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Chapter Text

“Tobi,” Hashirama yelled with a mischievous delight as he crashed into the room. “You’ll never believe what Mad-”

Hearing his boisterous and unflappable brother trailing off without apparent cause was a clear indication of trouble, and it would catch Tobirama’s attention more thoroughly—would make him pause to assess the closest exit point, at the very least—if it weren’t for the danger of the silken kimono falling open and ruining all the work he’d put into arranging its layers and their folds.

Keeping an ear on his frozen brother, Tobirama’s eyes stayed on the impossibly white obi as he secured the heavy and stiff fabric with careful fingers before he patted the surrounding red to check the folds of the underlying layers for any imperfection in his arrangement. And if he admired their almost liquid quality while he was at it, that was no one’s business but his own.

“I have never seen you wearing this before?”

Hahshirama’s bad habit of making a strangled factual statement appear like a question was one of the quirks Tobirama abhorred the most. On any other day, he would have ignored the obvious fishing for information, but today… Today, Tobirama was in a heady mood, almost detached from the stress of his day-to-day responsibilities, and he was inclined to sate his brother’s curiosity. Mostly, to speak this dream he seemed to have into reality.

“It was a gift,” Tobirama murmured—almost shyly, as he was loath to admit—checking the fall of the deep red kimono another time to have a new opportunity to feel up the impossibly soft fabric that was woven so tightly, even his roughened fingertips glided over its smooth expanse without catching. He had no expertise regarding fabrics, but even Tobirama could tell this gift must have cost a fortune in cloth alone. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the hidden embroidery he could feel under his fingertips. He wondered if his bad eyes were at fault for not being able to enjoy the fine thread or if it was meant only to be seen with the aid of, let’s say, the Sharingan. Either way, Tobirama appreciated having something for his wandering hands to explore. They were used to reading braille when his eyes grew too tired over the span of a long working day, so it was no trouble translating the careful stitches into shapes and lines of phoenixes and dragons dancing, it was-

“A gift?” Hashirama choked, and with great difficulty, Tobirama tore his eyes from the nice contrast of white and red to throw a judging stare at his brother. He was met with a twitching eyebrow and a frozen smile that looked more constipated than encouraging. “From whom?”

“If you’re getting like this again, I don’t want to tell you.” Tobirama hadn’t seen that particular expression on Hashirama’s face in a few years, and he hadn’t thought he’d ever see it again. Not after the behavioural recalibration Tobirama had forced onto him when he’d finally had enough of his brother’s overbearing monitoring.

It had taken far more exhibitionistic acts and dispatched lovers than he cared to remember for Hashirama to stop treating him like one would their highborn maiden daughter. For all that his brother and their father had never seen eye-to-eye on many things, the frankly obscene brideprice the Hatake had offered up to have Tobirama marry into their ranks when they’d learned of his white hair and ‘wild’ eyes… their combined fury had appeared like a glade full of dancing fireflies, the fall of a myriad of stars, to Tobirama’s not yet fully developed senses. It had been endearing as much as it was inspiring.

It became less endearing when Tobirama grew older but neither of them out of their stalking habits. It had made a certain brand of experiments much more difficult to conduct than they ought to be, but thankfully Tobirama had always been crafty. Sneaking around his brother’s cheated spy network of trees and flowers had been the best opportunity for stealth training right up until Tobirama used it to make Hashirama see far more of his pale ass than he’d ever wanted to. He would not be going through this again.

“You’ll either burst into tears of joy or raze the village, and I fancy neither today. Go away, Anija.”

“Why would I-” Shit. Tobirama hadn’t been this wet behind the ears since he had been literally wet from his lack of mastery over his eager Suiton nature. Before he could try to cover his blunder, Hashirama’s confused blink narrowed into a suspicious frown, taking in Tobirama’s clothes in detail now: The impressive colours that were hard to come by in fabric, the minute details that were all but impossible to see to the blank eye; The scroll made from expensive paper that had accompanied his gift, a fan boldly stamped at its back.

“He wouldn’t.”

Tobirama opted for an unimpressed but telling silence rather than lying to his brother’s face or punching it for the horrified disbelief in his voice. He would graciously assume that Hashirama wasn’t questioning Madara’s good taste in his pursuit of Tobirama and instead getting worked up about the ‘epic break of trust within their star-crossed friendship’ or something similarly ridiculous.

As much as Tobirama took care of many responsibilities for his brother and also played an increasingly important role in Madara’s life, as far as their ‘divine bond’ was concerned, Tobirama firmly held onto his early cultivated not my circus, not my monkeys approach lest he’d risk infection with their nonsense.

But it seemed as if Tobirama had run out of luck. A soft knock on the doorframe caught both brothers’ attention, turning their heads just in time to see Madara shoving it open and cutting an impressive figure against the red evening light. His hair bound up for a change, held in place by a myriad of braids and combs, and for a moment, Tobirama felt his resolve crumbling and he wanted nothing more but to forgo the festival in favour of staking his claim—getting his hands into the tamed mane and kiss the impossible man senseless.

