Izuna couldn’t help the small twitch of his lips at Hashirama’s exuberant greeting, though he nodded regally at his lover instead of copying it – an effort of poise that was promptly ruined when Hashirama swept his arms around him in a hug, lifting a spluttering Izuna off the ground, and beamed at him. Izuna could feel his face going pink as he blushed. That smile always made him blush. Having Hashirama and all his boundless energy and cheer and optimism focused entirely on you, smiling at you, was like being the full focus of the sun.
It was mesmerizing, blinding – a lesser man couldn’t have handled it. Fortunately, Izuna was an Uchiha, of the main family, blessed by Amaterasu herself, so he just pulled one of the loose strands of hair that framed Hashirama’s face while sneakily enjoying the feeling of that hard body pressed against him. “Let me down, you big log!”
Hashirama obeyed, but kept hugging him, pouting as he did so. “But Izuna, I’m just happy to see you! I haven’t seen you in ages –”
“You saw me this morning!”
Hashirama was instantly gloomy.
Izuna turned away with his arms crossed, nose in the air. “That doesn’t work on me, you know!”
Hashirama instantly brightened again, laughing freely and throwing his arm over Izuna’s shoulder, pressing him close (Izuna guiltily enjoyed the feeling of hard muscle pressing against him) and pressing a kiss to his cheek, which instantly bloomed bright red.
“Hashirama!” Izuna exclaimed, darting nervous eyes around.
Hashirama laughed again, deeper this time, his smile warm and his eyes openly appreciative. Izuna blushed harder.
“You Uchiha’s and your propriety,” Hashirama teased, still looking down at Izuna as if he was picturing him as he’d been last night – spread out beneath him on their futon, naked and moaning.
Izuna slapped a hand to his face and pushed him away, squirming out of the embrace and doing his best to seem unaffected. “Shouldn’t you be accompanying me to the festival, instead of making a fool of yourself?”
Hashirama had been talking about the festival for weeks. It was the first festival of the newly named Konoha, the village of Hashirama’s childhood dreams – the first festival that would have both Senju and Uchiha festival goers participating. Hashirama brightened at the reminder, and reached out to entwine his fingers with Izuna’s.
“You’re right! Let’s go!” he gestured dramatically, pointing with an outflung arm, and started tugging Izuna along.
“We’re going the wrong way.”
Without a word, Hashirama turned and started heading the right way, and, shaking his head but unable to quash his smile, Izuna let himself be tugged along.
If you had asked Izuna a year ago if he would ever love Senju Hashirama, the true, deep, passionate, all-consuming love of the Uchiha clan, he would have looked at you like you were insane, and then probably have tried to kill you for the insult. But things had changed. After he’d been spared by Tobirama, Madara had accepted Hashirama’s peace offer, and soon enough the two clans were moving together form their ancestral homelands to the new village they would build together.
Izuna had been sure it was a trap. A way of taking the Uchiha out in one fell swoop with no survivors to swear revenge, cementing Senju dominance. So he’d watched Hashirama, followed around after him, made sure he’d known he was keeping an eye on him – and in doing so he’d gotten to know him. Hashirama was a cheerful, idealistic idiot, who used his awesome powers to grow flowers for children, always had a smile for people, was ridiculously overdramatic (and that was something coming from an Uchiha) and – couldn’t lie to save his life.
Izuna had realized, as he watched the village be created form the ground up around them, that Hashirama was sincere – that he really, truthfully wanted peace – and had eventually admitted defeat.
Once, Hashirama had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole day, unusually somber, not even able to muster up his usual smiles. Izuna had been…disquieted, to discover that he missed them, and set about learning what was wrong. He’d sat down by Hashirama on the engawa and bugged him until he told him – this was the anniversary of one of his little brother’s deaths. Izuna had sat there, frozen, uncertain, feeling like a cotton headed idiot – before tentatively putting his hand on Hashirama’s shoulder, and asking about what he was like. Hashirama had lent against Izuna, all his strength gone in this vulnerable moment, and told him. It wasn’t until after, when Izuna had put Hashirama to bed after the man had cried himself to sleep on Izuna’s lap, that Izuna realized he hadn’t once thought of using that vulnerability, that trust, against Hashirama. Instead he was just…flattered.
