. But, they are Uchiha. To deny an individual the all consuming obsession of love is to deny them their inheritance, their power. It is a pointless cruelty, and one that weakens the clan as a whole.
The Senju being barbaric about the whole thing? That, Izuna could believe. Though it is still baffling that they would direct such ire even toward Senju Tobirama – one of their front-line fighters, one of the few overseeing creation of the village.
It has taking shocking little time to piece together the events that have transpired. It is easy to hear vile accusations directed toward Tobirama, in broad daylight, without care.
It should bring Izuna vindication. Izuna should enjoy that even the Senju have turned against Tobirama in such a way. He should use this to further destabilize Tobirama’s position as an authority in Konohagakure. Izuna doubts it would work, really, what with Hashirama’s steadfast support of his brother. But all Izuna needs is doubt.
There is a nauseating, clawing rage in the pit of his stomach. Izuna disregards that plan of action almost immediately.
The Senju elders offered up Tobirama like a sacrifice, drew him out into the open to humiliate him, to pressure him in to a decision that was not even the elders’ choice to make. They dragged him out before the masses and flayed him open for inspection, driving a wedge in the very heart of their leadership.
Izuna finds himself striding toward the administrative offices with purpose, rage still boiling in his stomach.
He wants to hit someone.
It would be bad form to punch a Senju civilian in the stomach, no matter how appealing it is in the moment.
He loses his henge between one step and another, dodging neatly out of sight behind a patchwork of still-developing land, overrun with trees and marsh. Izuna emerges himself, making it much easier for him to stride past the administrative tower entrance without so much as a few confused blinks from the reception shinobi working the lowest floor.
A couple of them flinch back, eyes widening.
Ah. His chakra must be projecting, a bit.
He ignores them, content that they are too weak to attempt to stop him. He takes the stairs two at a time, rage boiling in the pit of his stomach.
He is just – angry. He is angry, and it is about Tobirama, but Tobirama himself bares none of the blame. It is confusing. He wants to shake the Senju elders by the shoulders, rattle their skulls around a little bit, maybe send them into a brief, horrifying vacation via his mangekyo sharingan.
He opens the door to Tobirama’s office with more force than strictly necessary. It slams against the opposite wall with a loud thud. Senju Tobirama does not jump, but he does look up at the noise, expression mild and unbothered.
“Uchiha,” he greets wearily.
Izuna’s sharingan is spinning before he realizes it. How long has it been activated, really? Was it when the rage began to churn within him, or when he stumbled in to see Tobirama like – that –
Tobirama is tired. He is slumped at the desk, armor discarded for his casual shinobi blacks. He faces perpendicular to room’s sole window. There are far too many scrolls on his desk. His hair is mused, as if he were tugging on it with frustration, and his eyes have dark circles beneath them. He has little nicks and blotches of ink against his hands, not those made by a kunai but little cuts from parchment, painted over with dark black ink.
Izuna approaches Tobirama’s desk and stands before it, arms folded and rage burning.
“Spar with me.” Izuna demands.
Tobirama blinks, long and slow.
“What?”
“Spar with me.” Izuna repeats, words ground out between his teeth.
Tobirama tilts his head. “Why?”
This is the longest Izuna and Tobirama have interacted, alone, since the formation of Madara’s village. Since the peace treaty, really, since the ceasefire.
Izuna is just so fucking angry. He wants to take it out on the true objects of his ire, but he can’t. He can’t do a single thing about how much such gossip has reached into his chest and squeezed, right where he didn’t know he was vulnerable.
Izuna and Tobirama have not seen battle since Tobirama nearly killed him.
“I’m angry.”
“I noticed.” Tobirama deadpans.
“I’m pissed off.” Izuna stresses, hands on Tobirama’s desk, leaning over the man. With their height difference, Izuna hardly towers over him, not with Tobirama’s height. His eyes narrow, spinning more rapidly.
Tobirama does not meet his eyes. He looks at Izuna’s hands, instead, frowning.
“I can’t fathom what I have done to earn your ire, Uchiha.” Tobirama says, tone mild and unemotional but tired –
“You didn’t do shit.” Izuna bites out. “I’m not angry with you.”
Tobirama’s brows furrow. “Then why – ”
“I’m pissed off, Senju. I can’t stab the person – the people – I want to stab. I want a spar with someone I don’t want to kill.”
Izuna does not realize the words are true until they have already left his mouth, thrown out into the no-mans-land between them like a kunai.
“Why would I want to indulge you?” Tobirama asks. “I’m busy.”
Izuna rips the scroll he is working on out of his hands and incinerates it in his grasp.
Tobirama’s lips part in surprise.
Izuna’s sharingan spins more rapidly. “I am now the only one with a perfect recall of that scroll. Your shinobi are running low on parchment, did you know? A bit unfortunate for the new Uzumaki entering your clan.”
Tobirama glares at him, somewhere thereabouts his chin. Izuna grins.
“If you win, I’ll recreate the scroll myself.” Izuna says magnanimously.
“What if you win?” Tobirama demands.
Izuna grins at Tobirama, all teeth.
Izuna was honest.
He is feeling very angry right now.
It is easy to take his anger out on Tobirama. It is as instinctive as breathing, to ready his weapon and hurl himself at the Senju with all the force in his body, to not hold back in the slightest. He does not. Tobirama does not either. As much as it would dishonor Izuna, it would also get Tobirama killed.
Izuna swings. Tobirama blocks, and yanks Izuna from his stance, twisting his arm painfully. Izuna’s breath leaves his lungs, and he feels a spike of adrenaline he has not felt in months.
Izuna wiggles his way out of his hold, stretching his muscles to their breaking point of flexibility, and reverses their hold.
They dance.
This time, regardless of how much Tobirama humiliated them in their final battle, Izuna wins.
Izuna’s breath is still heaving, perched atop Tobirama as he is, holding him down on the soft, earthy ground.
Eventually, resigned, Tobirama yields.
Izuna should feel better. He should feel a sense of victory. He has bested Tobirama, when it was Izuna’s own failure to hold his own in battle that led to their sham of an alliance. He should, at the very least, feel relief at the release of energy that comes with an all out spar with someone at Tobirama’s level of ability.
Izuna feels nothing like that. He just feels a pit yawning pit of dread in his stomach.
He rolls off Tobirama, scowling. His back lands in the muddy earth, wet from Tobirama’s earlier suiton jutsu. It’s getting into his hair and his jacket but Izuna cannot find it within himself to care. He merely looks up into the clouds above, scowling.
Eventually, Tobirama breaks their shared silence.
“Do you still want to stab civilians?”
“Yes.” Izuna answers immediately, lips pulled into a snarl.
Tobirama sighs.
“What could they have done to earn your anger?” He asks. “You’ve had no issue with Senju civilians before. I assumed they were the most tolerable of us, to an Uchiha.”
Izuna could lie.
Izuna could lie easily, apparently. Tobirama either does not realize the effect his recent actions have had on the local gossip mill or, more likely, assumes this cannot be the reason for Izuna’s ire. It is a reasonable assumption. Izuna does not care for Tobirama. He does not care in the slightest whether the man lives or dies, now that he is unable to fight him outright, what with Madara’s peace treaty and all.
He does not care. Tobirama knows this. And yet…
Izuna sighs. It is a harsh rush of air from his lips, frustrated more than anything else.
“They were talking about you.” Izuna says shortly.
“Me?”
Izuna averts his eyes. He glares somewhere around the treeline, where the boundary of the newly formed housing of Konohagakure rests, still under construction and growing.
“What they’re saying about you – well, not that,” Izuna corrects himself vaguely, “but the Senju clan meeting. Is it true? You told your clan elders to go fuck themselves, because you wouldn’t be fucking a woman?”
Tobirama is silent for a moment as he processes Izuna’s rambling. Izuna feels a little bit judged.
“Phrased less crass than that,” Tobirama says slowly, “but yes.”
“Is it true, or did you make that up to avoid an arranged match?”
That earns Izuna a bit of the Senju ire he is accustomed to.
“I did not make it up, Uchiha.” Tobirama bites back. “Why would I invite such a reaction upon myself, if it were not true? There is no benefit to lying, not about that. I was honest.”
Huh.
Tobirama prefers men.
Izuna is staring at the treeline intently. The rumors were true. The rumors were true and Izuna never knew.
He does not like that he did not know something about his rival, not something this important. He should know everything about Tobirama. There should not be anything that Tobirama can hide from him.
“You do not need to be concerned.” Tobirama continues, voice icy. “I have not and will not hold any ideas about you, Uchiha. You can stop having a crisis about it.”
Izuna blinks. He had not even considered that.