His needs were tampered though, by the sudden stillness grating on his nerves: There was no wind rustling leaves, no aching of stressed wood. Only utter silence from any floral life as Hashirama’s killing intent spread like a forest fire.

“You.”

To Madara’s credit, he merely changed his stance to something more defensible while his eyes were still on Tobirama, drinking up the sight he made clad not in the indigo of the Uchiha that would have been improper enough already, but Madara’s red. It seemed Tobirama was about to exchange one brand of possessiveness for another, but he didn’t find it in him to care. Not with the pleasure burning in his veins, ignited by seeing his gift at a place of pride in Madara’s hair.

Tobirama had looked forward to bringing their relationship out of the shadows and spending the festival on Madara’s arm—sharing sweets and whispers, maybe some hidden kisses—and if he really doubled down on it, he was confident he’d be able to make Hashirama leave at least for an hour or two. But now that the cat was out of the bag, he might as well seize the opportunity and get some longer-lasting peace into his personal affairs.

“If you survive my brother’s retribution hunt and find me before the festival is over while still in possession of my gift, my token,” Tobirama started with a lilting voice, watching Madara from hooded eyes as he ignored Hashirama’s flailing protest. “By the customs of my mother's clan, you’d be entitled to claim me for yourself.”

Even in the low light and with his lousy sight, Tobirama could see Madara’s pupils dilate at the barely hidden proposition, a hunger in his face that would be frightening if Tobirama’s teeth weren’t aching in turn. No matter the night’s outcome, at the very least, Madara knew that despite Tobirama’s initial hesitation, he was now ready to commit in full. And they weren’t slinking around Hashirama anymore.

Come to think of it, while Madara’s chances of survival had already been greatly improved by Hashirama snapping out of his menacing rage and back into his usual flailing self, maybe Tobirama should give some added incentive. He raised a hand to his mouth, allowing the smooth fabric of his sleeve to caress his sensitive skin when it obeyed gravity and exposed his wrist and forearm as he tapped his bottom lip in faux-consideration with dark promises in his eyes.

Black and brown eyes dropped to Tobirama’s exposed skin, but where Madara’s gaze heated up when he noticed Tobirama’s painted lips, Hashirama looked close to fainting. Perfect. Tobirama’s pleased smirk at the turn of events made both men whimper, if for different reasons, he hoped. Either way, time to seal the deal. Maybe they could still visit the festival after Tobirama had invited Madara to his bed to acknowledge the claim earned in the marriage hunt.

“I’d be delighted to let you, you know.”

Chapter Text

Madara couldn’t think past the rushing in his ears as all blood went south in a sudden drop.

He had been content to go at Tobirama’s pace—however glacial it might be after Madara turned down a spontaneously proposed fuck on the training fields in favour of initiating the serious courtship he’d actually aimed for and which had caused Tobirama to become surprisingly, dare he say, shy—but he was only a man.

When he had commissioned today’s gift, he had expected Tobirama to look irresistible. But Madara couldn’t have expected the possessive thrill of seeing his love clad in a tasteful mesh of their colours—Madara’s prominent red engulfing the lithe body, contained only by the stripe of Tobirama’s pristine white.

Most importantly, while Tobirama’s reputation off the battlefield wasn’t a secret to anyone but his brother, Madara had not been prepared for his love’s daringness after the hesitation with which he’d met Madara’s early courting. The elegant hand that Madara had felt blessed to be allowed to simply hold during their rare time alone was clad in delicate jewellery; a silver-clawed fingertip pressing into the plush bottom lip he’d fantasised about during the night’s darkest hours, drawing his gaze to- to-

Tobirama’s eyes and tattoos weren’t the only spots of colour on his face. The usually pale and chapped lips were painted in a bold heart-blood red, inviting Madara’s gaze and captivating his attention, and he couldn’t help but notice how well the shades of red matched up. A difficult feat if his vain brother was to be believed.

It was nothing new to Madara to be near overwhelmed by the need to touch, to kiss, to devour Tobirama, but so far, he had been able to master himself and his desires in an attempt to make a point—to prove the purity of his regard, the depth of his emotion that by far outweighed the impossible attraction he felt.

Madara had been halfway in love the first time he’d met Tobirama off the battlefield after peace had been agreed on, and so far, he had found nothing to quench his obsession. Quite the opposite, truly. Senju Tobirama was a gift from Amaterasu herself, someone all but made for Madara, perfect in every facet of his being, from his tempting appearance to his short temper and sharp tongue.

And to think that he had now the opportunity, nay, the invitation, to claim Tobirama for himself at long last?

There would be no stopping him.

