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In my garden of (banana) shadows

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Despite being not quite noon yet, the shadows of the forest around Senju clan lands seemed particularly dark and deep though the trees didn’t seem noticeably thicker or more closely clustered. Behind Mito, Uchiha Madara and his delegation of handpicked kinsmen shifted uneasily, clutching the strips of seal paper she’d sworn three different ways were vital to getting through perimeter security. They matched the ones she wore with her headdress.

Mito volunteered to escort the Uchiha delegation personally. She argued long and fiercely with her husband to not only be the one to do it, but also to do it alone, without any other Senju present. This is not because Mito has any personal investment in the Uchiha feeling welcome, or any lack of trust in the Senju clan’s commitment to the newly forged peace treaty. Rather, it’s because—


Mito is the only one will understand the culture shock.

Wearily, she glances up at the leering, boulder-sized disembodied heads perched high up in the branches. She only knows where to look to spot them through long experience; truly Uchiha eye sight was not to be underestimated.

“That would be the tsurube otoshi,” Mito said simply. She hadn’t bothered to warn them, precisely, what guarded Senju territory. In this case, forewarned was fore-biased because none of them would have believed without seeing. Mito would know. “Please keep a firm hold of your repelling seals and we should have no trouble. Also, please ignore anything they may say, you will only encourage their taunting.”

The Uchiha delegation twitched, eyeing the yokai in horror and clutching their seals to their chests.

“Why,” Madara said with the kind of quiet steadiness that spoke of a scream restrained behind it, “are there man eating yokai here?”

Mito looked at him with a measure of commiserating pity. “They’re security.”

“Who— who in their right mind keeps—” Uchiha Hikaku choked out, gesturing jerkily upwards. Mito completely understands the sentiment.

“When your chakra feels sufficiently tree-like as to register as kin to tree spirits, you’re generally not bothered by them being around.” Mito explains this insanity as gently as she can. The Uchiha should count themselves lucky; Mito had to learn this from Senju who thought their way of life was normal. “Shall we continue?”

The Uchiha delegation collectively looked at her as if she’d misplaced her sanity.

“I don’t actually have all day to stand here being leered at, thank you,” Mito said archly, and turned to march grimly down the path. Trusting that pride would see the Uchiha following her.


Mito does her best to ignore the creaking of branches above her. The tsurube otoshi cannot come near her, the most they can do is slam down around her and threaten to drool, and she trusts she’s made the effort not worth it. They’re predators through and through, and predators don’t waste energy that can be better used elsewhere. 

She only hopes the Uchiha are smart enough not to be entertainingly twitchy.

“Are these the only yokai the Senju use?” Madara finds the gumption to ask her after a minute of tense quiet.

For a man who bears the moniker ‘Hashirama’s best friend’ he’s surprisingly optimistic about the limits of Senju sensibility.

Mito’s only a little sorry to burst his bubble.

“No,” she says simply.

There’s some furious hushed whispering behind her.

“Please say they don’t have any inside the compound!” Someone bursts out, and this time Mito pauses long enough to look over her shoulder with deep pity.

The Uchiha delegation is wide-eyed and pale behind her, looking spooked enough to fit in with a Nara herd. It’s very fortunate they had no choice but to leave Izuna home, from what Mito hears from her brother-in-law he’s more than a little on the high strung side.

“Rest assured, Uchiha-san,” Mito says gravely, “the yokai in the compound are capable of passing for a definition of domesticated, and almost never prey on anyone without permission. You will be safe.” 

Fittingly, Madara looks mere breaths from scooping up his clan members and bolting. 

They might even let him.

As if Mito would allow them the luxury of escaping before it’s too late. She refuses. She needs the allies!

She just… also might be having a bit of fun at their expenses.

Taking a careful breath, Mito folded that impulse and carefully tucked it away. Scaring them off would be counterproductive, and with the treaty on the line, unforgivably treasonous. The gates of the compound are coming into view, so Mito will throw them a bone.

Turning to face them, she folded her arms and met each of their eyes, individually. 

“I owe you fair warning,” Mito begins, “there are yokai within the compound.” The Uchiha looked grim. “But they’ve been… acculturated, I suppose, to being around humans. This means you should not have to deal with any trying to snatch, maim, kill, or otherwise eat you inside the compound. If any try feel free to defend yourselves to the fullest extent, we don’t approve of that sort of behavior in our own home. That being said, please stay far away from the orchard fields and do not, I cannot stress this enough, do not bring any trees near the Senju compound you don’t want becoming sentient.”

