Shopping Spree
*~*~*~*~*~*~
The presence of the muscled hunk of a man lurking in the darkest corner of the classroom was distracting. He just sat there, glaring at the class, at the students studiously writing, fidgeting with a stack of paper, trying and failing to look like he was fulfilling his assigned role of being a fake teachers assistant.
If he wasn’t so annoyed, Madara might have been amused.
It brought him much pleasure to see the mafia man assigned to watch him in so much discomfort.
Shaking his head to himself, Madara tapped his pencil against his temple, eyes flicking down to his paper, frowning at the next question. The exam itself wasn’t hard, but his escort in the corner was grating on his nerves. It made it hard for him to focus, since he couldn’t pretend that things were completely normal.
He glanced up at the mobster again, raising an eyebrow when he realized the man was staring at him already. Madara curled his lip very purposefully at him, letting his contempt be clear. Then he forced himself to refocus. If he failed this exam because of some idiot basically breathing down his neck, he was going to go even further out of his way to make the Senju family’s life absolutely miserable.
~*~*~*~*
When he finally finished his exam, having taken his sweet time just for the pleasure of seeing his escort getting more and more bored and uncomfortable, he couldn’t even feel annoyed with how he was borderline marched off campus. Although, the hand on his shoulder guiding him along was almost an insult. Did this idiot really think he couldn’t find his way around his own campus?
They had arrived on campus bright and early this morning in some decked out black car, but it was not the same car that he was now herded to. A sleek silver sports car was idling in front of the main campus doors, windows tinted beyond legal limits. His escort very firmly nudged him towards it, and even opened the passenger door for him.
Sitting in the drivers seat was none other than Tobirama Senju, dark sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, resting his chin on his hand with his elbow on the console. “Hey princess,” he greeted, flicking his shades up into his hair.
Madara stopped and stared. “What the fuck,” he deadpanned, crossing his arms.
“Hello to you too. Get in.”
“Why?”
“We’re going out.”
“In the middle of the day?”
“Mhm. Come on.”
Madara eyed him suspiciously, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m not exactly dressed to go out,” he settled with, waving vaguely at himself.
“Don’t worry about that. You coming or what?” Madara sighed, swinging his bag off his shoulder.
“I’m not gonna win this, am I?” he said, resigned. Tobirama smirked.
“Nope.” Admitting defeat, Madara conceded, sliding into the passenger seat and tossing his bag in the back. Tobirama nodded to his underling, who slammed the door shut and scurried off. “I’ve given some thought to what you said,” he began, putting the car in gear and peeling away, engine purring. “And maybe I went about things a little bit….ah….incorrectly.”
Madara snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
Tobirama hummed, weaving through traffic like no one else was moving. “Regardless…..I’m willing to try and do better.”
“You’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Can you not be sassy for 1 minute? I’m trying to apologize here.”
“And you’re doing a terribly marvelous job at it.”
Tobirama gave him a look that was both annoyed and exasperated. “Uchiha. Stop it.”
“That’s not doing better,” Madara quipped, unable to resist. Tobirama’s frown deepened, and Madara rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m stopping. Do continue.”
The Senju inhaled deeply, as though trying to calm himself. “Anyways. Consider this the beginning of me making amends.”
“Amends for what?” Madara shot back. “Kidnapping me? Coercing me? Making me lose my job and acting like you’re doing me a favor?”
“Yes.”
The casual way he said it, as if he had done nothing wrong, had Madara fuming. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“Naturally.” He aggressively veered past another slow moving car, then pulled off the main strip and into a side street. It took Madara a moment to recognize where they were. The expensive, luxurious part of the city. Somewhere Madara would never step foot in, normally. It was for the rich, the ones that wouldn’t blink an eye at spending several thousand dollars for a shirt.
As they slowly cruised up the street, he melted back into his seat. “What are we doing here?” he asked warily, and Tobirama gave him a sly side eye.
“Making amends,” he replied, pulling off to park on the side of the street, shutting off the car and gracefully sliding out. He came around to open Madara’s door, but he didn’t move. Instead, he gave the Senju a suspicious, narrow look, and the mob leader sighed. “Don’t make a scene,” he said firmly.