Hashirama had the potential to be a gruesome foe, and his protectiveness over his brother knew no bounds, but as of now, Hashirama seemed utterly gutted by the prospect of his brother inviting any sort of advances at all. Evading his murderous rage should be possible. There was little to lose but his life and dignity but everything to win.

And the soft chiming to the beautiful Kanzenshi Tobirama had gifted him only solidified his resolve. Madara had his beloved’s blessing; he would not fail.

Chapter Text

Tobirama found himself laughing in sheer delight as his gamble paid off, and he was swept off his feet and carried away into the night without any regard for the conversation he had taken part in just a moment before, an echo of Hashirama’s enraged yell following before it was lost against the noise of Konoha’s populace enjoying the festival.

While the hard line of Madara’s shoulder digging into his stomach was far from comfortable, the rippling muscles of his strong back working under his hands were enticing enough to distract Tobirama from any complaint. He was tempted to let his hands roam and explore the movement of Madara’s strength in action—contemplating how they might feel while Tobirama held on for dear life, pinned against a wall with wood biting into his naked skin—but with Madara taking his way in plain sight for anyone to see, Tobirama preferred to keep as much of his dignity as possible while carried like a bag of rice.

For the first time, Tobirama cursed his towering height that didn’t allow him to be carried more comfortably. At least the chill of the night was kept away by the heat of Madara’s body, and the heavy arm laying over his thighs like an iron band—keeping him in place with its sheer weight—gave Tobirama much more pleasant ideas for the night.

He had been intent on sinking his teeth into Madara since he’d been fifteen and seen the man fight with his robe burned off, muscles visibly working as he swung his gunbai with prejudice against the Horogomo trying to attack his back while he was supposedly distracted by the Uchiha’s skirmish with the Senju. Madara had leapt over Tobirama, close enough for him to see clearly for once, and the sight had seared itself into his memory. The expanse of sweat-glistening skin and hard lines of fire given flesh had found their way into Tobirama’s dreams on more accounts than he’d cared to count.

Come to think of it, Tobirama distantly wondered how hard Hashirama would have clung to the idea of Madara as his friend if he’d known it had been dreams of his dear friend that had eventually led to Tobirama breaking out of his brother’s and father’s defences for his virtue.

But right now, despite his long-desired prey literally within his grasp and, for all intents and purposes, finally willing to sate Tobirama’s carnal desires after taking them the long route of a proper courtship—promising so much more than Tobirama had ever imagined he’d get or even want—Tobirama could only really focus on one revelation.

Under his searching hands, Tobirama noticed how the Uchiha clan head’s kimono—while obviously made of high-quality fabric, too—wasn’t nearly as smooth and silken against his sensitive skin as the one given to Tobirama as a gift. It spoke clearly of Madara’s intentions, not that his devotion to Tobirama could be doubted now that he had been chased by Hashirama’s army of greenery for the better part of the night without even the hint of a complaint within his expressive chakra.

Although, admittedly, it wasn’t as if out of the two of them Madara’s intentions and devotion would have been in doubt before. Tobirama was the one who had lost all reservations and carelessly proposed a fuck while their blood was still pumping from a rare spar, after all.

The seriousness with which Madara had first turned him down only to immediately approach him with his desire to properly court instead, had thrown Tobirama off his game to the extent that it had made him hesitant in his actions ever since. He found he liked Madara’s continued attention, his affection, but it was difficult to find a way to handle them.

For all that Tobirama was neither shy nor virtuous, he didn’t want to treat Madara’s courtship like one of the opportunities to fool around that he used to indulge in as soon as his brother’s back was turned—or in plain sight if he was feeling petty or particularly murderous.

No, it had taken some time to figure out what he wanted—to allow himself to think beyond what he thought possible or reasonable for once in his life—and when he did… Since Madara was here, with Tobirama’s token still in place and Hashirama nowhere in sight, the message seemed to have gotten through his brother’s thick skull.

He didn’t think Madara would be in serious trouble, but Tobirama knew his brother. ‘Best friend’ or not, Madara wouldn’t be the first wanna-be-lover turned to fertiliser in a fit of protective rage. And with tonight’s festival as the first public outing Tobirama had agreed to—the first he had proposed—it had been his hope that the sight of his token would be enough to remind Hashirama of their agreement.

Tobirama was jarred from his thoughts when Madara stopped running and instead sat down where he stood, placing Tobirama over his lap and pulling him against his impressive chest.

“Found you,” Madara purred at the shell of Tobirama’s ear, his hot breath a welcome reprieve from the chill of the night for all that his lips were still not touching any skin.

“So you did,” Tobirama allowed with a contemplative hum as if his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest from sudden excitement. “And now?”

Perched on Madara’s lap under the light of the full moon, Tobirama could see Madara’s flushed face and the hunger in his dark eyes as easily as he could read the molten quality of the Uchiha’s chakra. Tobirama’s hands trembled with the barely contained need to jump on the chance to, hm, fully appreciate Madara’s remarkable physique. But the promise of Madara’s fingertips dipping lower allowed him to restrain himself.

