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To his great irritation, Tobirama’s stare-off with Madara was interrupted by a pointed cough.
With equally thunderous expressions, the both of them turned to the door, chakra frizzling under their skin from yet another spat on how to handle the particular administrative issue of the day - and getting derailed by the apparent problem that Madara seemed to have with Tobirama’s work ethic - only to flush in shared embarrassment on having been caught in their frankly ridiculous behaviour by Madara’s father, of all people.
Dark eyes lingered pointedly on Madara’s ruffled hair - that Tobirama had used to guide the aggravating hedgehog’s gaze back to the papers they were supposed to be working on but which Madara had been ignored in favour of berating Tobirama for his poor life choices - before Uchiha-sama’s gaze wandered just as pointedly to Tobirama’s lopsided clothes - the result of the juvenile shoving they had resorted to in when Madara had tried to make Tobirama sit down to ride out another dizzy spell, and Tobirama was having none of it.
Tobirama knew his face was flushed bright red, but thankfully he could blame it on the persistent fever plaguing him rather than have to own up to any embarrassment he might feel at being seen in such an undignified state by the former Uchiha clan head. Just as Tobirama himself, the man was known for placing great value on competence, and even after one of his increasingly rare three-day research binges, Tobirama took care to look more put together than this when he suspected to cross paths with Madara’s father.
But just like Hashirama, Madara had the uncanny ability to bring out the worst in him. It was irritating, to say the least. Thankfully, if nothing else, Izuna shared his misery regarding Hashirama. Their elder brothers were peas from the same pot, and no one could convince Tobirama otherwise.
“Did you need me to arrange an hour or two without interruptions to… get it out of your systems?” At the barely hidden implication behind Uchiha-sama’s words, Tobirama felt himself paling dramatically, his face pulling into an involuntary grimace of disgust that he saw mirrored on Madara’s face from the corner of his eye.
“If you want me to get the itch of violent murder out of my system, you might want to point me in someone’s direction who isn’t vital for our fledgling village,” Madara grumbled annoyed under his breath, while he tried to pat down his untameable bird nest with little success.
“What a coincidence,” Madara’s father drawled, his unreadable eyes still lingering on Tobirama’s half-exposed shoulder until he finally got the hint and discretely tried to get some resemblance of order back onto his appearance. “I think I just saw Izuna with a suspiciously empty seed bag coming from the direction of your nesting hawks.”
“That little brat! ” Madara hissed and crossed their shared office with wide strides, only to stop at the door and whirl around, his finger accusingly pointed at Tobirama. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about this. We will be talking about your nonsense as soon as I’ve sent Izuna swimming,” he snapped before he finally left for good.
Tobirama strangled the childish urge to stick his tongue at Madara’s retreating back. The man was such an insufferable mother hen, and Tobirama had no idea how he had gotten from being treated like a fox in the hen house onto the list of Madara’s metaphorical chicks. Maybe some mild Izuna-stabbing would help with getting Madara off his back again?
Eh, Tobirama would keep it as a last resort. For now, he would start with some of his modified itching powder. After all, it already proved its worth when Hashirama had had his phase of brotherly overbearing and needed some behavioural correction.
“What had this been about?” The softly spoken words jarred Tobirama out of his scheming and right into another dizzy spell from the sudden shift in focus. He reached out to the edge of his desk to steady himself, but in the end, it was only thanks to a warm hand at his elbow that he didn’t take the edge with his face instead. “Ah, I see.”
The heat was back to his cheeks, and it was only due to the considering glint in dangerously narrowed eyes that Tobirama forced down his knee-jerk reaction of snapping back that there wasn’t anything to see. Tobirama had been a sickly child, and like everything else, he had overcome his poor immune system with stubbornness and out of spite alone. He was perfectly fine and would be able to do his work well enough as long as he kept himself off the training grounds and squared away in his office. It was just a cold, and he had walked off worse.
“Nothing to worry about, Uchiha-sama,” Tobirama opted for diplomacy instead and tried to get his uncooperating legs back under him without being too obvious about enjoying the pleasant warmth at his side. The office he shared with Madara on Hashirama’s instance had gotten cold with just Madara there to accommodate, that damned one-man-furnace who never needed external heath. Uchiha were such cheaters during winter. Tobirama couldn’t wait for summer to come around again and, with it, the simple enjoyment of watching the Uchiha collectively drown in their own sweat.
“Tajima.” This close, Tobirama could almost feel the deep rumbling voice as much as he could hear it, and he was overcome by the sudden urge to get even closer, to feel the vibrations within his own chest. “I think with all the effort you continuously put into building my son’s dream, Hokage-sama, you’ve earned the use of my name at the very least.”