Izuna smacks him on the arm. All it earns him is a bruised knuckle when his fingers hit hard mesh of the Senju’s armor, but he doesn’t care.
He is – defensive. He is angry. He is a lot of things, at present moment, but he is not disgusted. He was not sitting in his brothers gardens, grown by that tree man he’s excessively fond of, pondering whether or not Tobirama wanted him. That’s not what this is about. Izuna feels – unjustly so, perhaps – wounded that Tobirama would think so.
“You’re an ass,” Izuna accuses.
Tobirama shrugs. “If you say so.”
“I’m not asking if you want to fuck me,” Izuna defends. “I just… its infuriating, they way they speak of you. The way your own clan speaks of you. Even the Uchiha are… it’s not rational. It goes against our clan’s ideals, and it doesn’t even make sense. You’ve led a war against us, and what, your interest in men is somehow the breaking point? Kami, Senju, what the fuck?”
“I…”
“This whole thing would not even be an issue, in the Uchiha,” Izuna rambles onward. “If one of our clan has interest in another of the same gender, we simply get over it. Sure, if it were me or Madara, the elders would be pushy about us taking a wife anyway, keeping a lover on the side, whatever. They can be that way. You know they can be that way, because yours are the same. Which, by the way, next time you decide to drop a bombshell like that at a Senju open forum clan meeting, can I be there?”
Tobirama blinks several times.
“What?”
Izuna smacks him again.
“The next time you tell the Senju elders to go fuck themselves because you won’t be following their commands,” Izuna says, more slowly this time, “I want to be there, and record it with my sharingan.”
At that, Tobirama gives an incredulous snort of laughter. He covers it with his hand immediately afterward and turns it into some kind of cough, but Izuna heard it clear as day.
“I am surprised you do not share the same reaction as your kin,” Tobirama says hesitantly.
Izuna glares at him.
“Why do you think I would hate you for this?” Izuna demands. “I have plenty of other, more logical, reasons to hate you.”
“Of course. That is why you’re ready to stab civilians to protect my honor.”
“We’re not friends,” Izuna says adamantly, “I am not Madara, I don’t go giving peace treaties and hugs to my mortal enemies.”
“I am aware.”
“I just hate what they’re saying about you. It’s unfair for them to all turn on you.”
Tobirama shrugs a bit awkwardly. “They’ll get over it, once the gossip turns to something else.”
Izuna frowns. He does not like that answer. It itches beneath his skin, something he can’t quite reach for enough to quell.
“I don’t like that.”
“I don’t either,” Tobirama admits, “but it is what it is.”
Izuna scoffs. “I have never known you to just accept things as they are.”
Izuna rises off the ground with a grunt. His body is pleasantly sore and exhausted, at least. He wrings the muddy water out of his ponytail, purposefully flicking the remains of dirt and debris onto Tobirama’s prone form. Tobirama sighs.
Izuna considers Tobirama, prone as he is on the ground beneath him.
Izuna does not know what to do with him.
He does not know what to do with this entire village, this foolish path Madara has taken them all down, while Izuna lay suffering under the pain of the Senju’s blade. His survival must have been the price of peace, Izuna knows this logically, but it does not mean he knows how to act when the man he has been primed to hate since he was an infant is now, suddenly, supposed to be his ally. How is he supposed to have camaraderie with the man who nearly killed him? How is he supposed to look at a Senju and see a person, rather than a threat waiting to be exposed?
Well. Tobirama, at least, is human enough. Izuna isn’t sold on the rest of them yet.
“You won.” Tobirama says blankly, no emotion to be seen. “What do you want?”
“Buy me dinner.” Izuna blurts on impulse.
Tobirama blinks. He almost, almost, looks directly at Izuna’s eyes.
“What?”
There is a plan brewing beneath Izuna’s skin. He doesn’t know if he quite wants to enact it yet. He does not know if he should. He does not speak it into existence. That would give Tobirama the benefit of planning for a counterattack, anyway.
“I’m hungry,” Izuna says. “Your brother pays you, surely.”
“I have money, yes.”
“Buy me dinner, then.”
Izuna says it like a challenge. His demeanor is entirely wrong for such a suggestion. He is tense, apprehension making him stand tall. He shifts his weight uneasily. When Tobirama does not respond, Izuna, without thinking it through really, offers him a hand off the ground. It is an awkward, jerky movement. Tobirama’s gaze is drawn to it instantly, as if Izuna is about to stab him.
Tobirama’s hand grasps his. Izuna helps him from the ground with a grunt.
Dinner is, for the most part, silent.
Tobirama takes Izuna to somewhere distinctly on the Senju side of the village, much to Izuna’s annoyance. Izuna is treated to sudden, hushed silences when Tobirama enters the makeshift shop, followed by open staring when Izuna enters a half step behind him. Izuna, for his part, has never been too shy to be hostile to Senju, civilian or no. Izuna openly glares at anyone who lingers on Tobirama too long, sharingan flashing just enough to cause little squeaks of terror. The nosy Senju avert their eyes.
Satisfied with his work, Izuna sits opposite of Tobirama at a rudimentary wooden table.
Izuna does not bother with small talk. He is exhausted and low on chakra and sore. He is, most likely, getting mud and debris all over the shop chairs. Good. He is feeling vengeful today. He wants food, he wants to go home to the Uchiha compound, and he wants to go to sleep.
Tobirama seems of the same mind. They eat one course in silence – then another, to replace the calories lost while beating the shit out of each other.
They do not say goodbye. Izuna nods, once, short and stilted. He takes to the treetops to return back to the compound, not giving Tobirama an opportunity to say anything more.
It comes back to bite him approximately two days later.
Izuna is interrupted from his training – which is actually important, thank you very much Madara, he is not just playing with the clan kids. It’s called endurance training, and katas, but no, a naturally gifted prodigy like nii-san would know nothing about that, would he?
It’s cold today, though spring is pushing her way through the frosty remnants of winter. Still too cold to completely train outdoors, not if he wants his charges to end up with chattering teeth and numb fingertips.
(Once, Uchiha trainers would have done far worse. Adversity is the nexus of strength. They are Uchiha. They should be perfectly fine in the cold, with their inner fire to keep them warm. Whether they were hungry, sick, or exhausted – they must be stronger, they must endure more, they must be better.
Izuna gently plucks a kunai from the hand of Ayumi, only five winters old. He adjusts her grip, angling the dulled blade so that it is easier on Ayumi’s wrists. It will serve her well, in the long run, if she does not apply too much pressure to such vulnerable, fragile joints. Ayumi grins up at him, gap-toothed and trusting, and accepts the correction without fear or apprehension.
Izuna brushes a hand through her hair fondly, just once, and moves on to another student.)
Tokumori, one of the sentinels on clan patrol, comes bursting in to the training hall, knocking open the door roughly.
“Senju at the gate!” The boy stutters, eyes wide. His weapon is unsheathed.
“Put that away,” Izuna snaps. “Do you see any Senju here? Besides, did you miss that we’re in a village full of them?”
“Not them,” Tokumori insists senselessly, “the White Demon is at the gates.”
Oh.
“Oh,” Izuna says intelligently. “Tobirama is here?”
Tokumori nods quickly, chin bobbing against his chest. “He’s asking for you, Izuna-sama.”
Izuna goes to the gate.
Madara is already there, feet shoulder-width apart and hands on his hips. Izuna can feel the killing intent from several meters away. He picks up his pace, curiosity growing to concern.
Tobirama, on the other hand, is a cold mask of calm. He is seemingly unperturbed by Madara’s increasingly loud voice. The other Uchiha shinobi surrounding the scene begin to hedge away from the incoming confrontation, torn between defending their clan head and being intimidated by him.
“Tobirama?” Izuna asks curiously.
Tobirama’s attention focuses on Izuna immediately, disregarding Madara entirely. Madara whips around to face his brother, his wild hair narrowly avoiding smacking Tobirama in the face.
“Izuna, go back to class.” Madara orders.
Izuna blinks. He has not heard that particular phrase in years, and certainly not from Madara.
“The students will be fine,” Izuna says slowly. “What’s happening?”
Tobirama answers Izuna before Madara.
“I came to request a rematch.”
Oh.
Senju bastard.
Their last spar was, blessedly, somehow, not public knowledge. There were no witnesses to them shredding into each other just beyond the treeline of the infant Konohagakure.
To every Uchiha listening, and to Madara especially, Tobirama just asked for a rematch on the battle that nearly ended Izuna’s life.
Izuna does not know his game.
“Why?” Izuna says shortly.
“I’m angry,” Tobirama says, voice mild and unemotional. He sounds as if he is reading a mission scroll aloud for the class.
Izuna’s eye twitches.