It came as a surprise, though, when rather than staking his earned claim by reaching into Tobirama’s kimono for something eager of a substantial length, Madara reached into his own and pulled out a small bottle of high-quality sake.

“Now we share a drink. Or three.”

Chapter Text

As he had recorded it, Madara didn’t think anything would ever compete with the expanse of Tobirama’s naked skin, his usually stern face set into an almost feral snarl in the throes of pleasure with his back arched as he ground himself down, chasing his pleasure while granting Madara the show of his life.

Madara had to realise that his previous abstinence from what Tobirama so readily offered had been by no means wasted but essential in the pursuit of the man. If he had allowed himself to indulge in their mutual attraction before he was invited to truly claim, it would have been all but impossible to keep his head on straight to court his beloved as Tobirama deserved, no chance at all Madara would have been able to properly convey the depth of his feelings to a point where Tobirama was ready to accept them in full and return them. And where would that have left him?

Certainly not with this just as enticing sight of Tobirama lounging relaxed on Madara’s futon, their futon, clad in nothing but the outer layer of the kimono Madara had gifted him for the festival. Tobirama looked right at home, the only jewellery he wore was the vivid marks sucked and bitten into pale skin, and Madara wouldn’t have it anyhow else.

In the flickering candlelight, the embroidered dragons and phoenixes almost seemed alive, coming together in an eternal dance just as Madara had hoped Tobirama might join him someday. His intentions carefully stitched into Tobirama’s clothes for any Uchiha a declaration in plain sight, staking his claim as much as giving Tobirama a tangible sign of his commitment, something to touch and be embraced by for the times they were apart.

When he’d commissioned the gift for his sweet Tobirama—drawing up the embroidery himself and examining every stitch made to ensure it held true to his intentions, paying every price demanded without a second thought—he had not expected for his wishes and prayers to come into fruition so soon.

Madara truly had to be Amaterasu’s chosen child. Otherwise, there was no explanation for how he’d gotten this lucky. He felt nothing but blessed. Not the least because, before their shared night, he had envisioned the dragons to be a proper representation of Tobirama’s fierceness and wisdom, his grace. But now, after having experienced the full scope of Tobirama’s skill, his flexibility, the serpentine grace of a dragon almost seemed lacking in comparison. Tobirama had proven himself to be far more experienced than his shyness around Madara had made him believe the younger man to be—had proven himself even more experienced as the rumours surrounding him portrayed him as.

But the vehemence with which Hashirama had hunted Madara through the forest, barely containing himself in his protective rage, painted a clear picture of the cause for Tobirama’s helpless confusion, his hesitation, when Madara had first approached him. There couldn’t have been many suitors sticking around to offer Tobirama all he deserved beyond the indulgence of carnal desires. It also explained the previous insistence that their courtship had to happen in secret.

There had been moments of doubt that Madara had to endure. He never doubted Tobirama, of course, but rather whether or not he himself could ever be worthy to stand beside such a blessed creature made from water and starlight. But then Tobirama had gifted Madara his mother’s Kanzashi, made from sapphires and red pearls set in a golden shell that looked suspiciously like a fan, and Madara lost all tether to reality for a moment after he’d read the note and unwrapped and opened the lacquered box placed on his desk.

Not only had Tobirama given him a priceless gift—a keepsake of the mother whose memory he still cherished—it felt like having been granted Tobirama’s mother’s blessing, too. How else could she have left behind a piece that would resemble them so well? They were meant to be, Madara was sure of it.

Who would have thought that his juvenile need to hurry at Tobirama’s side and talk about where they were heading with their slowly blossoming relationship—and whether or not Tobirama would be amenable to Madara yelling his devotion to him from the rooftops yet—would lead them here? Married by customs almost as old as the land they inhabited.

Truly, Madara was blessed beyond belief.

Chapter Text

Even after Konoha had been built and peace established between their clans, Tobirama hadn’t ever expected to find himself surrounded by celebrating Uchiha, twirled around in complicated patterns and passed along from one to another like a doll—Madara hot on his heels but always out of reach, his efforts thwarted at every turn by members of his clan under the teasing cheers of the masses.

For anyone but him, it would be difficult to recognise his various partners. To keep them apart as they tried to hide behind their typical Uchiha clothes and hair, any unique features concealed by colourful masks. But to Tobirama, who had never relied on his eyes as much as on his chakra sense, it was mere child’s play to learn names as he went and use them to greet his partners on every new turn to their obvious delight.

What a curious custom to steal an outclan spouse from their Uchiha’s home without prior notice. It was certainly one way to integrate new people into the clan, having them meet their new extended family and neighbours by partaking in a wild dance while forcing their new spouse to go on a merry chase to reclaim their love from the clan.

