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The air stank of blood and iron, and the harsh clashing of metal against metal was the only thing he could hear as he moved swiftly through the trees.
Izuna turned, flinging off the hard swing of a sword as he tumbled gracefully into a readied pose, one hand raised to his mouth in preparation to fight. He knew the only Senju who would dare to swing at him so easily and directly; he knew who he would see when he turned. Sure enough, turning showed him exactly who he had thought would be there.
The White Demon.
Senju Tobirama.
With his sword at the ready, his happuri catching a glint of sunlight through the leaves, those red eyes narrowed at Izuna.
If they had not been at constant war with each other, he would have snapped at the man for daring to be so much taller than him. As it was, Izuna found himself gradually creeping onto higher ground as he kept his eyes on his enemy, moving until his neck no longer strained while making certain to keep the man in his line of sight. Damn him for being half a head taller than Izuna!
Neither of them said anything, their swords drawn but unmoving.
Eventually, the Senju snorted. Izuna half expected fog to come bursting from his nostrils, a man as cold as he was, when he did. “The sun is dropping below the horizon,” he stated. “Your side is retreating.”
“So is yours.”
Still, neither of them moved.
When the Senju dared to take a step closer to him, Izuna hissed angrily, whipping his sword around so that the blade narrowly missed the tip of his nose, jamming the end of it into his shoulder. Having distracted him, Izuna took off, darting away through the trees.
He did not see the way the Senju stared after him.
X
Their next meeting was on another battlefield, Izuna hurrying to catch up to his brother.
The same rhythm as before, the same clash of swords around him, the same stench of blood – and then the same Senju. Before he could be cornered, Izuna hopped up onto an overturned stump, hoping to find some advantage in height. Perhaps he could keep the Senju bastard on his toes and off his balance enough to find some way to kill him then and there, before he managed to kill Izuna.
He had seen him in battle enough to know it would be difficult; he fought hard, and he fought well.
Perched on his toes, Izuna sneered when Senju Tobirama stopped in front of him again, sword drawn, his brows drawn down in a confused expression. “What? Did you think it was going to be so easy to kill me?” he snapped, one hand curled into a fist, knuckles pressed into the wood that supported him. “Did you?”
No reply came, for a moment, and Izuna seethed. “Did you!?”
The Senju bastard tilted his head, as if considering, then had the balls to smirk. If Izuna had not known better, he might have sworn he’d heard him chuckle. “In all honesty, no,” he flicked the blade of his sword down, as if flinging liquid off – the imagined blood from Izuna’s death? – and lifted his chin, studying him slowly.
His free hand came forward fast enough to catch Izuna’s chin.
That was the day that particular Senju bastard learned how dangerous an Uchiha could be, even on their own.
X
They met again.
If Izuna hadn’t climbed on top of a boulder in his attempt to meet the bastard’s height, he would have possibly drowned when the Senju used some sort of water manipulation – creation? – to put out his flames.
As it was, he sopped his way home again, feeling like he had drowned.
Madara, thankfully, said nothing.
X
“Listen here, you bastard,” Izuna snapped before the Senju could open his mouth, jamming his finger into his face, feeling his already overly warm body overheating as his fire nature took control.
He tried to ignore that their chance meetings during battles had become less and less about their fights and more about the fact that he needed to be the victorious one when it came to a different sort of battle. It had somehow become about outwitting him, about choosing a new sort of plan, a different type of attack. Which jutsu would work against him? Which Katon might he not know how to counter?
He had not even bothered to find something to stand on to even out their heights, this time.
Huffing and snarling, Izuna glared at him, finger still aimed at his face. “You think you’re clever, oh so hilarious, and I need you to know you’re—”
“You’re adorable,” Tobirama interrupted him, an eyebrow raised. He hadn’t even bothered to draw his sword.
“…What?”
“Either stop standing on things and being adorable while screaming at me,” the other eyebrow joined the first when Izuna sneered at him. “Or marry me and make it more of my problem.”
Izuna choked. “What?”
“Either stop getting in my face to yell at me while being adorable,” the Senju bastard had the gall to repeat it, somehow, and Izuna almost had to give him credit for that. He really almost did. He had to have done something to Izuna, however, because his face was burning and his hands were shaking. “Or marry me and make it my problem forever.” He crossed his arms over his chest, shrugging as if he hadn’t just suggested something impossible. “Your choice.”
“I—” Izuna choked again, his mouth moving uselessly. Soundlessly. He was almost certain there were words, there, trying to come out.
Really, he was certain there were words somewhere in his mind.
Somehow.
The damnable Senju studied him for a moment longer, something gleaming in his red eyes as his lips curved up at the edges. Izuna must have said something, however, because he nodded and turned his back on him, walking away. Had he said something? He couldn’t recall. He could barely string together his thoughts, let alone remember what words had fallen uselessly out of his still-gaping mouth.
That was where some of his cousins found him, worried and sent to search for him by a panicked Madara.
Being carried home was an embarrassing experience he had not had since he had been a child, still too young to move his limbs correctly on his own. Deposited in front of his brother, still in his battle clothes, Izuna sat on the floor, stunned, staring at the wall. “Izuna?” Madara came to kneel in front of him, worried hands checking for injury, for blood, for loss of limb or life.
They had lost so many, Madara was right to worry, there had been so many deaths—
“I am fine,” Izuna managed to mumble.