Madara’s hand is on his elbow, as if he is ready to bodily drag him away from the Senju. His hackles are raised, both figuratively and a bit literally. There is a bit of chakra infused steam rising from Madara’s general being.
“You don’t have to do this, Izuna,” Madara says lowly.
Ah.
That was the worst thing Madara could have said, really.
“Nii-san,” Izuna asks lightly, “don’t you have faith in me?”
“It’s not about faith, Izuna. It’s about watching that Senju bastard stab a hole through you again.”
So, Madara thinks he will lose. Izuna blames Tobirama for this development. Madara has never doubted him before.
“I thought we were in an era of peace,” Izuna says sweetly. “Don’t you trust Tobirama?”
Madara’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His entire being is radiating his answer: no, absolutely not, what the fuck, ototo?
Izuna gives Tobirama a once over. He tilts his head, assessing.
Tobirama is not wearing armor. He is either exemplifying immense stupidity that he has never shown before, by coming to attack the Uchiha clan in only his shinobi blacks, or he is attempting to put Izuna’s more stab happy cousins at ease. His hair is disheveled, though Izuna doubts anyone else notices. He can see the faint stain of ink in the strands, as if Tobirama had run his fingers though his hair without thinking, with ink still blotting against his fingertips. The dark circles are back, more pronounced this time, but he does not seem as exhausted as he was before. Tobirama did not come to lose this fight.
Izuna hums.
“Alright, I trust him,” Izuna lies easily.
“Izuna!” Madara snaps.
“It’ll be fine,” Izuna replies.
His eyes do not leave Tobirama. Tobirama does not properly look at him – he never does – but Izuna can see the faint, barest twinge of a smile.
Their second spar attracts far more attention than the first.
This time, they manage a more official training ground, in what is technically speaking Uchiha territory. Pairs of sharingan watch Tobirama from the crowd, alight and stressed and recording every moment. Izuna had better not embarrass himself.
“Want to get your armor?” Izuna asks politely.
“No. Kenjutsu only?”
Izuna catches what he means. There far too many beginner shinobi in the crowd, that would be unable to dodge the debris from a truly all-out ninjutsu battle. Izuna does not want to throw a fireball at his own people, just Tobirama.
“Fine.” Izuna agrees. “Best two out of three?”
Tobirama agrees with a nod. After a short, in Izuna’s opinion unnecessary, countdown, they are off.
Tobirama was telling the truth.
He is angry.
Izuna can tell immediately by the way Tobirama holds himself, by the way he is reacting to Izuna. Tobirama is seething. He comes at Izuna with a focused, simmering rage.
No ninjutsu. No suiton, no katon. Just the clang of blades in eerie quiet, and panting breaths. Just Tobirama’s rage, battering against Izuna like a wave against rock.
Izuna loses.
“I yield,” Izuna says, at long last, Tobirama’s blade digging into the meat of his throat with a painful point, on the verge of drawing blood. “Get off me, Senju asshole.”
Tobirama rises from Izuna instantly. He tilts his head down to look at him. His cheeks are flushed with exertion. Izuna can see it far better than he has in the past, now that the Senju face-plate is gone. Izuna can feel the sharingans trained on him viscerally, aware that his clan now has intimate memory of his defeat. It only smarts his pride a little bit.
Tobirama, fully aware of the spectacle he is making, reaches out his hand toward Izuna.
“That’s two,” he says quietly, as though only speaking to Izuna. “should we go again?”
Huh. Izuna hadn’t thought he would… do that.
It’s not like anyone would know about Tobirama’s previous defeat at Izuna’s hands. He did not have to acknowledge Izuna’s success in such a way. It does not affect the opinion of the Uchiha around them, nor whatever Tobirama hopes to achieve with the village as a whole. The only person possibly affected by such a comment is –
Izuna himself.
Izuna takes his hand. Tobirama helps him to his feet. Izuna ignores the soft gasps from the crowd around them. His clan is ridiculous.
“Alright,” Izuna agrees. “Tie-breaker.”
Their third battle is completely different to the previous two.
It is almost fun.
Tobirama is no longer quite so angry. His previous victory must have mellowed him some, or it could have been the mere act of sparring Izuna that exhausted him. Regardless, he is no longer rage-filled and unyielding. Izuna isn’t, either, not after the days spent processing his newfound knowledge.
Their blades get lost somewhere along the way.
Izuna manages to disarm Tobirama, and is shortly disarmed in turn by a well timed punch to the stomach. He wheezes as the air leaves his lungs. He doesn’t completely let Tobirama gain ground, however, yet somehow – they end up tangled, Izuna clambering up Tobirama’s form to gain balance to – what, exactly, he’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he could choke him into unconsciousness from here, with his hands or his knees if Tobirama really struggles –
Izuna wins.
Tobirama does not let him win, but nor does he look overly bothered at the outcome. He merely raises an eyebrow at Izuna, from his place beneath him. They are sprawled out on he ground once more, heaving for breath. Izuna is certain there are bruises blooming across his body.
“Are you done?” Tobirama asks.
“Do you yield?” Izuna demands in return.
Tobirama hums. “Yes. I yield.”
Izuna helps Tobirama to his feet. He studiously ignores the tension in the gathered crowd, ignores where Madara is wearing a fiery hole in the ground with his anxious pacing on the sideline, ignores everything but the tiny, pleased smile twitching at Tobirama’s lips.
“You’re plotting something,” Izuna accuses.
“You know Senju, Izuna. We’re always plotting something.”
Izuna is going to stab him. His fingers twitch for his kunai, but he resists the urge. He does not actually want to reignite the war by stabbing Senju Tobirama in the middle of a friendly spar. It would be unsportsmanlike.
More to the point, if the Senju are always plotting, Izuna is doing it better.
An idea has been wriggling in his subconscious since the moment he heard the rumor about Tobirama.
He could, quite easily really, turn the tide of gossip to Tobirama’s favor.
It would not be difficult. Izuna has a far harder time maintaining Madara’s image as respected clan head, rather than a hot-headed, overpowered shinobi more likely to bite any diplomatic contacts than sign any trade deals with them. Monitoring and adjusting his brother’s reputation to weather the storms of Madara’s aggression, his terrifying skill, his mood? It is a skill Izuna has cultivated over a long and thankless career. He is good at managing the word of mouth of the shinobi gossip machine.
He could turn the tide of derision and disgust toward Tobirama. He could sculpt such rumors into something more palatable, something more aligned with the goals of the Uchiha in general. After all, it would be to their benefit for the second Senju brother to appear aligned with their clan, or at least to Izuna himself. Izuna could use him as a neat little stepping stone to gain more solid standing in the increasingly Senju dominant village.
(It would, additionally, stop him from overhearing such rumors, stop the little knot in his stomach that appears with the disgust and hatred directed toward someone of Tobirama’s standing, from his own clan, toward someone who has fought and bled and killed for their protection –)
“You did win the last bout,” Izuna says magnanimously. “If you have parchment, I can rewrite the scroll I burned.”
Tobirama stands a little straighter. He nods at Izuna.
“That would be appreciated.”
Izuna lays a hand at Tobirama’s elbow. Tobirama, to his credit, does not flinch. He simply watches Izuna like one watches a wild animal, waiting for the moment it strikes. He begins to pull Tobirama away from their gathered spectacle.
“Kagami!” Izuna calls over his shoulder. “Go make sure Tokumori hasn’t corrupted my students!”
Kagami, all of eight years old, snaps to attention instantly. He nods, flashing Izuna a grin.
Izuna leaves the spectacle behind for Madara to deal with. Tobirama is at his side.
Izuna spends more time around Tobirama, after that.
It is calculated. Clinical. His presence alleviates some of that loneliness that Tobirama has began to carry like a shroud, some of that isolation. He is not by himself, in the wake of Senju mockery. Izuna is next to him.
Izuna is very good at handling Senju, after all.
Izuna becomes, over the next several weeks, akin to a summon haunting Tobirama’s side. He is a burr, sticking to Tobirama and glaring anyone who attempts invasive questions or crude commentary in Tobirama’s general direction into sharingan-fueled submission.
They are not so outright, not really. It is more the looks, the slow dawning apprehension and awkwardness, that Izuna murders in cold blood by turning any room he is in into icy fear instead.
Tobirama does not seem to mind. He tolerates Izuna’s presence, at least. He accepts that Izuna now accompanies him in the administrative offices, or drags him to the training grounds for a spar. He does not challenge Izuna so publicly again. He does not need to. Their spars tend to draw some attention regardless, though by now it is not so much a crowd as it is a handful of shinobi-in-training, looking on with interest rather than fear.
Izuna is finding that, despite everything, he actually kind of likes the man.