Madara bit off a snarky reply, scowling royally, but getting out. Pleased, the Senju put a hand on the small of his back; gentle, but possessive, in a way, and guided him towards the first shop in the strip. The moment they entered, the employee’s greeted Tobirama respectfully, bowing and avoiding eye contact, for the most part. “Good-afternoon, Senju-sama,” one of them said, glancing over at Madara curiously. “How may we help you today?”
Tobirama shoved his hands in his pockets, the very image of calm and confident and relaxed. He nodded his head to Madara. “I owe this one a couple favours. Whatever he wants, he can have, put it on our tab. Give him a hand? This isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”
The shop keepers eyes lit up with delight, and she clasped her hands. “Certainly, sir!” She spun to Madara with excitement. “My name is Haru, please, come with me!” Without waiting for a reply, she took his wrist, and very nearly hauled him deeper into the store. One of the other employees locked the door and turned off the open sign, giving them the entire store to themselves. Luckily it was already empty of anyone else. How convenient.
Tobirama made himself comfortable in one of the lounge chairs, scrolling through his phone while Haru dragged Madara all over the store. They offered designer clothes with price tags that would make most people faint. And accessories that cost more than a car.
What the fuck.
Haru kept up a steady stream of chatter as they walked up and down the racks, complimenting his appearance, and looking through their products, pulling some out at random until she had a massive pile in her arms. By now, common sense was finally kicking back in.
“Do you really think you can buy your way into forgiveness?” he asked, shooting a glare at Tobirama. The Senju raised an eyebrow at him.
“No.”
“Then why do all this?” he demanded. Tobirama set his phone down, and gave him a look.
“I’ve been told that there are different….love languages. One of them is gift giving.”
Madara stared at him. “Are you experimenting right now?”
“Yes. Is something wrong with that?”
Oh, there are so many things wrong with that… Shaking his head in disbelief, he let Haru guide him towards the dressing rooms, a devious plan starting to form. Tobirama said whatever he wanted. He didn’t actually want, or need, anything, but if it was going on the Senju’s bill……
Oh, he was going to take advantage of this.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Madara didn’t often feel giddy, but the pinched expression on the Senju’s face made all of this worth it. He was currently laden up to his neck in bags and boxes, all Madara’s excessive purchases, and frowning colossally as he followed Madara sauntering down the street. Personally, Madara felt quite proud of himself.
Hell, if the Senju was going to buy him stuff, he was going to take advantage of his ‘generosity’ by buying things he would never ever wear or use. It was positively delightful.
He suspected that Tobirama knew exactly what he was doing, but he didn’t say a word. He just silently let Madara splurge, silently paid the shockingly high bills, silently carried his new wares.
They had one last stop to make, and while Madara didn’t care for it, Tobirama was insistent. But hey, if he wanted to waste his money, who was Madara to stop him? This store, in particular, sold rather….intimate items, and he gleefully grabbed whatever he saw that looked nice.
By the time they were done, it was getting late, and Madara was practically preening. Tobirama, to his credit, still looked cool and unruffled, for the most part. Besides the ever growing furrow between his eyebrows, the only sign of his irritation. But, as the leader of the Senju mafia, he could afford whatever Madara’s heart desired.
The drive back to the Senju estate was quiet, for the most part. Tobirama broke the silence after a while. “What do you want for dinner?”
“Take a wild guess,” Madara replied, examining his nails.
“Inarizushi?”
“Ohhh, very observant of you, Senju. Congratulations.”
Tobirama sighed, and shook his head, but Madara could see the corner of his lips twitch up. “Inarizushi it is.”
~*~*~*~~*~*~*~
Tobirama had some of his people haul everything up to Madara’s quarters, where he spent the next hour or so shoving most of it into boxes to never be looked at again. A quiet knock on the door had him kicking the rest under the bed just before the door cracked open.
Little Itama poked his head into the room, looking a little sheepish. “Uh, excuse me, Uchiha-sama?”
If it was anyone else, Madara would have snapped at him. But he didn’t have the heart to be mean to a kid, even if said kid was an up and coming member of the mafia.
“Itama,” he replied, inclining his head. The boy glanced back over his shoulder at the hallway, and then stepped into his room. He was hiding one arm behind his back.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was hoping you wouldn’t be busy…”
Madara raised an expectant eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Do you need something?” he said impatiently.