Madara held his chin, pulling his head around until their eyes met. “Then tell me what is wrong!” he sounded on the verge of panic, his eyes wide, whites showing nearly all the way around. “What happened to you out there? The scouting party that found you, they told me they found traces of Senju chakra where you were—”
“I think he asked me to marry him?” Izuna blinked, the words the Senju had said finally catching up to him.
With a click, Madara’s mouth shut in an instant. He breathed heavily through his nose, in, then out, repeating the process a couple of times. “Izuna,” he finally spoke again. “Izuna, my dearest brother, my beloved youngest brother, my beloved baby brother, the only brother I have left – I need you to tell me what you said.”
“I don’t…I don’t know?”
“What do you mean you don’t know—”
“I mean I don’t REMEMBER?” Izuna looked at Madara with his eyes wide, his hands clenched into fists, shaking. “I think I said…Something? He nodded like I said something?”
“…You are staying home for the next battle,” Madara ordered.
For once, Izuna didn’t even bother to argue.
X
His brother had really stepped in it now.
Madara drew a tanto as he walked through the forest, seeking a shock of white hair amongst those who fought. His kin knew to bring the man to him if he was to be found by them. None were to kill him if he was found. For the insult he had paid to Izuna, Madara alone would be the one dealing out the punishment.
Death would be the price paid for such a trick pulled against an Uchiha.
There.
With a flare of chakra, Madara aimed directly for the man he had been seeking to find, nearly toppling them both into the nearby river. The Senju dared to look startled as he recovered, managing to stay on his feet by the skin of his teeth. That was fine, Madara could start with skinning him, too. Death could come later.
“How dare you!” He hissed out. “How dare you mock my brother—”
“I am serious when I offer marriage,” the Senju grunted, rolling his head from side to side, his neck popping and cracking. “It is no fault of mine that he takes offense and takes it as mocking. I would appreciate either him ceasing to be adorable in my direction when we battle or him marrying me so that I may be allowed to hold him and tell him that he is being adorable when he is without fear of being accused of impropriety.” He darted back when Madara growled and lunged with the tanto, using his sword to bat the blade aside. “I will not be fighting you, however. I refuse.”
“And why is that?” Madara took another swing, infuriated to see it was knocked to the side again.
“I am refusing to fight you because you are not my rival,” he stepped back, their blades locked together still. “You are not my enemy,” he disengaged, keeping his sword in a defensive position. “And you are not who I am supposed to be engaging with. If I am fighting someone, it is supposed to be him.”
Madara stared at him, mouth hanging open, until he did something he couldn’t track and disappeared.
“What—” Madara looked around. “What?”
When he went home, that night, he sat down next to Izuna on the back porch, staring up at the stars.
For a while, he wasn’t even sure if he should tell him what had happened. “The Senju clan appears to have an odd sort of courting structure,” he began, shoving his hands into his hair, his eyes wide as he tilted his head. “And I believe you may have trod directly into the center of it.” With a look at his little brother, Madara sighed. “Do you…Get that?”
“Fighting is courting, for him?”
“Not as much as you standing up on things to match his height and getting in his face, I believe,” Madara sighed again. “I believe I may have to call for a cease in this war and have a meeting with the head of the Senju clan.” He pulled Izuna into his side, hugging him tightly. “Making my hair go grey before I see twenty-three, I see. Very bold choice, considering. Or were you perhaps intending to see to my death?”
“Neither,” Izuna murmured, curling into him. “’M sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s alright, Izuna,” Madara closed his eyes. “Don’t worry. We will figure this out. There is nothing stating you have to marry him.”
“…He is very pretty for a Senju.”
“Yes, yes,” Madara grumbled. “Tell me, Spring or Autumn for the wedding? Seasons are very important.”
Izuna laughed. “He has a water nature, so it might be best to marry in the Autumn. Before it gets too cold for him.” He hesitated, then looked at Madara. “Are you really alright if I actually consider this?”
“Whatever my little brother wants,” came the groan of a response. “Within reason, of course. And if it comes with an added bonus of an end to this war, then perhaps I can be persuaded to look the other way for your bastard of a fiancé.” Madara tugged the end of his hair, then kissed the top of his head. “Assuming, that is, you have decided to accept his proposal.”
“He thinks I’m adorable, and that’s even when I’m wielding a sword in his face,” Izuna laughed. “I can think of worse starts to a relationship.”
“I can think of several worse starts,” Madara patted the top of his head, then allowed himself to flop onto his back on the deck board.
X
Their wedding was in Autumn, when the leaves were starting to turn shades of orange and brown around them.
Izuna looked up at Tobirama, smiling as he drank from their shared cups. Despite his cool demeanor, he was a much more open man once Izuna had gotten to know him. His older brother had cheered them both on once he had heard what had happened between them and met with Madara to help clear things up.
X
The advantage of having a bastard of a husband who was so much taller than you, Izuna realized, was that you could have him lift you up on his shoulders.
All it took was a simple plea, and Tobirama was kneeling before him, steadying Izuna as he seated himself on his shoulders. There would be a warning, and his husband would stand again, walking over to whatever shelf Izuna needed access to. It was a quick and easy fix, he would retrieve what was needed, and then—
And then there was a warm hand on his thigh.
An easy place to slide his hands down the front of his husband’s clothing.
A simple matter of tilting Tobirama’s head back and kissing him until that hungry feeling in the pit of Izuna’s stomach dissipated, satiated by the gasping moans of his Senju, weak at the knees in his grasp.
Every single time.
Their brothers were a little tired of them, sometimes, but their relief at the era of peace outweighed their annoyance.