[Fic] drums in the trees (Naruto)
- Fandom: Naruto (Anime & Manga)
- Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Tajima
- Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Red Eyes Are Blessed by Amaterasu (Naruto)
- Word-Count: 2018
- Status: Complete
- First Published: 2024-09-29
- Disclaimer: I do not own _Naruto _ and make no profit from this—it is solely a hobby for fun, with no financial compensation.
Notes:
- For brightlyburning.
Work Text:
Red eyes, Tajima thinks, and turns, already changing priorities. The mission is over, and the supplies he picked up on the way back are secure in the drop-off point; there is no rational reason not to pursue this right now, and there is no indication that if he delays, he will ever find him again.
Red eyes.
Tajima follows for what must be hours, doggedly pursuing the fleeing shinobi. Stays far enough back that he can't see any clan markers, but he knows he must have been spotted in turn; the means of escape turns more sophifsicated, changes to one that knows they're being hunted. Tajima only clings on tighter in response; he is a shinobi decades in the making and this person, whoever he is, is good—but not at Tajima's level. It's not arrogance, it's simply fact—he would be dead, otherwise.
After hours on the run, the shinobi starts to flag. Tajima doesn't slow or speed up in response; his heart is pounding, and he can't get the image of those red eyes out of his mind, can't stop thinking of them. He saw them only for a moment, when the shinobi ran by his hidden camp, and Tajima's sharingan turned on on reflex. It was nothing but a second's glimpse, and yet it has etched itself into the inside of his eyelids, and he can't stop thinking of them.
Red eyes, red eyes, red eyes.
The Uchiha has not been so blessed in—generations, he thinks, swallowing heavily as the scent of blood stings his nostrils. He controls his descent onto the ground, falling on silent feet and walking over to the still shinobi. The man doesn't move, doesn't shift, at Tajima's approach—conserving his strength to fight, Tajima thinks, instead of a useless run. He doesn't even need to kill Tajima, only needs to damage him enough that he can outrun him.
The shinobi is a very fast runner; he'd only need a slight advantage to get away, Tajima thinks, too. And so he will not allow this—he doesn't bother to attack, merely pushes off and flings himself onto the shinobi, using his entire weight to bear him down to the muddy ground, a kunai going for his eyes before they've even landed. Tajima laughs, delight singing through him; he thinks Senju at the same time he sees those red eyes again, and he knows there's no going back.
Beautiful, blessed eyes narrowing, the Senju spits “Get off” and tries to kick him, and Tajima vaults off before they hurt each other and raises his hands.
“I mean you no harm,” he swears, and he smiles.
The Senju—white-haired, red-eyed—tilts his head and studies Tajima. He's not instantly attacking, though, which is a good sign. “Uchiha Tajima,” the Senju declares, not a hint of doubt in his voice. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I would never,” Tajima says, and means it with every bone in his body, in his marrow, in his blood. He studies the Senju; he's never seen him before on the battlefield, but evidently he's good at what he does—outrunning Tajima is a hard thing to do, and everything Tajima has seen so far only impresses him further. And—red eyes. He's not going to risk anything.
“Hmm,” the Senju says, staring at Tajima and carefully avoiding his eyes. It's a shame; Tajima aches to look into those eyes, to lose himself in them. Licking his lips, he rocks on his heels and doesn't react to the minute twitch of the blessed Senju's muscles, the way he subtly turns to be better equipped to run.
Tajima can't help licking his lips again, sharingan burning. The Senju's red eyes narrow further, and he widens his stance, another kunai in his hand. Tajima stares, swallow everything he can see, memorizes until his bones turn to dust, and he says, “I don't intend to hurt you. May I know your name, blessed?”
“Senju Tobirama,” Tobirama says, blinking, his eyelashes long. His eyes look like they're lined with something, and Tajima knows he's not going to be able to let this go. Knows it's already too late. That Tobirama is a Senju is no matter—he's blessed, is an omen the kind which the Uchiha has not known in generation. The war has—well, it's done what relentless war always has, worn away at their resources. They can't last forever, no matter how much some of them burn for revenge.
And they're not going to win.