Because that’s a mistake Mito will never make more then the once. Once was more than enough for a life time. The banana tree pup she transplanted here was supposed to be a familiar taste of home. Instead it promptly developed a spirit, and now it’s fucking her brother-in-law!

Mito’s never eating bananas outside Uzushio, ever.

“Please hold on to your talismans.” She smiles.

The Uchiha delegation didn’t looked any more assured than they had been.

Tobirama sighs awake to a hard cock bumping the backs of his thighs and a hot mouth on the back of his neck. “Good morning,” he murmurs. “Is it time to get up already?”

“I suppose?” Kazuki paused, shuffled, a little confused after being distracted from his objective. “The sun is up. I am awake. The compound is awake. It follows that Tobirama should be by now too.”

Tobirama stretched with a yawn, arching back against the basho no sei who let out a low happy noise at the friction and went back to lavishing affection on Tobirama’s neck. Tobirama hummed appreciatively. 

Kazuki was a darling of a demon, really. Charmingly tunnel-visioned and preferring to operate on the simplest logic possible, though one would have to be a fool to think that made Kazuki simple-minded. Kazuki merely lacked the human foibles that got in the way of getting from point A to point B. A lot of the time— most of the time, Tobirama appreciated how uncomplicated things are with Kazuki.

Case in point, the very uncomplicated hands feeling up his waist.

Tobirama should probably tell him to save it for later. The Uchiha delegation is coming later today and Tobirama ought to be there with bells on or there would be hell to pay. But he thinks, just for a moment, about dealing with a bunch of obstreperous Uchiha who’d likely get distracted by every harmless little bobbing tsurubebi and grumpy sakabashira — and that’s before they get started on official business — without even a single orgasm to supplement his mood and no.

Just no.

Which is why Tobirama redirects one of those hands between his legs and rolls his hips back. Tobirama was going to have a good morning even if he had to grab it by the throat.

Or in this case; by the dick.

Kazuki’s dick.

Teeth just a little too sharp for comfort grazed over the sensitive skin behind his ear and Tobirama shivered pleasantly, arching his neck for more with a soft gasp. One hand went up to cup the back of Kazuki’s head, fingers digging into the slick, green hair to keep him there.

“Mm, right there.”

Kazuki obligingly nipped at the soft skin under his chin.

“It’s always so funny to me how you make the happiest noses when I put sharp things on your softest places,” Kazuki mused, “isn’t that counterintuitive for a human in your profession?”

Tobirama huffs a laugh, then gasps as Kazuki grinds the heel of his palm on his dick. He lets the strength of the yokai’s hand guide his hips back, a welcome hardness slipping between his thighs and providing a delightful counterpoint as it rubbed against his entrance.

“Not just anyone’s allowed to put their sharp things on my soft places, you know.”

Kazuki makes a low, satisfied sound, as if they’ve not had this conversation dozens of times, in dozens of iterations. But no, every time Tobirama so offhandedly mentions how much liberty Kazuki has with his body the fresh surge of triumph hits him anew. Tobirama should probably be bothered by the possessiveness but, well. He is every inch of him a Senju. And the Senju are just as acclimated to forest yokai as forest yokai are acclimated to Senju.

Tobirama falls into Kazuki’s rhythm; pressing himself into a green palm and letting it push him back for Kazuki to take his own pleasure. A slow building heat in his gut made languid and lazy by the early morning sun, tracking soft and warm across the foot of the futon, trailing a parade of fuzzy motes. Soft lips, sharp teeth, pressing in all the places on his throat and collarbone that made the breath catch in his throat and his spine tingle pleasantly. So easy. So right. Certainly one of the better ways to spend a morning.

But they could do better.

Kazuki agreed.

Lube was fumbled for and Tobirama panted his noises into the pillow as two sets of fingers got to work opening him up, pale and green eagerly intertwined. Kazuki’s nose was pressing into the back of his neck again, soft mouth over sharp teeth mouthing over the knobs of his spine and Tobirama whined.

“Enough, enough, get in me!” Tobirama snapped, the lazy heat of their intimacy turned ardent and urgent. If Kazuki didn’t get on with it he’d— well, he had several things he could do but it’d thoroughly spoil the mood he’d hoped to start the day with.

Kazuki needed little encouragement. The basho no sei wrapped an arm around Tobirama’s hips and drew him back onto his dick with a throaty groan, pleased and smug and clinging oh so tightly, and then he was turning them just enough to put Tobirama more on his front than his side. Tobirama gasped, arched his back under him, and shuddered as the angle shifted just enough to set off sparks of pleasure up and down his spine.

Oh yes. This was a phenomenal idea. Tobirama gave himself full credit.