It was loud and wild, full of passion and joy, and for a moment, Tobirama wondered if this was what it meant to be Uchiha.

The Senju had customs and traditions surrounding courting and marriage, too, of course. But they were more centred around the individuals rather than the community, and what Tobirama knew of clan-wide dances was much more organised patterns and involving far less touching, never mind spontaneous throws that Tobirama would never admit to enjoying as much as he did.

Although considering Madara’s yelled outrage, he still wasn’t certain that delicate Mikoto-san gripping Tobirama around the waist and using previously unknown strength to throw his bulk without any apparent effort into Izuna’s waiting arms was an actual move employed in Uchiha dances—but it certainly had been an experience. As was the way Izuna’s chakra had danced in tune with his people, sharing their obvious joy despite the history he shared with Tobirama. And to think that Izuna had been part of the reason why Tobirama had initially wanted to keep their courting quiet…

Apparently, from the beginning, there had only been one brother to worry about, and it wasn’t Madara’s.

Ah, well.

Hashirama would back off when Tobirama finally got around to gifting Madara the hair stick he’d tentatively started to carve in Senju fashion some time ago. No matter Hashirama’s feelings on his brother’s personal life, as clan head he couldn’t simply stick his nose into any Senju’s officially declared private matters. The traditional gift made by Tobirama’s own two hands was the proper show of his regard that would inform the Senju as a whole of his intention to keep Madara as his own as much as it would bind Hashirama’s hands.

Now that Tobirama had made his decision, he wouldn’t let anything come between them. He’d-

“Found you,” Madara murmured as he intercepted the next pass, hands settling heavy on Tobirama’s hips and pulling him back against the solid chest. “Again.”

“So you did,” Tobirama agreed easily, pressing a kiss to Madara’s temple before turning around and drawing his husband in for a proper kiss under their clan’s boisterous approvement. The hair stick in his drawer at the Senju district could wait. Tonight, Tobirama would enjoy his new life as an Uchiha.

Chapter Text

Madara wouldn’t have thought for anything to be capable of drawing him out of the state of constant bliss he’d found himself in ever since he laid eyes upon Tobirama clad in the red of his gift. But, as always, Hashirama was a force of nature and exceeded all expectations, no matter if one was even aware they had them in the first place.

“How could you!” his old friend screeched, blowing his nose on the sleeve of his robe without a shred of dignity before he buried his face back into Madara’s chest—made possible only by the vines keeping Madara tightly trussed up and held in place as Hashirama continued his disgraceful wailing. “I thought you were my friend, but you’re just a predatory cradle robber going after my sweet baby!”

“His baby brother, who is an adult,” Madara pointedly told the passerby who’d just dropped the basket she carried as she tried to contain her horrified gasp at Hashirama’s slanderous words with her hands pressed to her mouth. “No predatory behaviour going on here, I assure you.”

The woman narrowed her eyes on them, but after realising the weeping oaf was the supposed leader of their village and Madara bound up with a long-suffering expression that could only stem from repeated exposure to such non-sense, she abandoned her shoppings on the ground and made a break for the sweet freedom lying behind the passage Madara had tried to hide in from Hashirama. Smart woman.

Madara rolled his eyes skywards, ignoring the growing wet patch on his chest as he tried to gauge how much time had passed and how much longer he’d need to hold on until Tobirama realised what was happening and came to his rescue. Being clan head or no—the Bringer of Ash, the Calamity so many feared—Madara had no shame hiding behind Tobirama where Hashirama was concerned.

He’d thought Hashirama’s behaviour during the hunt and the days after was bad—the attempts on his life only ever tempered when Tobirama made Madara wear his mother’s Kanzashi—but no. This was so much worse.

Madara barely knew any peace anymore. Ever since Tobirama had gifted him another piece to wear in his hair, a beautifully decorated stick carved by himself and all but permanently nestled into Madara’s mane—keeping it in check by force of magic, as Madara could only assume—Hashirama’s behaviour had undergone a hard turn from murderous rage to constant whining, and it exhausted Madara to the bone.

Depending on Hashirama’s mood, his insistent bawling was either about the broken trust between close friends or—very rarely and all the more disturbing for it—out of joy that his brother had found a worthy partner after all the vermin Hashirama had to keep away with a stick. More often than not, though, his emotional fits were about Madara prying on his innocent brother. As if Madara himself hadn’t turned down Tobirama’s initial advances and done everything in his might and then some to keep their courtship pure and without a fault so no one could ever besmirch what might come out of it.

“Betrayed by the man I love like a brother only to have him steal my sweet, innocent otouto from under my nose, woe me,” Hashirama continued his dramatics and Madara resigned himself to a long night. He had been the one to ask Tobriama for patience while Hashirama adjusted to the new reality of their relationship but at this point, Madara had to admit, he was getting kind of disappointed by Hashirama’s behaviour, too.

