White hair. Red eyes. Izuna’s head jerks up and he almost upends the café table in his haste to stand up.
“Izuna-sama?” Hikaku blinks, bewildered and clutching his coffee cup tightly to his chest after he had rescued it just before it had fallen off the edge and shattered on the cobblestone below.
Izuna ignores him, frantically searching for that tantalizing glimpse of white in the thick crowd of every color but it.
“Izuna-sama?” Hikaku repeats a little more anxiously.
Where?
Where?
Where the fuck was he?
Oh. There.
There he was. Near the stand selling old books.
Of course.
It takes him only several long strides, and he’s standing behind the man. Izuna reaches out with a slightly trembling hand and grabs the muscled shoulder hard to jerk him around.
White hair. Red eyes. Face tattoos.
“Senju.” He breathes.
“Uchiha.” The Pale Demon says blandly. For the first time since their meeting at the river, he meets Izuna’s gaze boldly.
After all, why would did he have to fear the eyes of an Uchiha in a world where the Sharingan didn’t exist? The only remainder of their once prized gift was the permanent red hue of their irises.
Unnoticed on the sidelines, Hikaku pinches his nose. This was going to be a disaster of epic proportions.
He hasn’t changed at all, Izuna later musses in his bunk while nursing his wounds. Maybe he wasn’t wearing his heavy armor anymore, nor his happuri, but that faint twist of derision on his lips was the same. He was still taller and wider in the shoulders, built for raw power as Senju tended to be. Not at all like the Uchiha who were built for speed and had smaller, lither bodies. And the way he fought too had retained that base of fluidity and adaptability that had been so like his favored element. The lack of charka in this world hadn’t hampered him one bit.
Izuna passes a light finger over the bandages hiding the thin cut the bastard’s sword had left on his arm. It wasn’t long, but it was deep, to the bone-deep, and had required stitches. It would scar, and that knowledge brought a strange sense of comfort to him. He had multiple similar ones before, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them.
And the other man hadn’t walked away unscaled either. Izuna had left a scarring mark of his own; an equally thin cut on his tight from a barely dodged thrown kunai.
A huff of satisfied laughter escapes him and then he groans loudly when his other injury makes itself know. Sword stabs could hurt like a bitch.
“Izuna-sama?” Hikaku peers into his cabin, having been alerted by the noise. “Are you alright?”
“Never been better.” He assures him, the same wide grin he’d been sporting all day painted across his face.
His cousin raises an eyebrow doubtfully but obediently closes the door again.
Izuna wiggles on his mattress with badly concealed glee.
Tobirama was here.
Tobirama was here.
His grin widens further.
The next time they met, they don’t fight. Izuna would have felt disappointed about it if he hadn’t been too busy struggling to survive for that.
The pirate safe harbor they’d been staying in until their log pose recalibrated turned out to not be so safe in the end. Two days after their ship docked, Marines swarmed the island in one of their occasional attempts to cleanse the world of filth by getting rid of any place criminals claimed for their own.
Izuna had lost track of Hikaku during the initial long-range cannon fire and Madara when a nearby warehouse full of gunpowder had caught fire. He’d try and rejoined them, but in the thick, dark smoke covering the street, Marines were slowly tightening a ring around him, killing everyone they came across.
He doesn’t know how he knew. His Observation Haki wasn’t the best, and he could hardly see anything even with the flickering flames on the burning buildings. But when he feels a presence behind him, he doesn’t jerk away. He doesn’t turn to kill.
Fighting back-to-back with Tobirama wasn’t something he did often. There had been two or three instances when they’d been led into traps by mutual enemies and they’d been forced to cooperate if they wanted to live. Still, they knew each other so well, had spent so much time fighting each other, their teamwork was flawless. Adapting to their newish fighting styles didn’t take long. Within minutes, it was like they were back on those old battlefields, an unspoken, unacknowledged truce binding them together. A truce so fragile, it would be broken without a second thought the moment the danger had passed. To avoid the temptation to stab the other while he was in an exhausted, wounded state and then getting into another fight while also in an exhausted, wounded state, they always fled in different directions the second their last enemy falls.