Itama flushed, and slowly held out the arm he had been hiding. It was covered in blood. “I accidently cut myself while I was sharpening my new knife set and I don’t want to bother-”
He abruptly shut his mouth when Madara took his wrist, gently, and turned his arm to better see the wound. It was a nasty cut, deep and wide, on the underside of his forearm, extending from his wrist, and almost up to the inside of his elbow. “Ever heard of being careful?” Madara asked dryly, wiping some of the dried blood away with his thumb, frowning when fresh blood immediately took its place.
“I was being careful!” he protested, wincing. Now that Madara was closer, he could see his eyes glistening with unshed tears, the tiny wobble of his lips, the pained grimace on his face. He sighed.
“Do you Senju’s have a first aid kit anywhere?”
“There’s one in the business office downstairs,” Itama said weakly. “But…I don’t really know how to use all of the stuff in there. I thought I’d see if you can help? You know, cuz you’re a nurse and all and you stitched up anija years ago….”
“Yeah, I get it,” Madara grunted. “But I’ll need to see that kit.”
Itama hesitated. “I don’t think anija would be happy if I took you downstairs…”
“Do you want to bleed out, or do you want my help?” Madara said, giving him a look. He was dying to get out of the room and explore a little bit. This seemed like a good opportunity. “If you’re worried about me running off, I don’t think I’d get very far.”
“That’s true,” Itama agreed, wincing when Madara pressed down a little too firmly on his arm. “Ow! Okay, come on, but be quiet! I don’t want to get in trouble.”
He took Madara’s hand in his uninjured one, glancing up and down the halls quickly, then tugging Madara out of the room. He followed obediently as Itama led him down the halls, turning this way and that, down a flight of stairs, and through an ornate hall.
Finally, they reached their destination, and Itama pointed at the first aid kit on the shelf. Next to it were a few bottles of water. “Go sit on the desk,” Madara instructed, pointing to it as he grabbed the first aid kit and two bottles.
Itama wordlessly obeyed, watching attentively as Madara opened up the kit and started sorting through it until he found all that he wanted. It was, admittedly, well stocked, but of course there was no anesthetic. He sat down on the desk next to him, cracked open one of the bottles, and pulled Itama’s arm towards him. “This is going to sting,” he warned, eyeing the cut. “Tell me about yourself.”
Itama frowned. “What?”
“I don’t know you all that well. You’re the youngest, right? How old are you? Any other siblings?”
“Uh…yeah, I’m the youngest….I’m 13, and no there’s no other- OW!”
While he was distracted, Madara poured the water over the cut, cleaning the wound. “Keep talking,” Madara instructed. “What’s your favorite subject to study?”
Itama whimpered a little when Madara gently examined the wound, assessing its severity. “Uhh, ow, okay. I really like science. I think it’s cool. We’re talking about ecosystems in school.”
“Oh, yes, that is interesting,” Madara agreed absentmindedly, turning his arm a little closer to the light. “You have a favorite animal?”
“I like dogs.”
“What breed is your favorite?”
“Huskies! I’d love to have a whole pack. Did you know…”
While Itama rambled about huskies, Madara cleaned the edges of the wound, prepped a needle and thread, and without warning, started stitching the cut. Itama was lucky it wasn’t deeper. It came dangerously close to shearing through several tendons, and if it had, he would have lost function in his hand for a long while, if not permanently. At least not without surgical intervention.
With gentle prodding, Itama kept talking, distracting himself from the pain as Madara stitched him up. No tears escaped, though his eyes watered excessively, and Madara was a little impressed. Brave kid.
He was just beginning to wrap the wound when the doors to the office burst open, and a frazzled looking Hashirama staggered in, followed by Kawarama. They both froze when they saw them sitting on the desk, Itama’s partially wrapped arm in Madara’s hands.
“Itama!” Hashirama exclaimed. “What are you doing?” Kawarama slid further into the room, dark eyes sharp and assessing, but glinting in amusement as he whipped out a phone and started tapping away.
“I accidentally cut myself,” Itama said, cheeks flaming with embaressment. “Uchiha-sama stitched me up!”
“Don’t call me that, it’s weird,” Madara grumbled, deciding to ignore the new arrivals and continuing to wrap Itama’s arm. Hashirama gawked at them, mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“But you’re not supposed to be down here!” he protested, finally finding his voice back. Madara hummed quietly.