That was when Izuna realized he was all in. He was in love, as an Uchiha loved, with Senju Hashirama. So he’d promptly marched up to the idiot (his idiot), told him that, and then used the moment of shock where Hashirama gaped at him to hall him in for a kiss, taking ruthless advantage of Hashirama’s open mouth.
There had been a moment of agony where Hashirama hadn’t responded, and Izuna had desperately put all his feelings into the kiss, using every ounce of his skill – and then Hashirama had kissed back.
Shortly after, Izuna had officially moved into the Senju Main Family House.
And now? Now they were going to a festival together, their first festival, and Izuna kept his sharingan on, wanting to memorise every single moment.
Hashirama looked at him, noticed the sharingan, and smiled at Izuna, before looking away and perking up. “Ooh, Tobirama included a dancing ring!” He began to drag Izuna over, passing by the men and women and children in their brightly coloured yukata as they roamed between the stalls selling food and trinkets and games, the loud salesmen hawking their wares, the bright, differently coloured lanterns and decorations strung along the trees and between the buildings. Izuna basked in it – the scents of the different food, all smelling delicious, the sound of children laughing as they tried to win the games, the peace and happiness of it all, and followed Hashirama’s ridiculously tall form willingly.
The ‘dancing ring’ as Hashirama had called it was a round wooden platform raised up to above their heads so that people could see it – and oh boy could Izuna see it.
Tobirama, that terrifying woman with the Naginata, and a few more Senju (all built like trees, with muscles and biceps and abs) were on top of it, dancing to a fast-paced, heart pounding rhythm that was being beaten out through a small group of other Senju playing instrument, particularly drums. The Senju on the ring were moving in sync, spinning and twirling and lifting each other, swapping places, a display of athleticism and acrobatics that left no doubt that they were all fully trained shinobi as they smiled and sweated from the exertion.
And Izuna could see that they were sweating because they were, even the women, topless (though the women at least had bindings on their chests). Izuna let out a noise that was certainly not a squeak and covered his eyes – only for Hashirama, next to him, to let out a delighted laugh and, and remove his casual top and his mesh under armour and dump it in Izuna’s arms and GO AND JOIN THE DANCERS –
Izuna let out a noise like a cat being strangled, and heard a similar noise next to him. He looked and saw Madara, dressed in an indigo Yukata with his hair tied up, looking just as flushed and poleaxed as Izuna was sure he did, and staring with wide eyes and mouth agape up the dancers – no, up at one specific dancer. Izuna followed his gaze and found it focused on Tobirama, who was loose and smiling and very different from his normal stoic, uptight self as he danced.
Well, if Tobirama moved in with Madara, that meant Izuna would have the house to him and Hashirama only…
“It’s a tradition,” Madara muttered to him, voice hoarse, sharingan still gazing fixedly at Tobirama’s bare torso. “A type of dance – they do it all the time.”
Izuna made a small noise and moved to focus his own gaze on Hashirama and his bare torso, all tanned skin and broad shoulders and muscles and small brown nipples pebbled on his pecs, and decided to once, just once, ignore the inner voice screaming about propriety, and behavior appropriate for an Uchiha and just…enjoy the view.
After all, if the Senju were more open about their bodies then Uchiha tended to be, well – this whole festival was about celebrating their similarities and differences, wasn’t it? This was just part of that. Though, he also made sure to capture with his sharingan anyone else who was looking at his idiot with hunger or open appreciation. He’d get them back later.
Izuna settled in to watch, memorizing how Hashirama laughed as he danced.