He’s still infuriating, of course, and stupidly tall, forcing Izuna to crane his neck upward to shoot him a glare. He is terminally early to every official event, leading Izuna to rise before the crack of dawn if he even wants a chance of making it to a meeting early enough to torment Tobirama in the quiet interim beforehand. He does not take care of himself. He locks himself away in his labs for hours – days – on end, poking at his experiments until they do something interesting. He never remembers to drink water, somehow, despite him being a Kami forsaken suiton user. Izuna starts making them tea just so that he doesn’t have to see Tobirama’s energy fade throughout the day like a candle burned to the wick.
Izuna avoids the elder Senju. It works, for the most part, outside of normal function. Hashirama is distracted enough by making pathetic, starry eyed glances at Madara.
Izuna ignores the delighted looks Hashirama sends him, as well, whenever he shuffles closer to Tobriama during a packed meeting, or puts his hand casually on his arm.
Peace endures.
Izuna does not want to call it peace. That does not seem quite the right moniker. The Uchiha elders are still plotting fail-safes, as are the Senju. The Senju have accumulated power in the form of Uzumaki. The Uchiha are forced, or they believe they are forced, to catch up, so to speak.
The elders call a private meeting. Only Izuna, Madara, and any sufficiently ranked and blooded active shinobi are permitted to join.
Izuna has a bad feeling about this.
He tells Tobirama as much, when they are eating lunch in Tobirama’s office in the administrative tower. There is no one else around, but Izuna still perches himself upon the edge of Tobirama’s desk, and sticks his chopsticks in Tobirama’s ramen bowl to fish out his favorite vegetables. Tobirama tolerates this to a point, but smacks at Izuna’s fingers when he goes for the egg.
“If Uchiha clan elders are anything like the Senju,” Tobirama speculates idly, “they will ask you something invasive and unreasonable, then back themselves down into something only mildly rude as a compromise. Simply bring Madara and let him glare them into submission.”
Izuna shakes his head ruefully.
“It doesn’t work like that. They’ve gotten too used to him. They knew him as a toddler, anyway, so the effect is kind of ruined for them.”
“I see. How do your meetings with the Uchiha elders usually go, then?”
A year ago – Kami forbid, a few short months ago – Izuna would have been on edge. He would immediately shut down any conversation relating to Uchiha clan politics, and considered Tobirama all the more suspicious for even asking. As he is now, he merely rolls his eyes, and immediately spills his honest opinion on the inner workings of Uchiha clan government.
“I show up with Madara, the elders complain about everything he’s doing wrong, try to drive a wedge between us to use us for their own ends,” Izuna summarizes, “it doesn’t work, they annoy us to the point where Madara sets something aflame with Amaterasu, we leave, they shut up for a few months.”
“Ah. That sounds more eventful than the Senju equivalent.”
“You don’t attempt murder on your elders, just a little bit, three or four times a year?”
“No. Hashirama can get away with quite a lot with his position. He usually convinces them to leave me alone, too, for the most part.”
Izuna taps his fingers against the desk anxiously. “Except when they tried to arrange your marriage to a daughter of the Nara clan.”
“Except for that.”
Izuna chews on his food, considering and silent.
He does not know what he would do, were he in Tobirama’s position. He does not know if he would have the audacity to stand up for himself so surely and quickly. He worries that that day may be ever approaching, when the elders attempt to arrange some kind of alliance between either himself or Madara.
“Bring me with you.” Tobirama says, sufficiently derailing every one of Izuna’s thoughts.
“What?”
“Bring me with you to the Uchiha clan council,” Tobirama repeats mildly, as if he is not asking Izuna to borderline commit treason. “The rule, by their own omission, is that only high ranking shinobi and bloodlines may attend. I am both.”
“You are not Uchiha.”
“They never specified I had to be,” Tobirama says primly.
Izuna laughs, incredulous and short. He shakes his head, ducking down to hide his lingering smile.
“That is such a terrible plan,” Izuna complains.
“You’re considering it, though.”
Izuna looks at him from the corner of his eye. Tobirama still does not meet his gaze directly, but he lingers somewhere at Izuna’s cheekbone. He is as relaxed as a former enemy can be. He is without his armor, lounging in his office chair, window open and the warm summer breeze filtering in the gentle sound of the village beyond.
Fuck it.
“Okay,” Izuna agrees. “Come with me.”
Tobirama smiles.
Izuna’s sharingan is ignited before they even get to the Uchiha compound proper. Tobirama shoots him a knowing look. He wants to record every minute of this and Tobirama knows it.
Tobirama at Izuna’s side is not a new development. Tobirama at Izuna’s side walking into the Uchiha clan compound, entering the hall of their ancestors, is.
Izuna sees several of his clan-mates attempt to stop him, leaning forward as if to grab one of them by the arm, only to freeze when their brain catches up to them on just who they would be touching and restraining and attempting to bodily kick out of the establishment.
Their alarm turns to horror, and they stay silent and wide eyed.
They enter the hall. The elders are already seated. Izuna has purposefully positioned himself to be somewhat late, so that he could have his entrance with the Senju at his side.
Izuna’s sharingan spins. The blood drains from each elders face, one by one.
Madara turns, looks at them both, and sighs.
“Izuna,” says Madara, already exhausted by what will become of the next hour and a half.
“Hello, Nii-san.”
“Hello, Madara,” Tobirama greets politely.
Madara’s eye twitches ominously. “Senju.”
“Izuna!” Elder Shirou snaps, the first to recover. “Why is the Senju in our presence? This is a Uchiha matter!”
“Senju Tobirama, we must insist you leave at once,” demands Elder Kousekei. “You are endanger the alliance with your presence.”
Tobirama points to Izuna. “He invited me.”
Madara holds his head in his hands.
Elder Shirou looks like he may burst into flames with the force of his rage.
“Izuna! Get the White Demon off our lands, or so help me – ”
“Elder Shirou, your instructions were quite clear,” Izuna says firmly. “Tobirama is both of noble standing within the village and from a major Senju bloodline.”
Izuna relishes the affect he is having on the Uchiha clan elders. Shirou is incandescent with rage, that much is easy enough to bring forth in him, but Aoi and Kousekei? Izuna will never forget how fundamentally baffled they are in this very moment.
“I fail to see the issue.” Izuna gestures to his ignited sharingan, hand framed under his chin delicately.
Tobirama, close at Izuna’s side, bows.
“I am honored by the invitation to witness an Uchiha clan proceeding,” says Tobirama. “My brother, Senju Hashirama, deeply appreciates the gesture of trust you have granted one of the Senju.”
Elder Shirou opens his mouth, but no words come out. Elder Aoi clasps her hands and takes a deep breath.
“Izuna. Madara.” Elder Aoi pauses for a long moment. “Senju Tobirama,” she adds reluctantly.
Tobirama gives her a nod of acknowledgment.
“We have invited you together for a discussion of significance,” she continues. “We have received word from our allies in the Fūma clan. They are open to alliance, should we provide adequate means of compensation.”
Madara smiles, sharp incisors pointed and bared, narrowing his eyes upon the elders.
“How wonderful, honored elders,” Madara grits out, “I will take such a proposal to the Hokage, so that we may discuss such terms as a village.”
Elder Aoi falters. She directs a small frown at Madara, composure paused in the face of her confusion. Elder Kousekei takes up the reigns of conversation, instead.
“They do not wish an alliance with the village,” Elder Kousekei says point blank, “They are content where they are, and do not want to pack up and move to Konoha.”
“I matter on which I’m sure you tried your best to convince them, Elder Aoi,” Madara says.
“Of course.” Elder Aoi agrees softly.
“As an alternative to such an arrangement,” Elder Kousekei persists, “they are willing to entertain a trade deal to supply our new… circumstances… here at the village.”
“What do they ask in return?” Izuna asks, wary.
Izuna’s suspicions immediately pay off.
“A marriage alliance.” Elder Shirou says, like a sentence handed down by the Daimyo.
Izuna’s stomach sinks.
He did not think it would be so soon. It is obvious, now, what the strategy will be. Marry off Izuna or Madara to some unknown kunoichi of an allied clan – one Izuna has never met, one Izuna will be forced to live with for the rest of his life – to secure a pittance of an alliance, all because they are mad that the Senju snapped up an alliance with the Uzumaki.
Madara shifts closer to Izuna. His anger is palpable.
“Honored elders, I must have misheard you.” Madara says, his killing intent lingering heavily in the air, “I know that you did not promise my hand, or the hand of my heir, to a foreign clan without my knowledge and consent as Clan Head.”
“Of course not, Dara-chan,” Elder Aoi dismisses, “We would never go above you in such a manner. There was nothing formally promised, we merely entertained such a suggestion by the Fūma.”