“You feel so nice,” Kazuki murmured, nuzzling at the shell of his ear, and Tobirama shuddered again, so hot and so turned on by how thoroughly his demon had him pinned. That’s probably something to worry about but he’s too Senju to care. “I could stay inside you forever, just like this. Would you like that? To stay full, and full of me, and all mine?”

Oh, oh, but this was a dangerous fantasy to encourage, but Tobirama didn’t know how not to play with fire so he just snorted and shot back, “You’d like that wouldn’t you, my darling demon? You’d root yourself right here and grow a cage of branches out of your body to hold me fucked open until I died if you were that kind of tree. But you aren’t, and you can’t, so you might as well move.”

Then he was choking out a half-shocked noise as Kazuki did. Smooth and easy and relentless as he drew back to the tip and shoved in to the root, and then again, and then a green palm was smoothing down his flank and curling under a thigh to jerk up and open and the angle was so much better.  

This wasn’t going to take long.

Tobirama came back to himself, panting, blinking sunbursts out of his vision, rolled back on his side again with Kazuki cuddled up to his back and still wedged deep inside, cum still wet between his legs. It was nice. He could probably fall back asleep like this and wake sometime in the noon, neither of them having moved at all. 

But duty calls.

“Kazuki,” Tobirama grunted, blindly swatting at the basho no sei with one weak hand. “Off. I gotta get up.”

Kazuki made a perfectly disgruntled noise and tightened his grip, hips flexing to drive his dick deeper still. Tobirama hissed, too sensitive for this nonsense.

“You can’t actually get me pregnant, there’s no point in that.” And thank the gods for that. Tobirama doesn’t fancy the idea of falling magically, spontaneously pregnant with a demonic baby every year until someone managed to dig out the seed a basho no sei left inside. 

He has a few cousins who’ve done that and while the children shed their claws and milk-fangs quickly enough, and were utterly adorable besides, Tobirama has it on their good authority that removing the blasted seed is the most awkwardly invasive and painful exorcism in existence, and not just because it involves a bit of fisting. Tobirama will not be learning true shapeshifting any time soon. Not with Kazuki around, at least. 

Kazuki whined. “But maybe this time!”

“You say that every time,” Tobirama pointed out, managing to get an elbow under and pushing himself up. Kazuki is entirely mulish but he does let go eventually. This ridiculous demon, he’s lucky Tobirama likes him, honestly.

For a moment, Tobirama considers kissing away that pout and offering to wear a plug but—

No, he needs all his wits about him today. Kazuki will just have to deal.

Madara is wondering, freshly suspicious, just what exactly Izuna knows that he was so quick to capitulate about staying home.

Knows and didn’t say anything.

Looking across the table at Hashirama’s bright smile, and Tobirama’s predatory intent, he is also intensely regretting that between both clans they’ve managed to substantially piss off all their neighbors such that none were willing to play neutral hosts. Hence this ridiculous, and now bloodcurdling, farce about negotiations being traded off at each others’ territory like this. Why they couldn’t simply pick a spot on their shared border, Madara will never know. But now they all have to deal with being surrounded by more youkai than any sane man should ever have to deal with in his life time and why, oh why, did Madara never listen to fireside stories about Senju being utterly out of their gourd? 

Oh yes. Because dreams of peace.

How nice.

Now if only dreams of peace didn’t involve a fucking tsurubebi drooping from a nearby lamp like drool from a snot-nosed brat’s mouth over their sibling’s face. 

Not that Madara has trauma or anything.

Perish the thought.

He thinks he has Mito on his side at least, inasmuch as Mito is willing to be on any side not her husbands, if only because Mito had looked a little too obviously grateful when Madara and his delegation reacted in an entirely sane manner to the Senju’s entirely not sane defenses. Madara really, truly, does not want to know anything about that, that way lays gibbering.

An Uchiha Clanhead does not gibber, thank you.

Not if they can help it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Madara thinks he sees ghostly branches peel off one of the pillars on the engawa and has to forcibly repress a shiver. He reminds himself that this isn’t his home and if the Senju want to court misfortune that is their business.

One of his delegates is much less dignified and pointed at it, pale faced and stuttering.

Senju Tobirama has the fucking gall to roll his eyes, and Madara would take him to task but presently it will have to wait until he wasn’t shamelessly sporting some rather livid love bites across half his throat and Madara could find it within himself to look the bastard in the face. Tobirama did this on purpose, Madara just knows it. He doesn’t even need to prove it!

Madara forcibly redirects his attention to whatever Hashirama is blathering about now.

He can do this.

He must do this.

Just ignore the banana tree creeping across the yard and possibly checking out Tobirama’s ass.

He can do this.