Chapter Text
- 6 months later -
Madara stood up from the writing desk with a curse, rolling the letter he’d just received up and stuffing it in his sleeve before he slammed out of the council building. The fucking Nara had some guts, sending peace terms as soon as those between Uchiha and Senju were signed. They’d obviously been waiting for this, and it rankled that he wouldn’t even be able to throw the scroll at Shikako’s fucking head in disdain because they both knew the Uchiha needed the medicine.
The terms were good, too, he thought as he marched angrily through the compound, with trade benefits and protection for his people among the Nara lands. Shikako obviously knew something about the Uchiha-Senju agreements if she’d gone that far in her offer, or else she simply used her uncanny brain to extrapolate on what Madara’s marriage must have brought between the former enemy clans. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to re-check all delegations for spies, or in fact for any Yamanaka interference. Those mind-meddling bastards had come around right fast on the Small Sea access route, once it had become known that the most powerful clans in the area would be forming an alliance, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t have taken the chance to gather some information as soon as it presented itself.
“Wow, Aniki, you look like someone’s poisoned all your cups of tea today,” came a voice from beside him as Izuna fell into step with him, “I’ve seen three small children burst into tears when they saw you pass by with that face.” Madara shot his annoyingly chipper little brother a look.
“I wish the bratlings were that easy to get out of my hair.” It was only a half-truth. Madara had always been well-loved by his clan but, ever since his Mangekyo awakened and he took over leadership, his people had become a bit more hesitant to approach him freely. That had eased up some with Izuna’s concerted efforts, and Madara would never talk about how grateful he was to his brother for the unflinching support. Izuna didn’t need to hear it said out loud anyway, he knew his place in Madara’s heart well enough.
The brat in question smirked knowingly at him and said, “Ah ah, Tobirama wouldn’t be happy to hear you talk like that, Aniki. You know how much he dotes on Kagami and all the other kidlings he can corrall into training sessions.” And Madara did know, it had been quite the surprise to watch his moon-skinned spouse take to caring for children like he’d been raised to do it. Madara could only grunt his assent, mind drifting to images of Tobirama’s pretty red eyes softening on some random bratlings, his easy smiles around the clan children once they had built up the bravery to approach him.
In fact, Madara was pretty sure Kagami’d been dared to walk up to the White Demon and request his assistance in a minor jutsu, but the look on the kid’s face when Tobirama had taken him up on the offer was an amusing memory even now. The look on Tobirama’s face, when Madara had agreed to allow him to teach basic jutsu to a team of 4 kids headed by Kagami, only four months into their marriage, was something Madara regretted not having had the sharingan active for. He cherished the memory nonetheless.
He reached out to scruff Izuna’s hair in passing, even as he nodded to Izumi who was negotiating some candy at a stall while seeming to flirt shamelessly with the merchant. She gave him a wink back before returning to her task, and Madara let go of his pouting otouto to pass a satisfied look over the street. His previous bad mood dispersed as he took in his clan, fed and safe in their walls, more shops than ever opened in the streets as trade flourished with the many peace agreements landing on his desk. This, this was worth the hassle of dealing with self-assured, lazy Nara clan heads.
“I’m not seeing the elders about this today,” he told Izuna, “but we’ve got good terms for a peace with the Nara.” His brother turned sparkling eyes on him, already plotting out some betterment for the clan on this development, and Madara was proud of his heir.
“The old crows are used to waiting by now, I’d guess,” Izuna answered with a smug grin. “This’ll sway the Akimichi, as the Nara always do. We could secure some trade with them even before we finalise the Nara deal, as we never had that much strife with their clan to begin with.” Izuna’s grin turned into a pleased smile as he took off, rambling to himself, towards his own house to no doubt calculate how many extra portable iron ovens the clan could produce for trade, and what kinds of supplies that might bring them.