“You overstep,” Izuna calls out, voice steady though he can feel the beginnings of panic, “It is at the Clan Head’s discretion to even make the insinuation. You should have come to Madara immediately, as soon as you received such a missive.”
“How were we meant to come to Madara immediately, when he spends all of his hours at that godforsaken Senju tower?” Elder Shirou barks. “If he wanted to receive information about the clan, he should be in the clan.”
“And, likewise,” Izuna says with narrowed eyes, “our honored elders may consider the following: they are permitted to step outside the Uchiha clan compound and walk the five minutes it would take to deliver Madara a message at the administrative tower. Or, better yet, send a crow. You don’t even have to put on your shoes.”
“Izuna, please,” Madara chastises. “We cannot speculate on when and where our honored elders wear their shoes. It is impolite.”
“Yes, of course, nii-san. Rude of me.”
“If I may ask,” Tobirama begins, knowing full well that he may not ask, “what exactly are the terms of the alliance? What is the Fūma clan offering?”
Elder Shirou’s sharingan ignites. It is only one tomoe, but effective enough at conveying his anger as dark black irises burn a brilliant red.
“You may keep your inquisition to yourself, Senju.” He barks. “The terms are between the Uchiha and Fūma, not the Senju.”
“Yet, believe it or not, we live together.” Tobirama replies mildly. “The Hokage should be aware of resources available, so that we might put them to use for the greatest good.”
Elder Shirou’s forehead bulges, as if a vein were about to burst in real time before Izuna’s eyes.
“With respect, Senju-sama,” Elder Aoi says without respect, “have the Senju disclosed such information to the Uchiha, regarding the terms of the betrothement to Uzumaki Mito?”
Elder Aoi throws the veritable bomb into the room.
Tobirama raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“Yes…?”
“Yes.” Tobirama repeats. “The terms of my brother’s marriage alliance are public record. You need only go to the entrance floor of the administrative office, and ask the secretary there for a copy to read at your leisure.”
There is perfect silence in the meeting hall. The handful of guest shinobi observing the proceedings look at Tobirama, then to Elder Aoi, then back. Their sharingans dart back and forth like ping pongs.
Tobirama tilts his head curiously. “Have the honorable Uchiha elders been there before? I can draw a map, if necessary.”
Izuna thinks he might be in love.
“Such claims are irrelevant.” Elder Shirou dismisses, attempting to sound professional amidst his pretty rage, “We must focus on the matter at hand. Madara, which of you will accept the offer brought forth by the Fūma clan.”
“Neither.” Madara denies. “You ask much, only to receive very little in return. I cannot in good conscious, as Clan Head, allow such a sacrifice.”
Elder Shirou scoffs. “Sacrifice? You would be gaining a bride. It is no great violence that we are inflicting upon you.”
“Of course, there is the matter of the sharingan to contend with,” Elder Aoi reasons thoughtfully, “We would prefer to not utilize you, Dara-chan, as your sharingan is something which should be properly cultivated within the clan, not diluted by an outsider’s blood.”
Madara bares his teeth. His patience is wearing thin quickly, Izuna can tell. He is going to set the curtains on fire at any moment.
The curl of dread lingers in Izuna’s stomach.
He does not want to be wed to a mystery woman for the sake of a clan alliance. Madara will not let that happen. Izuna knows this. Still, still, a part of him feels guilty. He knew from the beginning that his spouse would be an opportunity to forge a better future for the Uchiha. This alliance is foolish, yes, but what about the next one? Izuna should not resist so much that he denies his clan his duty as second surviving son of Tajima, and spare heir to Madara.
The pit in Izuna’s stomach grows. He does not want to. He does not even want to be asked, even in such a farce as this, one that Madara will easily and vehemently decline.
Izuna’s attention flicks over to Tobirama. He is carefully still and angled away from Madara’s impending outburst. He is at Izuna’s side. His heartbeat is calm, Izuna can see as much through the gentle throbbing at the vein in his neck.
Like a strike of lightning, a memory hits Izuna, from oh so many months ago.
“You told your clan elders to go fuck themselves, because you wouldn’t be fucking a woman?”
“I’m already engaged,” Izuna blurts out wholesale, interrupting whatever Elder Aoi was in the middle of saying.
Elder Shirou splutters.“What?!”
Madara has turned to him as well, eyes wide. “What?”
Izuna points at Tobirama. “To him.”
Tobirama, to his immense credit, does not miss a beat. He nods solemnly, unphased by the sudden activation of sharingans across the Uchiha clan hall.
“We are deeply in love,” Tobirama lies through his teeth. “We feared that this day would come, when we would be cruelly ripped from each other by an arranged match.”
Izuna wants to kick him. Laying it on a little think, aren’t we?!
“Yes,” Izuna echoes, more than a little manic with the sudden shift in the room, “we’ve been together for years.”
Years –
Oh, fuck.
Izuna really needs to think before he speaks.
He can feel the panic begin to set in. He has implied something far worse than simply fucking one of their shiny new Senju allies. He has implied a relationship with Tobirama. He has implied a relationship with Tobirama that has lasted years, from before the ground broke on Konohagakure. From before the ceasefire. Izuna can feel his own heartbeat pick up in his chest, beating like a drum. He can only hope it does not show on his face.
He hears Tobirama speak. He hears Madara speak, hears Madara call an end to the council, hears him make excuses to end this before it truly gets out of hand. He feels Tobirama’s arm on his upper arm, grounding. Secure. Izuna attempts to keep himself composed and still, even when all he can hear is the roaring in his ears.
Madara and Tobirama escort him from the clan hall.
Well. Madara escorts him. Tobirama refuses to leave, even when Madara physically attempts to push him back.
When Izuna comes back to himself, he has been moved to his and Madara’s home. He is seated securely inside and away from any prying ears, on a cushion, a cup of freshly poured tea sitting in front of him, steaming invitingly.
“Izuna,” Madara says. “are you calm, now?”
Izuna looks up, startled. Madara is watching him patiently, cross-legged on the floor across from him. He is still tense with anger, that much Izuna can tell, but he has deliberately softened his voice toward Izuna, as he is wont to do.
“I’m fine,” Izuna says. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize to me, Izuna,” Madara scoffs, “that was one of the more fun clan meetings I’ve had the pleasure of attending.”
Izuna wants to laugh it off. He wants to assure his brother that everything will be fine, that he will be fine. Yet, he can’t quite make it there. He feels that familiar guilt rise in his throat once more.
“I have just given you a massive headache to deal with, nii-san.” Izuna says quietly.
“Ah, yes. That.” Madara says, as if he has somehow forgotten the events of the past hour. “Senju, have you been in a clandestine, star-crossed romance with my poor, sweet ototo for years?”
Tobirama is at Izuna’s side. He has positioned Izuna between himself and Madara, which is a good call strategically speaking. He looks odd, how he’s positioned, chin resting on his knee and body curled up smaller than should be comfortable.
Tobirama looks cautiously between the Uchiha brothers. From Madara, then to Izuna, then when he is of no help, back to Madara.
Tobirama chews on the inside of his cheek. Izuna can tell, with his sharingan still ignited.
“No.” Tobirama says carefully.
Madara nods. He expected the answer.
“I did not think so. What possessed you to make such an insinuation, Izuna? Is this one of your schemes? Because I do not see the logic of it.”
It seems far more foolish of a plan, now that Izuna is out from under the judgmental stares of the Uchiha elders and in the relative safety of his temporary home.
He should have a plan. He does have a plan. Doesn’t he?
He was not thinking. Not really. He just looked over at Tobirama, and remembered that first time they truly spoke, man to man. He remembered the anger he felt on Tobirama’s behalf, and in that moment, under the gaze of the elders, it felt shared.
“I always have a plan, nii-san.” Izuna says reassuringly, “don’t worry about me.”
Madara sighs. His shoulders lose some of their tension, though he is still eyeing Tobirama suspiciously.
“It would be nice it you would share it with me, for once,” he mutters.
Izuna nudges him with his foot. “Aren’t you having fun? Telling you would ruin the surprise.”
Madara studies Izuna carefully, for a moment. Izuna is sure he is going to be called out on his bold faced lying, but Madara does no such thing. He merely looks and, once he has apparently found what he was looking for, relents.
“Fine.” Madara cedes reluctantly. “We will discuss this further tomorrow. For now, I’ve had enough of clan politicking for one day.”
Madara turns to Tobirama. Tobirama immediately tenses, instincts on high alert. Izuna can feel the tension manifest in the air physically, his brother’s killing intent palpable and strong.
“Senju, get out of my house.”
Tobirama twitches. “No.”
Madara’s eyes narrow. “Who are you to tell me –”
“Nii-san, come on.” Izuna interrupts. “Let me speak to him for a minute alone? Ideally before he is thrown to the wolves of the Konoha gossip mill?”