Tobirama had never been good at accepting praise, and receiving it from such an unexpected source made him flush even harder, the sudden heat accompanied by a new rush of blood in his ears that made him stumble again. He was thankful when Uchi- Tajima stepped closer to catch him against a pleasantly firm chest that Tobirama had, so far, only ever fantasised about. Despite the persistent dizziness that threatened to pull Tobirama under, he felt secure in his newfound position.
“Tobirama, then,” he slurred in response, trying to get the blurring edges of his vision under control. The fight he put up while trying to fend off Madara’s misplaced mother henning seemed to have taken more out of him than Tobirama had first noticed. Engulfed by Tajima’s warmth, he lost his grasp on his thoughts more than was advertised in unfamiliar company. Then again, it wasn’t as if Tobirama had placed Tajima as firmly in the almost-stranger category as their lack of verbal interaction should call for.
During the process of the peace negotiations, and ever since, the older man had been a steady and calming presence at the edge of Tobirama’s frazzled senses.
He had left the actual talking to Madara - in whose favour he had abdicated as soon as it became evident that Hashirama didn’t follow in his late father’s warmongering footsteps - but whenever one of his fellow elders tried to set a toe out of line, his peacefully smouldering chakra rose to a breathtaking inferno that burned away any dissent within the Uchiha ranks just as Tobirama’s freezing touch within their blood reminded any hardliner within the Senju council of their place.
Despite their age difference, Tajima and Tobirama had come to a mutual respect and silent agreement while sitting next to their respective clan heads, who unsurprisingly noticed nothing of the silent battles fought in their names while they’d been enthralled by a future too bright for anyone else to see.
Afterwards, Tobirama had been swept up in the gruelling process of setting up the needed blueprints and administration for a village of the size his brother and Madara had envisioned without ever putting any actual thought into how to make it work. That they also had the gall to officially put Tobirama in charge of their dream didn’t quell his ire in the slightest. Lazy slackers. For all that both clan heads were brilliant in their own rights, they also were such utter airheads, it made Tobirama want to scream frequently.
Not that he had much room to talk since apparently his own brain was finally boiled thoroughly enough to imagine that Tajima was nosing the strands of his hair while taking a deep breath. Losing his higher brain functions to incoherent daydreams was sadly a common enough side effect of the medication that Madara had managed to shove down his throat before Tobirama eventually forced the menace off him, and there was little else to hide his embarrassment put pressing his burning face in the invitingly dark shelter Tajima’s neck provided.
“It’d be my pleasure, Tobirama,” his name was spoken with a particular intent that Tobirama escaped for the moment, but that he could still feel as it burrowed down into his very bones, and Tobirama noticed himself shiver like a leaf. He was immeasurably grateful when Tajima only pulled him closer in response, embracing him fully while he cradled Tobirama’s heavy head with a careful hand and allowed some of his pleasantly warm chakra to sink into the hazy pounding that made thinking almost impossible. The relief made Tobirama whine before it rumbled out into a rare purr when Tajima started stroking through his hair without ever letting up on the soothing chakra infusion.
“Oh my,” Tobirama had been right. The rumble of Tajima’s voice travelling through his chest felt better than merely hearing the pleasantly deep hum. Although the huff of breath teasing the shell of his ear wasn’t a bad sensation either. It made goosebumps run down his spine, and Tobirama couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel having them chased by broad hands or hot lips burning on his skin without a layer between them. “Madara wasn’t exaggerating when he told me you’d need supervision today, was he?”
Tobirama mumbled something thoughtless in response, unhappy about having his ability to take care of himself questioned, but was soon distracted by the soft skin against his moving lips. Nuzzling closer, the sensation was almost as fascinating as the deep inhale expanding the chest against his own, or the stroking hand in his hair changing into a tight grasp to keep his head still without any pain. “Mhmmm.” Intriguing, for sure.
“Alright,” Tajima’s voice had dropped another register, and the new rasp did wondrous things to Tobirama’s fuzzy brain. “If this is something you’re interested in, we can explore it to your heart’s content. But only after a medic declared you fit for work.”
The stipulation earned another discontent sound from Tobirama’s throat, but his sleepy ire was soothed when the hand at the back of his head was back to scratching his scalp. Why had he been so adamantly against a nap earlier? Napping while bundled up in warmth as he was, with his head scratched and back stroked, sounded divine.
His pillow vibrated with a gentle chuckle, jostling Tobirama for a second before the world turned, and he was swiped off his feet. It only took a moment before the world felt more steady again, as he was placed on a lap with his limbs comfortably arranged and his face tucked back into his dark hiding place, surrounded by warmth and a lovely scent of pine and smoke that settled Tobirama for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp. He wondered-
“Sleep,” a soothing hum commanded from far away as a heavy hand came to rest on Tobirama’s nape, pressing him further into his pleasant little hiding spot. “We’ll be talking later.”