Therefore, when Tobirama suddenly disappears and a stray bullet almost hits his back, he isn’t surprised. They had reached the docks, he could see his ship and both his cousin and brother already waiting for him. Doubtless, the Senju bastard also had an escape route in the area and that’s where he was headed too, now that the place had been cleared of Marines by other fleeing people and it was marginally safer.
Standing on the deck and watching the flaming island recede in the distance, Izuna presses his hand to his side where underneath his shirt, a scar-like birthmark marred his fair skin.
Next time, he silently promises to himself. Next time.
Next time, he finds Tobirama already occupied. Balanced on a roof, he observes how the man desperately fights off an entire crew of pirates on his own. There was something beautiful in his every move, a gracefulness that his opponents lacked. He was precise, his sword cutting through flesh like butter. A killing machine that made taking on fifty men alone look easy.
Izuna had seen him grow into that. He’d helped him become that each time he hadn’t managed to kill him. Madara and that oaf of a Senju might have played pretend on the battlefields, but he and Tobirama had always been serious.
He frowns when he remembers how Tobirama had died according to Kagami. His mood sours.
He was the only one allowed to kill Tobirama. It should have been his kill. The Kumo trash didn’t deserve it.
Underneath his perch, the grunts fall to the Senju’s blade. They were weak, untrained. Cannon-fodder. And they’d served their job. They’d occupied the Senju long enough for their Captain to try for the man’s unprotected back.
Hot indignation flashes through Izuna. Before he knows it, his own blade was drawn and thrown at the fat pirate. It catches him in the throat and he goes down with a loud thud.
His.
His kill.
No one else.
Tobirama looks up at him and he sneers. “Mine.” He growls. “Mine, you hear me? I’m the only one allowed to kill you.”
He has to get another sword. His old one he had left behind stuck in the meaty flesh of a man who had tried to take what wasn’t his. Explaining to Madara had been hard. He had lied for some reason. Didn’t tell him about the Senju.
Izuna had always known he hadn’t escaped his clan’s predisposition towards obsession. Still, his reaction to the possibility of some else killing Tobirama had shaken him. When they met on the battlefield, he automatically faced the White Demon. His clan knew better than to take his place. Never before had anyone come so close to killing the man in his line of sight. Never before he had felt his possessiveness rear its head that violently.
Once they’d activate their Sharingan for the first time, Uchihas ran a big chance of fixating on something. It would take control of their life until it was all they could think about. Often, it was a concept. Sasuke’s had been power. Shisui’s and Itachi’s had been a peaceful Konoha. Kagami fixated unusually late. Revenge on Danzo and Sarutobi. Getting rid of the world of people like them.
When it was a person, things got even riskier. Madara’s mind became unstable when he lost the support of his clan. Obito became easy pickings for brainwashing after Rin died.
Izuna’s obsession was Tobirama. Specifically killing Tobirama. It was his goal, it was why he got up in the mornings and it was why he worked until he collapses on the training fields over and over again.
Perhaps, it had been lucky then that he’d died before the other. He’d have massacred the whole of Kumo for daring to touch the man.
It was a bar. The kind that the rich avoid, and criminals flock to.
He’d been sitting in a darkened corner, nursing a mug when Tobirama walks in. He was wearing one of those shirts they – former shinobi – preferred. Tight and sleeveless with a polo neck.
Izuna makes a discovery. Turns out, his face wasn’t the only thing he’d tattooed and similar red lines swirled around strong arms. Naturally, everyone’s attention was immediately on the very pretty man.
Izuna scowls into his drink as one after another try their luck. They’re all politely, but coldly rebuffed.