With some further needling, Madara relents. He stomps his way out of the house entirely, probably to go burn down some less important part of the forest until the tension leaves his shoulders.
“Thank you for telling me we’ve been courting for years.” Tobirama says, once they are alone. “I had no idea.”
Izuna is going to hit him. He does hit him, a punch to the stomach that makes the breath wheeze out of his lungs. He chuckles through it, though, so Izuna doubts he’s truly bothered.
“Ass.” Izuna says.
“An ass you’re stuck with.” Tobirama corrects. “You’re stealing my strategies now, Izuna. What is your plan?”
Izuna looks down at his hands, wringing them in his lap.
“I don’t know.” He answers honestly.
Tobirama hums.
“I didn’t mean to say any of that,” Izuna admits. “They were just – looking at me. They have an expectation for me and I didn’t want to fulfill it. I looked at you and I – “
“You remembered I recently outed myself as preferring men?”
Izuna’s cheeks redden, he can feel it, he knows it must be blotchy and embarrassing and obvious against his skin.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. I just wanted them to stop. I know it’s my duty, but after everything I’ve already sacrificed for them, I don’t want to make just one more allowance. I don’t to be forced into a marriage with a stranger because Elder Shirou thinks a trade deal with the Land of Rice will bring the Uchiha great prosperity.”
Tobirama’s amusement dims. He nudges Izuna’s shoulder with his own. Izuna looks up at him, feeling strangely vulnerable.
“I understand. I did the same.”
“No, you didn’t.” Izuna says. “You didn’t drag anyone else into things with you. Fuck, Tobirama, I implied you were a traitor.”
Tobirama shrugs. “I doubt anyone with sense will truly believe that. Your brother knew you were lying instantly. Anija will pretend to believe it for a minute just so he can be an excessively sentimental optimist, then he will dismiss any claims of treason, and we move on.”
“The entire village is going to think we’re in love by morning.”
“No, the entire village will think we’re fucking.” Tobirama corrects. “I estimate only half will think there’s true love involved. A quarter, at least, will think you’re only interested in me for my Senju connections.”
“I hate you so much.”
“I see the rumors are true.” Tobirama laments. “A sad way to start a marriage.”
“I’m going to hit you again.”
“Okay, fine. We’ll work things out logically. What do we need to do to convince the general populace that your announcement during the Uchiha clan meeting was not a farce, and that we are star-crossed lovers?”
Izuna considers the question.
“Spend time together,” Izuna says slowly, “publicly. Be seen entering each others homes, or work. Take contracts together. Go out to dinner, at least once a week.”
Tobirama does not say a word. He delicately raises an eyebrow.
Izuna feels the heat on his cheeks like a brand. “All of which we already do.”
“See? You’re panicking over nothing. It’s fine. Nothing needs to change.”
“Nothing changes?” Izuna asks hesitantly.
Tobirama nods. “Nothing needs to.”
Later, much later, when the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon and the sound of crickets alights the midnight air, Izuna is still laying awake on his bed, overthinking everything.
Why did he lie?
He could have made up anything. He could have simply let the meeting run its course. Madara was not going to allow him to be married off for a pittance of an alliance. He did not need to do that to Tobirama, nor himself.
Izuna’s sharingan memories are retained in perfect clarity. He remembers how Tobirama looked in the moment Izuna glanced over at him. He remembers Tobirama’s amusement, hidden beneath of a mask of stoicism. He remembers the twitch of his lips as he attempted not to laugh at whatever nonsense Madara was splitting to the Uchiha elders. He remembers the slope of his neck, remembers focusing on it enough to see the strain of his pulse, steady and thrumming and alive. He remembers the way the light from the ancestral Uchiha candles flickered, casting warm shadows on Tobirama’s pale skin, his red markings an even deeper contrast than usual.
He remembers red eyes flicking over to his – but not – just low enough to avoid his sharingan.
Izuna freezes where he lay bundled in blankets, huddled against the corner of the bed. His sharingan flares once more, briefly, a moment of surprise overtaking him.
He is interested in Tobirama.
He is interested in a man?
One revelation follows the other, and then –
“You do not need to be concerned. I have not and will not hold any ideas about you, Uchiha. You can stop having a crisis about it.”
Oh.
Izuna does not think he takes the revelations of the previous day excessively poorly.
It’s… sad. Obviously, it’s sad. He has probable romantic feelings for someone who has already, preemptively, rejected him. It wounds his heart and his pride both.
What about him is not to like? He’s reasonably attractive. Plenty of mission targets have thought so, at least. He is strong. He can kick Tobirama’s ass into the dirt about half the time. He’s well connected and from a good bloodline. What do people look for in partners, even? Whatever it is, Izuna is sure he has it.
Is it because he is Uchiha?
Izuna does not like to entertain that idea. It makes something small and vulnerable and weak within him ache. Is that what it boils down to, even now, even with Izuna attaining some kind of friendship between them? Does Tobirama’s hatred for his clan still run so deep that he does not see Izuna as his own separate person? Does he have another angle for allowing Izuna’s attention, one that Izuna is unaware of?
Izuna shakes his head. He really does not enjoy that stream of thought.
It’s just that he wants to know. What about him is so repellent to Tobirama? He said have not and will not. He accounted for the future. Is it something inherent about Izuna that Tobirama finds so distasteful? It is not his gender. Tobirama is interested in men. It is something about Izuna, and Izuna specifically, that is wrong.
You can stop having a crisis about it.
Izuna shies away from the sting of that memory. Tobirama was right. Izuna is being obsessive about this, as he is prone to do. Tobirama does not need to explain himself to Izuna. He has made himself clear, and Izuna will respect his wishes.
And now, they are pretending to be a couple.
It’s kind of, a little bit, mostly, driving Izuna fucking insane.
He’s already now viscerally aware of how close he is in proximity to Tobirama. It’s already an issue. Now, though? Now Tobirama has taken full license to be as insufferable about this as possible, in his own special way. He no longer pays any mind to the presence of others when they are in public. He brushes shoulders with Izuna, casually touches his arm or shoulder or lower back, stands close enough to him during official meetings that they draw eyes even from Nii-san and tree boy.
It’s infuriating. Normally, under any other circumstances, Izuna would be having the time of his life watching the terrified and dumbstruck expressions of innocent bystanders. Those same innocent bystanders that wanted to know oh so much about Tobirama’s personal life just mere months ago. He would be thriving, sculpting all this into something he can use.
Instead, he’s pining like a moron for a kind-of-friend.
He does reciprocate, of course. He’s a professional liar, if nothing else. He catches Tobirama’s hand when they’re walking civilian-style, on the dirt paths, to get lunch midday. He puts a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder for balance during an infrastructure planning meeting, leans up on his tip-toes, and whispers a comment in his ear that makes Tobirama fight back a laugh.
In a way, such circumstances allow Izuna to experiment a bit with his own emotions. It is a novel feeling, and also, entirely fucking deranged. Tobirama has tried to kill Izuna on the battlefield for his entire adult life, and a significant portion of his childhood, too. Izuna knows how those hands feel when they’re at his throat choking the air out of him. He knows what Tobirama’s blood tastes like, when a chunk has been ripped from his arm and lodged between Izuna’s teeth. He knows exactly how far Tobirama’s sword reach is, exactly how much he can strain his own muscles to flex and contort until he snaps and breaks a bone. It is less than Izuna’s own capability.
And yet –
It’s like learning Tobirama in an entirely different capacity. Izuna now knows what amusement looks like on Tobirama’s face. He knows how petty he can be in the face of faulty logic. He knows just how much Tobirama relishes the opportunity to progress and push forward and invent, and how much he genuinely enjoys showing off his projects to someone who can appreciate and withstand them – currently, namely, Izuna.
They are still sparring.
A lot.
They’ve destroyed the commonly used training fields, and promptly been kicked out of them by a Hokage utterly uninterested in regrowing foliage and earth for the nth time. Undeterred, they simply have to be more creative about their chosen location.
On this particular night, they choose somewhere far outside the boundaries of the newly forming village. Somewhere secluded and dense with trees and far enough away from the budding Konohagakure that Madara will not come after Izuna for burning down any civilian buildings in the crossfire.
“Ninjutsu?” Izuna suggests. “Taijutsu? Ooh, genjutsu?”
Tobirama rolls his eyes, but he’s already starting to relax. Izuna can tell. The weight of the day seems further away, now that he knows he can vent his anger on someone entirely capable of withstanding it. Izuna is feeling it too. He’s felt an excess of nervous energy for weeks, ever since his realization about himself. He is eager to release it in a spectacularly exhausting, violent capacity.