“Say hi to Tobi for me!” was the last thing his adorable baby brother called over his shoulder, before trotting off to work out some schemes. Tobirama absolutely hated that nickname, so of course Izuna had latched onto it with the type of sixth sense only little brothers and tiny yappy dogs seemed to grow. He’d found a way to tease his new brother-in-law and would ride it into the sunset, happily. Madara couldn’t say he wasn’t glad to see the odd companionship building up between Tobirama and Izuna though - it had worried him, at first, and he didn’t want to lean too heavily on his little brother’s social skills in this case. But Izuna was smart and adaptable, and had quickly seen through to the potential Tobirama presented to the clan. More than that, he’d been glad to gain a sparring partner and someone smart enough to keep up with his schemes, unafraid and bold like Tobirama had slowly shown himself to be.
Madara himself headed home, as Tobirama was waiting for him and lunch would have been delivered not too long ago. The thought of his husband waiting made him speed up a bit, somewhat annoyed by his own ridiculous excitement. Their wedding had been not that long ago, they were still learning each other and he had gained a lot of insight into the man in these past months. And the more he learned of Tobirama the more he found he wanted to learn.
He could feel his husband’s calm chakra from here, working on something or other inside the house, and let the smooth feeling of it pass through him as he took off his shoes and stepped inside. Tobirama was sitting at a writing desk surrounded by letters, and did not stand to greet him at the door. It had taken them a while to reach a level of comfort where they could so easily walk around each other, share space easily like this, and Tobirama in particular had seemed convinced that he needed to offer formal greetings whenever Madara came or left. Madara had known better than to ask where that came from, and time had taught him that the Senju had been a more traditional clan than he could have expected, based on Hashirama’s almost demonstrative casualness.
Now he was pleased to note his husband’s relaxed posture as he kept up the work even when Madara stepped into the room and walked towards him. It made him feel warm inside, seeing Tobirama so comfortable in their home, thinking on how they had gotten there. The man’s chakra did not seem agitated enough to imply what he was working on would not bare interruption, and Madara did intend to get his greeting.“I’m home,” he said, coming up behind Tobirama and sliding a hand over his shoulder and around his neck, letting it slip down and into the front of his light top.
Tobirama stopped writing to lean back against his legs and answered, “Welcome home,” with a sigh. “Anja sends his greetings.” So that was the letter he was working on, and Madara was pleased to have Hashirama mention him. It had taken a lot of shouting and some sparring by the Nakano, interspersed with Hashirama’s pleas to be reassured that his brother was indeed safe and not too unhappy which absolutely broke Madara’s heart, before they’d even managed to reach a stage where they could discuss peace without accusations and reproach overtaking all reason.
Madara would do anything for his family, for his clan, and Hashirama had known this but he had imagined, somehow, that Madara had some sort of moral code higher than that. They were shinobi, though, and Madara had done many a horrid thing in his life. All he could offer in comfort was that Tobirama was his own family now, and would be cared for as such.
Hashirama had relented eventually, and in fact he had done so much quicker than Madara would have expected. He was a forgiving man, with peace still foremost in his mind, and getting to see Tobirama and talk to him privately at the first peace talks had helped sway him quickly. Tobirama had, as promised on the night on the hunt and other nights since, stood by Madara and reassured his brother that the Uchiha were treating him well.
Madara himself had sent Izuna out with the first invitation to neutral grounds, and he hadn’t slept until his brother returned despite all reassurances and knowledge that a hunted spouse would not be expected to be traded for a prisoner without greatly offending the gods. But Izuna had returned without delay and, with time and constant reassurances and letters, Hashirama had warmed again. It even looked oddly like Madara would get his best friend back despite all of this. The letter resting open on Tobirama’s desk, covered in broad excited lettering, served to remind him of the soft heart of the man he now called brother by law.
“I see you are thoughtful today. Did something happen?” Tobirama asked and rolled his head back into Madara’s hip to look up at him with questioning red eyes. Madara stroked his thumb along the smooth pale skin of his upper chest, and told him, “We have an offer for peace from the Nara. I can show it to you after dinner if you want to discuss it before we take it to the elders tomorrow.” Tobirama smiled and closed his eyes, and nodded as he said, “Dinner is set up.”