“If you keep at it, brother,” his beloved’s voice unexpectedly spoke up, apparently teasing, but Madara’s attention was pulled in by the underlying steel. “You’ll not merely lose a brother in name but in affection also.”

“What? But I-”

“No,” Tobirama growled, a dangerous sound that thankfully compelled Hashirama to finally leave off Madara so he could face his brother instead; a low growl that shot through Madara’s body in an entirely inappropriate manner, considering he was still bound up in what could be summarised as an extension of Hashisrama. The brief flick of lovely red eyes to his mid-section belied the fact that he hadn’t been able to hide his sudden interest from his terrifyingly competent husband, either.

“We have been over this multiple times, and I’m done. Done, Hashirama. I let you have your delusions of protecting my virtue, but now I’m a married man, and I won’t bow to your sensibilities any longer. I refuse having to collect my husband every other hour because you try to keep him from me, now that you have no right to keep me from him anymore.”

“That’s not-” Hashirama tried, hands raised in a rare show of defensiveness. After all the years Tobirama had put up with his overprotective brother with what had to count as ‘minimal fuss’ for someone as headstrong as him, Hashirama clearly had overestimated the patience Tobirama had left for him. It was glorious, though, and Madara found himself unexpectedly grateful for his restrains because, otherwise, he would have clasped his hands under his chin in open adoration for his husband’s feline grace as he suddenly staked closer to his prey with a threat of violent murder in his eyes.

“Don’t lie to my face, Hashirama.” The vehemence caused Hashirama to shut up before he even managed to get an explanation past his spluttering. “That is exactly what you have done, and I’m sick of it. If you don’t respect my choices, you don’t respect me. Or, since you apparently just have no respect for Senju customs when it comes to me, could it be that I’m just not worthy of claiming the Senju as my birthright anymore now that I’m Uchiha by marriage?”

With the dire accusation out in the open, all colour bled from Hashirama’s face. It made for an intriguing contrast to his usual tan, but Madara would be more interested in appreciating the total loss of composure if his love wasn’t clearly hurt under all the righteous fury.

“Tobirama, that’s not-”

“No?” Tobirama interrupted again, clearly too fed up with everything Hashirama had put him through over the years to allow his brother to get a word in. “But it is the only reason I can imagine why you, as clan head, refuse to acknowledge me claiming my husband the Senju way; why you try to keep him from me rather than embracing him as the brother you always swore up and down you’re seeing him as. Or is Madara the brother you now try to protect the only way you know how—keeping away all the vile influence trying to corrupt him? Since that seems to be the only reason I can think of that has caused you to break the word you gave me on top of everything else.”

Madara was lost. Something was going on that he couldn’t grasp, something that he had no knowledge of. Something profound, if both brothers’ sudden stillness was anything to go by. It set him on edge, but there wasn’t anything he could do right now.

“Tobirama, I’m sorry. It has never been my intention to make you doubt my regard,” Hashirama said. His quiet voice was void of any dramatics, and Madara couldn’t remember having ever heard his old friend this sombre.

Tobirama held his unnatural stillness for another few moments, but then Madara could see the lines of his body relax and his eyes soften for a mere moment before something wicked flashed over his face that made Hashirama tense in turn.

“It is not me you’ll need to apologise to, Anija,” Tobirama stated with a serene expression and sweet lilt to his voice that gave Madara’s primal instinct more cause to go haywire than anything ever before. “You’re a married man yourself, after all. It should not be my well-being and forgiveness at the forefront of your mind.”

A pause, and then-

“You wouldn’t.” The horror in Hashirama’s voice almost drowned out his obvious disbelief and Madara was lost yet again. What could Tobirama have done to get that kind of reaction? It couldn’t have been a threat to Hashirama’s harpy since Tobirama and Mito were a match made in the deepest belly of the underworld, where even Amaterasu’s light couldn’t reach. They’d rather kick their usually mutually beloved Hashirama to the curb together before either would do anything that might compromise the other. To think Tobirama would have-

Oh. Oh, that-

“Oh, but I already have,” Tobirama purred, all tension falling from his body as he closed in on Hsahirama as one of his summons would on lagging prey. If Madara hadn’t been beyond all reason with the depth of emotion for this man already, he would have fallen in love on the spot.

“I heard the elders were quite concerned to learn the rumours of their clan head breaking faith with long-standing Senju traditions and customs now that the joined village has been established. Aneue was just reassuring me of my place among the Senju when she suddenly was forced to step in as your representative; the elders did send an urgent summon for the clan head, after all, that couldn’t wait for you to return to your duties and quit playing catch with my husband rather than letting him join me for tea.”

It was a work of devious beauty, just like Tobirama himself. Madara couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even when Hashirama vanished without another word, leaving nothing behind but the echo of a squeak and a bunch of displaced leaves falling to the ground.