“You cannot convince me a genjutsu spar is enjoyable,” Tobirama complains. “It’s like children playing pretend.”
“That’s what makes it fun. Oh, I stabbed you, you’re dead now! No I’m not, you didn’t stab me, I’m fine, and also I’ve summoned a biju to eat you!”
Tobirama snorts. Izuna grins back at him, bouncing on his toes with loose energy, ready to be released.
“Why don’t we just – Kami, Izuna, does it matter? Just don’t stab me anywhere vital, to yield or first blood.”
Izuna really, genuinely might be in love with him.
“I can do that.” Izuna promises, and attacks.
Fighting Tobirama is, more than it ever has been in the past, fun.
Izuna comes at him directly, like a kunai shot into the air. Tobirama moves fluidly, dodges Izuna’s strikes with a lazy parry of his own blade. He is fast. He is the fastest, especially when he uses his fucking seal that’s definitely cheating, but Izuna likes it. He likes that Tobirama forces his sharingan to spin faster to keep up, to duck low to avoid getting caught in the shoulder by that insufferably named Thunder God technique, only to roll out of the way when a suiton jutsu begins to rapidly push at his body, soaking his clothes with water.
Izuna recovers, and throws a fireball at him. That never fails to make him feel better.
The dense trees they are sparring in soon become shredded and burned with the collateral of their battle. The ground is soaked with mud and puddles of water. Tobirama may have created a new lake to the northeast of the field, actually.
Tobirama’s blade drags against the dense, protective material of Izuna’s armor. Izuna saw it coming. He simply could not completely dodge it.
Izuna’s heart beats quicker in his chest. He smiles at Tobirama, even as a water dragon barrels toward him.
It probably implies something poor about Izuna’s general morality that every spar with Tobirama makes Izuna want to hold him down and tear into him like a chew-toy.
Sexually.
It really does not help that Izuna’s sharingan has to be active if he has a hope of fighting Tobirama on even ground. As a result, he notices everything. He notices how Tobirama’s cheeks flush when Izuna really has him struggling, how the pretty red blushes under vivid tattoos of the same color. He wants to bite at his cheek and make it worse. He notices when Tobirama’s lips part as Izuna catches him off guard. He notices the pulse thrumming at his throat, the scars at Tobirama’s fingertips, some from Izuna and some from his own experiments. He notices how Tobirama’s eyes always watch, but never look, not at Izuna directly.
Izuna wants.
He wants a lot of things. He wants Tobirama beneath him or atop him or beside him or inside him, he is not picky, he has found. He replays the memories over and over again late at night, alone, thoughts leading him down dangerous pathways.
His back hits the ground painfully. He has perhaps bruised something important, with the way his body throbs ominously. He can’t really focus on that, though, when his fight with Tobirama has once again turned startlingly intimate – Tobirama is seated above him, cradled between Izuna’s legs, pinning his hands above his head.
Izuna’s breath is heaving in his lungs.
Tobirama holds Izuna’s wrists together in one grip, wrist bones grinding together unpleasantly. His other hand comes down and –
There is a hand at Izuna’s throat.
Izuna’s eyes widen.
Pressure seals against his throat, firm and heavy. Tobirama would not actually hurt him. Would he?
Izuna kind of wants to see if he would.
Izuna does not yield. He continues to struggle beneath Tobirama, even though he can tell it is fruitless. Tobirama has gained the upper hand. Izuna does not even really want to turn the tide, not now that Tobirama is like this, not when his breaths halt altogether, and he can feel the sting of freshly made bruises against his throat.
“Izuna, yield.”
Izuna shakes his head. Tobirama’s eyes narrow, glaring at the point where his hands claim Izuna.
“Lunatic Uchiha, yield.”
Izuna’s lips part. He cannot drag in any air at all, now. Bright spots are beginning to cloud his vision. He stares up at Tobirama, transfixed. He watches Tobirama’s eyes dart across Izuna’s form, and hopes that he is not imagining the hunger he finds there.
Tobirama relents. As Izuna gasps in urgently needed air, Tobirama holds him steady with the hand still on his throat, and drags him into a fervent kiss.
Izuna gasps. He is still disorientated from the spar and the lack of air, he does not have the mental capability to examine this. Instead, he makes the wisest choice he can make. He returns Tobirama’s kiss, straining upward from where he is pinned on the ground and wrapping his legs tightly around his Senju.
Everything devolves quickly from there.
Tobirama releases his hold on Izuna’s wrists. He cups Izuna’s jaw, instead, pressing meanly against the bruises he left. Izuna whines into his mouth, muffled and wet and wordlessly asking for more. His own fingers tangle in Tobirama’s hair – its softer than he thought, mused, slightly stacky from Izuna’s surprise lightning jutsu mere moments ago – and lock in, holding on for dear life.
Tobirama is not soft. He is not kind. He licks into Izuna’s mouth like he’s trying to stake a claim. He is – moving against Izuna now –
Izuna grunts. Their shinobi weave is in the way. It almost hurts, with how hard Izuna is straining against the material. Tobirama shushes him with a softer kiss.
He reaches down with one hand and tugs at the front of Izuna’s pants. Izuna gets with the program quickly.
He fumbles to do the same for Tobirama. He tugs loose a string – shoves away the shinobi weave, biting and rough against his fingertips – and –
“Ah,” Tobirama breathes, when Izuna’s fingers brush against the head of his cock.
Izuna did not expect to get this far.
He isn’t about to panic and turn back now, though, not with Tobirama still hovering above him and apparently capable of making that noise. Izuna demands to hear it again.
He pushes his hand further into Tobirama’s pants, wrapping a hand around him properly. He would like to take a moment to thank Amaterasu for giving the Uchiha the flexibility to do this effortlessly. Tobirama slumps forward, eyes fluttering closed.
Though he wants to explore, now is not the time for soft touches. He can – maybe – enjoy that later.
As it is now, Izuna pumps at Tobirama, his dry hand rough against Tobirama’s sensitive skin. It is not so different than taking care of himself. He can manage it well enough, he thinks. Tobirama does not seem to mind, not with how he is tugging Izuna’s own pants down, puling just enough so that – ah.
That is new.
Senju Tobirama’s hands are very big.
Izuna makes a little noise that he refuses to call a whimper, squirming. He pulls Tobirama forward by his cock. Tobirama grunts at the motion, squeezing at Izuna in retaliation.
“Senju,” Izuna demands, “come on.”
Izuna does not know what exactly he is asking for, but Tobirama seems to catch on regardless. He shoves them both out of their clothes enough that their cocks are fully exposed to the warm summer night air. He leans up on his elbow, hovering over Izuna, watching him carefully.
Tobirama grasps them both in one hand, and rolls his hips forward.
Izuna’s lips part.
It is not entirely pleasant. They are still wearing far too many clothes. Izuna is pretty sure he is laying on one of Tobirama’s kunai, because it’s stabbing him shallowly in the shoulder. Their armor is unforgiving and painful against Izuna’s skin. Tobirama is heavy, his weight pressing against the bruises on Izuna’s skin as he moves.
Izuna loves it.
Izuna’s wide-eyed sharingan does not leave Tobirama. He watches Tobirama with open devotion. He claws at his arm, his shoulder, the back of his neck. He digs his fingernails in just to see Tobirama’s brows furrow, just to hear his voice catch on a moan. He rolls his hips in tandem with the Senju’s, writhing beneath his him.
It is over far more quickly than Izuna’s pride will let him admit.
It feels like a natural conclusion to their spar. Izuna is biting at Tobirama’s jaw, hard enough to draw blood, as the heavy weight of Tobirama’s cock grinds down into him. He can feel the pressure within him rising like a slow tide. Something inevitable. Something he’s been waiting on for a long time.
“Izuna,” Tobirama grunts against him, “Fuck, Izuna – ”
Izuna feels Tobirama reach his peak. He feels him shudder against him, warm and heavy and suddenly wet with cum. He feels Tobirama reach satisfaction against him and just like that, Izuna is gone too, shaking through his own release and biting down hard Tobirama, teeth puncturing flesh.
Pleasure sings across his body, leaving him shaky and clinging to Tobirama.
“Tobirama,” Izuna echoes back softly, still half-certain he’s in a dream.
Reality begins to seep in, slow and dawning.
Izuna is beneath Tobirama. Izuna has just had sex, for some definition of the word, with Senju Tobirama. Izuna has just fucked – somewhat – his fake fiance. Izuna has just held his rival’s cock in his hand and made him cum.
Izuna had sex with a man. Izuna has liked it very much, so, at this point, he can safely say he’s interested in men. He figured he would, but still. It is something to be confirmed.
“I should not have done that,” Tobirama mumbles.
Izuna’s good mood evaporates with shocking speed. His heart plummets, and his cheeks heat with embarrassment.