They walked to the other room of their home, where indeed dinner had been laid out on trays and the light of the sun was streaking through the paper doors facing the garden. He sat across from his husband and they ate and Madara complained about the politics he had to do, and listened to Tobirama complain about having to manage inter-clan communication and improving the administrative system that guided the management of battle-worn shinobi that were doing service work inside the compound - a feature unique to the Uchiha, apparently, and which his husband had been particularly curious about. .
After dinner was done, they got up and walked to the veranda so Madara could pull out his pipe, and Tobirama came to sit right beside him, their thighs pressed together as their feet dangled over the well-kept garden. Tobirama leaned into him with no hesitation, resting his head on Madara’s shoulder despite being taller, and despite the fact that Madara’s hair got everywhere like that. It was a pleasant, calm weight, and again he thought back to the start of their married life, to the reticent man that had first entered this house six months ago.
Tobirama had slowly seemed to grow accustomed to physical affection, which was very fortunate as Madara felt compelled to touch his lovely, fay husband at all times of the day and night. At first he’d made sure to pull his hands back more often that not, but with time and patience Tobirama learned to welcome touch and initiate it himself, and Madara found himself with the sensation of a man who had coaxed a particularly person-adverse cat to nap on his lap. He was ridiculously proud of the achievement, and in fact remembered several instances where he’d refused to move in order to avoid losing the privilege of his husband’s weight on his thighs.
Tobirama had also lost the weariness he carried at first, stopped seeming to wait for the other shoe to drop and trusted in Madara more and more, which he took as a personal victory gained through measured efforts in providing all he could for his husband’s comfort. Weedling any requests and preferences out of him in order to give himself some goalposts, in a sort of post-factum courting ritual, had worked well in the first months, and now Tobirama trusted him enough to simply share what he wanted.
It was through that trust, and the honesty they’d promised each other at the start of all this, that Madara built enough of a rapport to try to feel his way around what had shaped Tobirama into the man he was. Self-confident to match his shinobi skills and impressive intelligence, no doubt, but in private he’d been so very … wary of Madara at first, in a way Madara felt could not be fully explained away by their power dynamics, or even their unusual marriage. It had taken several bottles of sake and confessions on Madara’s own side on a warm night out on the veranda for Tobirama to finally whisper, “My father was - he was not the kind of clan head that Hashirama is. That you are.” before leaving it at that. He hadn’t pressed.
Madara had known, from the moment he’d decided in desperation and fear for his clan to take a drastic step to ensure they would not starve that winter, that he would love his husband as any Uchiha did their family. However he’d expected it to be a painful sort of love, held for someone he did not particularly like, and wholly unreturned. Without knowing Tobirama more than from what he saw in the field, he had at most imagined his husband would grow to tolerate the union and not hate him for it, or perhaps would choose to isolate himself from the clan.
Madara had been willing to sacrifice his own marital happiness and the peace of his home for the clan, and instead he’d found himself captivated from the first night he pushed his beautiful husband down into the forest floor. He’d grown more and more entranced with the man, dutiful and sharp as a blade, holding his family and clan as dear and precious to him as Madara himself did.
Tobirama was quick to anger and loyal and passionate, always ready with a sharp remark, willing to put all of himself in service to the Uchiha as he had given his word that first night - and every day Madara felt he was further entranced by the man, as if bewitched by Tobirama’s lovely eyes. His attraction and sex drive had always been bound to admiration, and he lacked none of them in his marriage. Meanwhile he could see how his husband got more and more attracted to him in turn.
It was as though his pale willowy body, never having been touched before Madara laid hands to him, was learning to love the touch and crave it now. And Tobirama gave all signs of enjoying Madara’s presence, of growing to love him so long after they had had their union and sworn to stand by the other’s side. Madara breathed out a puff of smoke, arm coming to wrap around his husband’s familiar form and pull him even closer as Tobirama nuzzled into his hair with a hum. The gods had been kind to him. This, he could see, would only grow more beautiful as they gave it time.
- The End -