Izuna blushes and tries his best to beat back the blush rising to his face.
“So, so pretty.” Tobirama continues to whisper in his ear as his hands trail up his arms, his sides, his back.
Normally Izuna would find the compliment offending; he’s not some civilian hime whose only purpose is to look appealing.
Normally Izuna isn’t wearing a furisode sewn by Tobirama.
He casts a glance up at Tobirama when he steps back and does his best to smirk despite the warm, bubbly stirring inside his chest.
“Like what you see?” It comes out too breathless for Izuna’s liking, but it rewards him a deep blush on Tobirama’s face.
“Very much so.”
At the honest confession, Izuna ducks his head, smiling. Perhaps not something he’d wear very often, but he does actually feel quite pretty in this. Tobirama tied the obi tightly, however, intentional or otherwise (and Izuna suspects otherwise; Tobirama’s hands were very nearly trembling as he slid the silk over him), and Izuna’s sure the faintness he’s experiencing is lack of oxygen.
“Time to take this off me, then?”
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.”
Tobirama grips the front of his obi and tugs Izuna closer. Izuna wheezes. The glint in Tobirama’s eyes makes his simmering arousal throughout the—strangely intimate—dressing roar and spiral. He kisses Tobirama back hard, and breaks the kiss to gasp for breath that’s denied him through the tightly wound obi.
Izuna’s starting to doubt whether the tightness is accidental as Tobirama pulls Izuna down on top of his lap.
(Izuna can’t deny it feels like he’s surrounded by Tobirama, being hugged by him, even as he’s on top of him.)
A pale hand works it’s way underneath the layers he’s wearing and Izuna whimpers, words long forgotten.
If this is how Izuna is to go, at least he’ll die happy.