Tobirama did not want this. It must have been the heat of the moment, the adrenaline of a good fight, that got Tobirama excited for something carnal. Izuna did not matter, not for that. He was just at the right place at the right time.
Izuna feels startlingly vulnerable like this, beneath Tobirama, the lingering remains of his peak still simmering beneath his skin in little snaps of pleasure. It does not feel good anymore. It feels like an insult to injury.
“Oh.” Izuna breathes.
He is unsure what else he can say. His eyes are wide and stinging a little, but he will not cry in front of a Senju. He has more self control than that. He will wait until he is safely home within the Uchiha compound, and then cry, like a man.
He is caught off guard. He should not have been. Tobirama has told him so from the beginning. It was Izuna who ignored his words and got delusions of something more.
Tobirama takes a steadying breath. He opens his eyes – when did he close them, exactly? Was it when he reached his peak? When was Tobirama last looking at him? – and frowns down at Izuna.
“I did not mean…” Tobirama trails off, looking at Izuna strangely. “Why are you making that face. Stop making that face.”
“What face?” Izuna manages to gargle out, trying to hide his shattered heart from the Senju with sheer willpower. It is difficult, especially when he can still feel Tobirama’s hand against his cock.
“You look like I just stabbed you.” Tobirama says.
His eyes are flicking over Izuna, searching, but never where Izuna wants them. He still is not looking Izuna in the eye, even after he has had him. Izuna feels his eyes water treacherously, despite his best efforts.
“You would know.” Izuna says, forcing his tears to stay right the fuck there and not overflow, thank you, “You’ve done it before.”
“Stop it. Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not what I meant.”
Izuna shrugs, a small and jerky motion. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. We can pretend this didn’t happen.”
“I categorically do not want that. If you even attempt it, I will kill you. For real, this time.”
Izuna looks up at him hesitantly. Tobirama’s brows are furrowed. He looks truly upset at such an idea.
Why? He did not want this to happen. He said so himself. Izuna would know, with the sharingan and all.
“What do you want from me, Tobirama?” Izuna asks, at a loss.
He does not know what game Tobirama is playing with him, but he tires of it. He just wants to go home, treat the remnants of his wounded pride, and start getting over this pointless crush on his Senju.
Tobirama averts his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Izuna. I’m not… good at this. We should have this conversation somewhere besides an unprotected, off-village forest.”
“You’re not good at what?”
Tobirama gestures vaguely. “This. People. Being nice to people. Being nice to Uchiha specifically, being nice to you specifically. Romance in general.”
“Romance?” Izuna asks, latching onto the word zealously. His voice is small and uncertain.
Tobirama swallows. “If that is something you would want. With me, I mean.”
What the fuck is he talking about?
“I thought you didn’t – you said you didn’t. I remember it.” Izuna argues. “I can show you, you bastard, I have it in my head forever, you telling me you did not want me.”
Izuna does not realize how much that has affected him, not until he says the words aloud. The sharingan is like that. An asset and ally, to be sure, but with matters like this? It leaves many Uchiha stuck in the past, unable to move past memories such as that, stuck in such a moment like it happened yesterday.
Tobirama’s eyes narrow. “When have I said such a thing?”
“When we first sparred after the ceasefire. You said it. I didn’t even ask, but you said it entirely on your own volition. You do not need to be concerned. I have not and will not hold any ideas about you, Uchiha. You can stop having a crisis about it.”
Izuna pitches his voice to mock Tobirama. He imagines the effect is somewhat lost when he can still feel the tears in the corners of his eyes, and his voice wavers humiliatingly.
“Izuna, I – that was almost a year ago, what the fuck.”
“Sharingan!” Izuna protests shrilly, shoving at Tobirama’s shoulders.
He doesn’t actually want him to move, not really, not even with this painstaking conversation. He just wants to hit at him.
“Stop it. Stop looking at me like that, fuck, Izuna I was lying.”
Izuna blinks. His hands fall limply from Tobirama’s shoulders.
“You what.”
“I was lying! Obviously!”
“That was not obvious at all!”
“That’s because I’m a good shinobi! You lunatic Uchiha, you had just threatened me into a sparring match. Your only explanation was that you were angry. I thought you were –”
Tobirama cuts himself off. He sighs, and some of the frustration leaves his voice.
“I thought you were angry with me because of my preference. I thought you thought I was disgusting, too, and that any of it was directed toward you personally, as my rival. I lied. Why would I admit it, if you were clearly so angry about it?”
Izuna blinks several times. “Huh?”
“I thought you knew of my attraction to you and were angry about it. Happy?”
“No. Yes? No. You’re attracted to me?”
“Izuna, we just had sex.”
“I don’t know! I thought you were turned on because we were sparring!”
Tobirama thunks his head down on Izuna’s shoulder. It hurts. Izuna is still staring at the star filled sky above them, processing.
“Activate your sharingan, if you please,” Tobirama requests, still hiding his face in Izuna’s shoulder.
Izuna, still hesitant, complies. When Tobirama speaks, Izuna feels his words against his skin, and retains the memory with the perfect clarity of his sharingan.
“I am attracted to you. I enjoy spending time with you. I enjoy your general personality, who knows why. If you want to continue our public deception to the point where we actually marry the Senju and Uchiha together, I’m fine with that.”
“You want to marry me now?” Izuna asks, eyes wide.
“That one is your fault, not mine,” Tobirama replies testily, “You’re the one who told the Uchiha elders we’re engaged.”
Izuna has no defense. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Instead, he reaches out, trapping Tobirama against him. He fists one of his hands in fluffy white hair, and another digging fingernails into Tobirama’s shoulder-blade. He is not letting this Senju escape until Izuna understands what this means for them.
Tobirama does not protest.
Breath brushing against Izuna’s neck, he says:
“The sparring was also a turn on, to be clear.”
Izuna cracks a smile. “Yeah, I figured that much out myself.”
They are silent, for a long while. Izuna breathes in tandem with Tobirama. He curls closer to his Senju, limbs wrapped around him like a vice, Tobirama’s hand still trapped and sticky between them.. There is only a quiet grunt of protest when Izuna squeezes a bit too hard.
The crickets tentatively regain their chirping, now that Izuna and Tobirama have finished destroying their habitat.
“We shouldn’t linger here much longer,” Tobirama says.
He begins to pull away. Izuna does not know how far he is going – he would think not very? – but he does not want to risk anything, He tugs at Tobirama’s arms and halts his movement.
“Wait. I want, too.” Izuna says urgently. “What you said.”
Izuna swallows. Huh. It turns out that Tobirama might be better at this than him.
“Which part of what I said?”
“All of it, I think.”
Tobirama squints at him.
“You think?” He echoes.
Izuna does not know what to say. He is not good at this, either, it is becoming readily apparently. May Amaterasu have mercy on the rest of their relationship.
Izuna bites at his lip. He knows phrases that he could say, of course. He is well trained in the art of deception and seduction. That is not what he wants here. He does not want to begin their – their romance – on someone else’s pretty words. Tobirama would probably recognize it, anyway, and give Izuna hell for it.
What does Izuna want?
He wants to do everything they just did all over again, but this time somewhere far more comfortable. He wants to learn what brings Tobirama pleasure, to balance out the countless memories of bringing him pain. He wants to bring him pain again, maybe, just for fun. He wants to stand at Tobirama’s side and for that simple fact to be utterly unremarkable. He wants to introduce him to his family – his whole family, not simply Madara, all the cousins and aunts and clan-mates so far removed Izuna just defaults to whatever title is closest – and know that it is safe. He wants to see if he can wrangle Tobirama into wearing an Uchiwa to the next logistics meeting.
When Izuna speaks, he more honest than he’s ever been.
“If peace is possible, I want to spend it with you.”
Tobirama’s ire immediately fades. He softens, color rising in his cheeks, because this of all things makes his Senju blush. Good to know.
“Oh.”
“Also,” Izuna adds, “I want another run at our first time, and this time you don’t break my heart immediately afterward.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Izuna says easily. He’s feeling remarkably forgiving under the present circumstances. “You’ll make it up to me, right? No more misunderstandings.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Tobirama says quickly.
He has not quite managed to let go of Izuna completely. A hand has sneaked suspiciously low on his hip, tracing at the crease of his thigh.
“Do you want to go home with me?” Izuna’s Senju asks.
Tobirama lifts his gaze tentatively upward. He meets Izuna’s eyes for the first time, sharingan still ignited and spinning rapidly.
Izuna immortalizes Tobirama in memory as he is in this moment: flushed, hair mused, illuminated by the starry sky beyond them, white hair like moonlight between Izuna’s fingertips.
“Yes,” Izuna agrees. “Take me home.”