The latest one looked like he was getting somewhere. He’d somehow figured out the Senju liked science and had struck a conversation about some type of bugs living on the island. They’d leaned their heads together to hear each other better over the din of the bar, and the man’s hand had been steadily inching its way up Tobirama’s tight throughout the night.
Izuna clenches his teeth. After that near-miss a couple of months ago, his obsession was nearly unmanageable. He’d plastered his cabin with every newspaper clip that mentioned the bastard and he collected bounty posters with near-fanatical mania. He’d investigated everyone he’d hear ever associated with Tobirama. He was always on the lookout for him. He’d once even tracked down a person who claimed they’d be the one to snag the White Demon. It had been a bounty hunter who had a tendency of seducing her targets. He’d killed her gruesomely.
He abruptly stands up. Yanking out his new sword, he purposely strides towards the Senju across the suddenly quiet bar. Stabbing the blade into the eye of the flirt who had slipped a pill into Tobirama’s drink, he leans across the table. “Outside.” He hisses. “Now.”
The white-haired man gazes at the cooling corpse of a man he’s been talking to seconds before with blank indifference. “He had information I needed.” He remarks calmly. “I wanted him to kidnap me, you know. You just ruined months of work.”
Izuna sprints across the dark street. An arm shoots out of an alleyway, and he suddenly finds himself being pressed up against the door of someone’s doorway by a larger man, a palm pressed warningly around his mouth.
“Shut up,” Tobirama tells him. “And don’t stab me if you want to live.”
His eyes narrow, but he cautiously nods his head. The kunai he had pressed to his attacker’s stomach disappears back into his wide sleeve.
It was… a snug squeeze, but it took them out of immediate sight. He fleetingly wonders what exactly the Senju bastard was doing there when he should have been on the other side of the Grand Line according to his spies and is immediately distracted by the thundering of footsteps against the cobblestone.
They were plastered together so tightly they were pressed chest-to-chest, tight-to-tight. They were both panting from their frantic escape from their separate pursuers.
Tobirama leans out to peer down the road and jerks back in. “Don’t stab me if you want to live.” He repeats steadily.
The next thing Izuna knows, hands cradling his face and there is a mouth on his. He makes a startled noise, and the absolute bastard takes the chance to force his tongue half-way down his throat.
A soft sound of protest escapes him. His mind seemed to blank out until there was nothing but the slick, hot press of Tobirama’s mouth against his own. With a quick switch, he’s the one crowding the other into the door. One hand moves to knot in the incredibly soft hair, the other down to his waist and a thigh knees the taller man’s legs open to get between them. He thrusts up and gets rewarded by a loud moan from the Senju.
Peripherally, he’s aware of a pair of Marines peering down the alleyway, but he’s busy sucking on that provocative neck that had been tempting him since he was thirteen. He always wanted to see it bleed so Izuna bites down on it until he tastes blood. Tobirama moans again and he licks the wound.
“What are you? A Hatake?” The Senju gasps out.
“Oi.” One of the Marines says and he throws the man a withering glare.
“What?” He snaps.
“You seen anyone suspicious?” The man asks with a lecherous grin, eyeing appreciatively the disheveled Tobirama. “One of them wears a long coat.”
“What do you think?” He retorts angrily. “Fuck off.”
The pair walks off with loud laughs and he leans his forehead against Tobirama’ chest, trying to settle his racing heart. This escape had been too narrow for comfort. Thank fuck his robes could be mistaken for a coat in the dark.
“We are never talking about this again.” Tobirama’s decides, his hands down on Izuna’s hips. “Anjia can never know about this.”
“Aniki would throw me into the koi pond.” He readily agrees.
They end up kissing to get away from a persistent patrol again.
In a brothel.
It goes something like this:
“We really shouldn’t make a habit of meeting like this.” He remarks, inching his way across a thin line stretched between two buildings. It had been easier with chakra. And why were they always forced to run from Marines at night?
“Well, maybe if you stopped stalking me…” The Senju mutters.
Having reached the other side, Izuna spins around. “I am not!”