“Oh? My mistake.”
The indignant outrage on Hashirama’s face was comical, and Madara had to fight not to laugh at him. Kawarama didn’t seem at all bothered by Madara’s blatant disregard for the rules, poking around the office absentmindedly, but keeping a sharp eye on them as Madara worked.
Just as he was finishing up, the doors slammed open again, and Tobirama stalked in, his eerie red eyes glacial with fury. He came up short, however, at the sight that greeted him, and Itama frantically waved the hand that Madara wasn’t working on.
“Please don’t be mad, anija! I didn’t know who else to go to!”
Tobirama’s eyes slid from Madara’s hands, to Itama’s arm, and back again. The anger in his body visibly melted, and he cocked his head, a gesture that looked far too normal and innocent for the heartless leader of a bloodthirsty mafia.
“What did you do, Ita?” he demanded, somewhat gently, ghosting closer to them.
“I was sharpening my new knives and the whetstone slipped,” Itama mumbled, cheeks flushing. Tobirama sighed, reaching out to ruffle his brothers hair.
“Idiot,” he said, but with affection. It was too gentle, too normal, and it ruined the image Madara had in his head of the Senju being a cold-blooded killer. Silently, he finished off wrapping Itama’s arm, covering the stitches securely.
“Try not to move your fingers or wrist or elbow too much,” he instructed, trying it off and tossing his used supplies in the garbage. “Keep it dry, and come see me in two days so we can take a look at it.”
“Yes sir!” Itama said cheerfully, giving him a two fingered salute. “Thanks!” He hopped off the desk, poking at the bandages, and Madara swatted his hand.
“Stop that,” he scolded, repacking the first aid kit. He could feel Tobirama’s eyes on him as he did, and it was rather unnerving. “I’m taking this,” he said, to no one in particular, standing up and heading to the doors, kit in hand.
He stepped past Tobirama, and the Senju grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to my room, I have things to do.”
“No, you don’t.” He tugged insistently, and Madara let him turn him around so he could glare at him.
“Yeah, because you made me lose my job, asshole.”
“For now. I told you we’d revisit the matter.” He let go of him, taking half a step back. “I had something sent up to your room. Wear it tonight, for dinner with us.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Madara growled back, stepping past him. Tobirama didn’t try to stop him.
“See you soon!” Hashirama called, and Madara could almost see the stupid grin on his too friendly face. He made a rude gesture over his shoulder, turning down the hall and heading back the way he and Itama had come. Admittedly, he was a little surprised they were letting him wander around unsupervised, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He could take a chance; he could slip out and make a break for it.
But…..He was smart enough to know he wouldn't make it very far. And even if he did, the Senju family had people everywhere. He’d just be hauled right back even if he made it out.
As much as he hated to admit it, it looked like his best chance at returning to his life was to stick out a full year here…or until Tobirama grew bored of him. That seemed like a much better idea. Maybe he could annoy Tobirama so much he’d just send him away. He excelled at pissing people off.
Kurama greeted him with a series of loud meows when he got back, rubbing against his legs and purring. Setting the first aid kit aside, he scooped the cat up, scratching him under the chin, and investigated what Tobirama had sent for him.
It was a nice outfit; simple, but luxurious. Silk, judging by its feel. He could wear it, or….
Tobirama had promised, before, not to touch him. He had said that he wanted him, and wanted Madara to return his affections.
Madara had no intentions of doing so, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t torture the Senju a little. He wasn’t a vain or self-centered person, but he knew he had the iconic Uchiha family looks, and he definitely knew how to flaunt them.
Ignoring Tobirama’s gift, he dug through the bags and boxes from their shopping spree until he found exactly what he was looking for, laying it out on top of the bed and giving it a long look. Originally, he had selected it as a joke, and to waste Tobirama’s money, but now, he was glad he happened to grab it.
Kurama meowed demandingly, hopping up on the bed to brush his nose against Madara’s hand. He scratched the cat's ears, gazing down at the black, lacey little something. Tobirama could cut him off from his life all he wanted, but Madara wouldn’t make it easy for him in any way. The Senju wanted him, after all, and the best torture is to have something you want so close, so readily available, but just out of reach.
If he drove the Senju crazy enough, maybe he’d be able to get back to his life sooner than expected.