Tobirama lost nothing of his predatory aura as he stepped up to Madara with a smirk. “Found you. Again.”

“So you did,” Madara replied with a besotted smile, echoing the words Tobirama himself had used when Madara came to claim him and later again when he’d rescued Tobirama from his new clan. He wondered vaguely if this might become a tradition for them, beyond anything the Uchiha and Senju had. It was a nice thought. It would need time and repetition to build a tradition, after all, and time spent with Tobirama would never be wasted.

“I love you.”

Tobirama smiled beautifully at that, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he stopped just an arm’s length away with a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“I know.”

Well, that- Not quite what Madara had hoped for with his spontaneous confession, but, honestly, after how skittish Tobirama had been at the beginning of their courtship, it was a far better reaction than Madara could have hoped for. The relief of tension he didn’t know he still carried made him feel faint, and he was thankful yet again for the restraints keeping him upright without letting the weakness in his knees show.

“Say,” Tobirama continued, clever red eyes fitting over Madara’s body, taking in the bindings before they came to rest on his still tented mid-section. “Want me to blow you while you’re still trussed up? I bet Anija will sense what we’re up to through his Mokuton, and it will drive him mad while he has to deal with the elders and Aneue.”

Madara barked out a laugh at that, unable to contain himself or his mirth.

By the sun, that man…

Chapter Text

Trailing behind Madara—who tried to get rid of his brother without bloodshed while Izuna did his very best playing an annoying little sibling—at a leisurely pace, Tobirama enjoyed the happily milling people and decorated streets. If one discounted the mad dash on the first night when Madara stole him away, they didn’t have the opportunity yet to explore the week-long annual festival’s many attractions and Tobirama was looking forward to finally enjoying it with Madara at his side. He hadn’t truly expected to get some resemblance of alone time with his husband to partake in the games and food offered, but he was willing to grasp the unexpected opportunity with both hands.

As they hit Konoha’s central place, the gathered crowd was a clear sign that they were just in time for the Hokage speech and the great finale that would follow. While Tobirama didn’t care much to see his brother bumble his way through one of his trademark tearful speeches, he had to admit he was quite curious about the ‘finale’.

Hashirama had been uncharacteristically tightlipped about its nature, but Tobirama was reasonably sure that he didn’t hide barrels of black powder across the village in preparation for a great firework. Not this time, at least. To this day, Tobirama didn’t know if his brother hadn’t intended for the old Senju compound to go up in flames when he threw a ‘spontaneous’ party to celebrate the bare bones of Konoha’s Senju district just having built. The underhanded bastard that he was, even if rarely anyone realised it.

The flicker of flames caught in Madara’s hair, gold and blue glittering in the expanse of silken black, and Tobirama had to swallow the harsh truth that, no matter what he’d used to think, not even he had been able to truly see Hashirama for what he was. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have trusted his brother’s word. Tobirama wasn’t quite as hurt about it as he’d pretended to be in front of Aneue, but there was a feeling of betrayal that he couldn’t argue away.

It had taken many, many screaming matches but in the end, he had put his foot down and, backed up by their father, they had made a deal. Even when Butsuma had taken a step back and redirected his protective ire to those suitors Tobirama wasn’t interested in—rather than invading his privacy to evaporate anyone daring to look in Tobirama’s approximate vicinity—Tobirama had allowed his brother, the overreaching asshole, to run interference with minimal fuss. Sure, he had gotten Hashirama to back off a bit more at long last—when he lost all shame and picked his partners among those with little to no self-preservation instinct, ready to flaunt their success at wooing Tobirama literally into his brother’s face—but before all of that, Hashirama had promised.

One person—who Tobirama would gift his most precious possession, his mother’s kanzashi—who Hashirama promised he’d leave alone. He would back down for this one—back then hypothetical—person Tobirama claimed as his, but everyone else until then would be fair game.

To his shame as shinobi, Tobirama hadn’t imagined his brother would break his word. Ture, he didn’t try to dispatch Madara as he had done with everyone else before, but Hashirama still did his best to invade their rare alone time and to keep them apart. It has only been a few days so far, but already Tobirama was convinced his brother deserved anything Mito would dish out, and then some. He couldn’t wait to see the fallout. Uzumaki, after all, were very particular about vows and promises. The more he furthered his own studies, the more Tobirama came to understand that one couldn’t build their whole legacy on the art of sealing and not develop an unhealthy obsession with binding words of any fashion.

“Are you coming?”

Tobirama’s eyes snapped up to Madara, who waited a few paces ahead with his hand stretched out. Even with his poor eyesight, Tobirama could tell his husband cut a beautiful figure against the flickering lights of the festival behind him, and he was reminded of the moment when Madara had first seen him wear the red kimono—the moment that had set off the events leading to their sudden marriage.