On the other side of the gap, Tobirama crosses his arms. “I was born with Observation Haki. Believe me, I know when someone’s following me. You’re hardly subtle, Uchiha.”
“It’s not my fault my spies can’t keep track of you!” He protests.
“Three weeks ago.” Tobirama points out.
He flushes. “I was already there! In fact, maybe you’re the one stalking me!”
The bastard gives him a skeptical look. Thankfully, before he can say anything, there is a loud cry from the ground. “Up there.”
“Crap,” Izuna swears and dives into the nearest open window. The scantily clad woman on the bed yelps in surprise.
Tobirama comes rolling after him and was taking off his shirt even before he had risen to his feet. Downstairs start echoing the Madam’s outraged screeches and the yells of the soldiers.
“Give me a dress.” He orders the prostitute, waving his sword to make a point and she meekly scrambles towards her wardrobe.
His men come pouring into the last room of the town’s most popular brothel with drawn weapons and loud battle cries. Unfortunately, they only find two women in the lap of an old man, all terrified out of their wits and no trace of the two criminals who had stolen classified information from their base.
The little blond bursts out crying, while the darker-haired woman in the provocative red dress shrinks back into the naked chest of her customer. “Can we help you?” She stammers out. A sleeve slips off her pale shoulder, and the men suddenly feel the need to avert their eyes.
“Have you seen anyone suspicious?” The Captain asks, staring fixedly at the wall. “We received reports of two criminals coming into this room.”
The little blond sobs harder.
“I’m afraid we haven’t.” The man answers and draws the brunette face towards him. He seemed to have relaxed slightly, now that there weren’t any weapons in his face. “We’ve been quite occupied. Haven’t we, my dear?”
“Oh~” The prostitute giggles.
The kiss is positively indecent. The Captain blushes just hearing it.
“Right.” He clears his throat. “We’ll be going then. If you hear anything –”
“We’ll tell you.” The brunette assures with a coquettish smile. Her lipstick was smudged and there was a strand of spit in the corner of her mouth. “Do come to visit sometime.” She calls after them as they leave. “We’ll have lots of fun together, I promise.”
“I’m not sorry I killed you.” Tobirama suddenly says out of the blue, breaking the quiet. It was a day they had decided not to try and gut each on sight and they had been lounging on a rooftop that had a beautiful view of the island. Izuna had almost dozed off in the sunshine, but Tobirama’s words chased away the peaceful haze in his mind.
“I’m not asking for an apology.” He answers, baffled. Tobirama hums and he props himself up on an elbow to see his rival better. “No, really. I get it. It was war, you were protecting your clan, I was protecting my clan. You were right to kill me. Otherwise, I’d have continued killing your family. Plus, isn’t my death what prompted the peace accords? If I hadn’t died, Konoha would have never been built.”
“Anija doesn’t think that way.” Tobirama sighs heavily.
Izuna scoffs loudly in response. “Your brother is an idealistic, foolishly optimistic idiot. I bet the other clans didn’t join the village because they liked the idea of peace. They probably were terrified that with the Uchiha and Senju united for the first time in centuries, they were their next targets and decided to cut their losses.”
Tobirama smiles. “Don’t tell him that. He’ll sulk for a month.”
“I would have never agreed to a peace agreement.” He tells him quietly. “I’d always believe it was a trap. I would have never trusted you. Those were my last words to Madara, you know? Don’t trust the Senju, they’ll be our death.”
“I wasn’t all that pleased with Anija, either,” Tobirama confesses. “In the end, we were both correct. The Uchiha clan was massacred by one of its own for the village and the Senju clan naturally died out on its own by marrying into other lines.”
They lapse into a drawn-out silence that is only broken by Madara coming up to see Izuna and spotting the white-hair.
“You.” He says quietly.
Tobirama sits up. “Me.”
“YOU!”
Oh, that’s right. This was their first time meeting since their reincarnations.