So I went with a little shippy, and a little enemies on neutral ground. x’D I enjoyed writing this.
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Visiting an onsen is a rare luxury for Tobirama, even public ones. Or perhaps he should say, especially public ones. It’s dangerous for a shinobi to let their guard down, but the hot water ekes the stress from his muscles, and he lays back against the rocks, a cool towel on his face, to enjoy the wonderful liquid warmth.
He isn’t marking the time. He has plenty of it, given that no one expects him home until late tomorrow. With the hot springs nearly empty this time of year, he’s blissfully alone. No Touka to demand the details of his mission, no Hashirama trailing at his heels, paranoid that he’s hiding an injury. Which, he would like to note, he hasn’t done since he was fifteen. It was a lesson well learned.
He also is paying far less attention to his surroundings than he ought to. He hears bare feet on stone, but they’re graceless, fumbling steps. No shinobi worth their salt would walk like that.
For some reason, civilians don’t like sitting in their own little corner. They always, always, approach, and they aren’t good at recognizing when a man wants to be left alone. The damp feet walk closer, a soft and sticky patter of sound, before their owner finally enters the water. Unlike the steps, the slip into the water is nearly soundless, and that’s what rings the first bells of alarm in Tobirama’s head.
Not a civilian. A shinobi that is good enough to sound like one. A shinobi whose chakra is hidden away to almost nothing, because all Tobirama senses feels like a civilian. Shinobi who can hide so well from his senses are rare, and when they’re the enemy, Tobirama likes to make them even rarer.
He’s too good to tense. Too good to shake off the towel that hides his eyes, even though he wants to see. Instead, he continues to listen, senses wide open for the inevitable moment when he can sense the chakra next to him clearly. The man has a deep voice, and he hums to himself in an indistinct way that makes it unrecognizable. It’s actually quite pleasant to listen to, almost distractingly so.
It isn’t until the man actually speaks – an inane comment on the weather – that Tobirama recognizes him, and he’s unable to stop the visceral reaction he has. He’s scooting away, the towel falling from his face before he can even think, ‘Madara doesn’t know it’s me.’
Madara squawks, also backing away, eyes wide. “What the..? Why are you..? The fuck are you doing here, Senju?!”
“I was relaxing!” He can’t even control his tongue, apparently. The jolt of adrenaline and indignation overpower all the work he’s put into maintaining a stoic demeanor. “Must you ruin everything good?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” And Madara slumps down, scowling at him. “Can we just. Forget about this? I was looking forward to doing nothing for a couple of hours.”
As difficult as relaxing next to an enemy will be, Tobirama still agrees. Partly because he feels similarly. Also, because Hashirama would be disappointed to hear that he got into a fight with Madara. Even if they’re enemies.
They maintain an uneasy silence for a time, Madara occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes. The awkwardness of the situation is palpable between them, and it doesn’t take long for Tobirama to grow disgusted with it. So he breaks the silence with an insult. “You look like you’re wearing a bush.”
Madara’s hands come up defensively, but they don’t reach for his hair, like Tobirama would have expected. Instead they cross over his chest, and the frankly impressive growth there. “It’s not like I can help it!”
Sometimes Tobirama forgets that Madara was once truly friends with Hashirama. But now he’s seeing that sensitivity that his brother enjoyed prodding. “I was meaning what you did to your hair, but I suppose that counts as well.”
More bemused than anything else, one of Madara’s hands creeps up to his hair, patting at the loose bundle tied high on his head. To Tobirama’s amusement, the man pouts. “I didn’t want to get it wet.”
Tobirama has the worst urge right now. He debates internally with himself, and decides that the worst that could happen is that fight he was originally worried about.
Madara’s screech as the water swallows him is oh so very satisfying. The subsequent fight is less of a fight than it is naked wrestling, and Tobirama can’t stop laughing.
They might end up kissing, Madara trying to shut him up, and Tobirama might enjoy it a little too much. They almost end up doing more, but sensibility wins out. When they leave, they’re both a little flushed, with smiles that are difficult to suppress.
(Izuna’s the last obstacle, really, between them and peace. He hopes that Madara can convince him to see their side, but if not… Tobirama has his own arguments to prepare.)
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