Without an ounce of regret, Tobirama toll the offered hand and let himself be pulled against Madara’s chest, face cupped gently as lips slid against his own in a slow drag. But it was the blinding smile after, the joy at having Tobirama close lighting up Madarda’s face, that gave Tobirama the epiphany that he wouldn’t mind putting his emotions into words too, for once.

“I-”

The surrounding crowd exploded into cheers as Hashirama stepped out onto the Hokage Tower’s balcony overviewing Konoha’s central place, arms stretched with a blinding smile as he started with the speech the Hokage was expected to deliver.

How fitting that his brother managed to interrupt Tobirama’s very first heartfelt confession without even trying.

Tobirama waved Madara off as he quirked a brow at him in silent question, opting to comfortably settle against his husband instead and enjoy the marvellously constructed speech that came directly from Mito rather than her stumbling oaf of a husband.

For all that Tobirama could enjoy the twists and turns of words that barely anyone but the Nara were able to comprehend for their true meaning, Tobirama wished his brother would get on with it already. He had spotted quite a few lanterns among the crowd and he hoped he would get to see them rise before his brother’s idea of a ‘great finale’ would inevitably go up in flames. Tobirama had always enjoyed the slow rise of lights as they settled among the stars. A shame he hadn’t managed to snag one for himself, he would have liked to send a prayer on his own.

Another big round of cheering brought Tobirama out of his musings. He was just about to turn back to Madara and vanish into the streets before Hashirama would spot them, when his husband made a questioning noise in his throat, eyes still trained on the balcony.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Hashirama’s voice carried effortlessly over the mass of people as he calmed down their excited milling. It seemed like Tobirama wasn’t the only one waiting to hit the many stands. “Everyone is excited for the boring part to be over and have some fun, I’m sure. Before I can release you into the night, though, I have to make another announcement to make. A more personal, if you’ll allow me.”

That was-

Tobirama directed some chakra into his eyes in a mimicry of what he’d learned of the Sharingan, and allowed his vision to sharpen. Over the crowd, his eyes met with Hashirama and Tobirama spared a thought to hit himself for thinking he’d be able to stay hidden from his brother’s senses for even a moment. Not with his Mokuton having grown the flower garlands decorating all streets despite the cold season. Pointedly, he settled back against Madara and pulled his husband’s arms around him while holding Hashirama’s gaze, daring him to reprimand him in front of all these people. Tobirama did have to imagine the amused quirk on his brother’s lips, though.

“As you all know, tonight’s festival marks another year of Senju and Uchiha leaving war and blood behind to join together for an age of peace, building Konohagakure as a shared legacy,” Hashirama started, words easy to hear with the crowd falling quite in anticipation. Tobirama had an inkling where this was going, but surely Hashirama wouldn’t-

“Going forward, we might remember another joining of Uchiha and Senju during the annual festival, for it is to my great joy that I can announce the marriage of Konoha’s Founder Uchiha Madara to my beloved brother Uchiha Tobirama of the Senju!”

A moment of total silence fell over the crowd, with Tobirama’s mouth falling open in shock and Madara’s arms tightening around him in an obvious show of surprise, and then-

Chaos.

Even during his welcoming among the Uchiha, Tobirama hadn’t felt as overwhelmed by the ecstatic joy he felt rippling through the people around him, congratulations yelled in their direction as everyone and their mother patted them in gratulation wherever they could reach, wishing them best and promising to send a prayer on their behalf for a bright future ahead.

Madara’s presence at his back grounded him against the onslaught, and when Tobirama finally overcame his shock, smiling widely at the Senju obaa-chan patting his cheek and congratulating him not only on his marriage but also on finally having thrown off his brother’s meddling, Tobirama laughed and laughed until his stomach cramped, only settling down when Madara dipped him into a deep kiss to the cheers of the crowd.

When Tobirama calmed down, still faintly dazed by the amount of emotion swamping him from all sides and within, he looked back at his brother. With his vision still improved, it was easy to find Hashirama standing on the balcony, smiling, and with a deliberate motion, he pointed up to the sky. Tobirama’s eyes followed the direction and-

It was a beautiful sight, and Tobirama had to admit he felt reluctantly touched that Hashirama remembered. Shimmering lights danced in the sky, flickering gold among distant silver, and suddenly all the promises of sending prayers made so much more sense. His breath caught when, among the gold and silver, he could make out specks of white, and not soon after, a fluffy snowflake landed on the tip of his nose.

Tobirama was reminded of his mother and the kisses she used to place on his nose, and it felt like a blessing from the beyond. He settled back heavily against Madara’s chest, seeking his warmth, as his eyes fell back onto his brother. Hashirama and Mito mirrored their close embrace, and his Aneue winked at him, secretly claiming the gift of peace she had given him for his marriage. She’d always been impossibly good at finding suitable gifts for Tobirama, and being embraced by his husband’s warmth with his brother still smiling at them, was truly the best gift Tobirama could have ever hoped for.