With Butsuma finally dead, it should have changed the state. But Hashirama is a monstrous person, and Madara is only barely keeping him in check. They've established an advantageous stalemate that Tajima is loath to upset, and so he has instead retreated from the battlefields, knowing too that his strength isn't what it once was—the inevitable decay of age and the accumulation of old injuries, old scars, old illnesses. Running missions to bulk up their coffers instead is not a demotion, but it is an adjustment.
One that he does not regret, knowing it has brought him to Tobirama.
“I am not blessed,” Tobirama says, and attacks.
Tajima meets him blow for blow, and he throws himself into it whole-heartedly. He's not going to disrespect Tobirama by not giving it his all, and the battle only solidifies what he already knew—Tobirama is good. He is, Tajima doesn't think it's an overstatement, going to be on the level of Hashirama one day. Going to surpass Butsuma and Tajima, and build himself a new legacy.
But that's in the future. In the here and now, he's still young, still hasn't fully come into himself, still lacks the experience that will bind together the threads of his skill into something superhuman, and so Tajima wins.
Hand wrapped around Tobirama's throat, feeling the pulse of the other man under his skin, listening to his heartbeat, studying his labored breathing and the twist of pain lining his brows, Tajima stares down at Tobirama, muddied by the dirt and yet still the most beautiful man Tajima has ever seen. The most beautiful person. And those red eyes gaze up at him in turn, burn into him like a wildfire, like a lightning strike, the fluttering of white eyelashes over them a divine vision.
Tajima can't breathe.
It's only mostly because of the punch to his chest rattling his lungs, the lightning that streaked through him.
He stares down at Tobirama and he thinks he can't let go. His grip flexes on Tobirama's neck, and he can feel Tobirama gulp under it. Tobirama is carefully avoiding looking into Tajima's eyes despite looking at him, and Tajima can't help a burst of pride at that. Skilled, he thinks again. There's no doubt Tobirama is going to be a force to be reckoned with one day, and Tajima wants to be there every step of the way.
“I'm not going to hurt you,” he says, and Tobirama levels him with such an unimpressed look that Tajima laughs, joy simmering in the pit of his belly, chest fluttering. “Marry me,” he says, and Tobirama freezes.
Tajima holds his breath.
Finally, Tobirama blinks. “Marry you?” he asks, and there's an acidic undertone to his voice, but he's not panicking and he's not trying to run away. He's looking at Tajima's nose, trying to understand, trying to follow Tajima's train of thought. “Why?” Tobirama adds, and Tajima huffs on a smile, eyes crinkling as he memorizes everything about this moment.
“You are—” Tajima starts, and can't think of a way to end that sentence that won't sound like lunacy to a Senju.
Tobirama, eyes narrowed, says, “I have nothing to offer you. Why would you want to marry me?”
“I don't need you to give me anything,” Tajima says, easing his grip on Tobirama's throat, running his hand up to his cheek, finger running over the red marks on his skin. Beautiful, he thinks, almost delirious with it. “I only want to make you happy. Marry me, and I promise you will want for nothing. I'll give you everything.”
“And my family?” Tobirama raises a cool eyebrow, an amused twist to his lips. It's not the reaction Tajima was hoping for, but it isn't the one he feared, either, and he smiles wider.
“I'll contact Hashirama. We'll get negotiations going.”
“Peace, you mean?”
“I can't promise that,” Tajima frowns a bit. “But I'll do my best, I swear it.” Tobirama gazes up at him quietly, and finally nods. Tajima's brows furrow; he can't help running his finger under Tobirmara's eye and asking, “Are you sure?” Because—well. Tobirama is a Senju. Tajima knows how they're raised, knows the hatred that is fostered in them. It's the same sort of hatred that is fostered in the Uchiha.
Raising his eyebrows, Tobirama deadpans, “Uchiha Tajima is offering attempt at peace in exchange for my hand. Who am I to reject such a thing?”
“You can,” Tajima says.
“I won't,” Tobirama says. “It's not how I imagined this meeting turning out, but it's a good result. I don't mind being used as a vehicle for peace. Besides, I was never going to marry a woman anyway, even with Butsuma dead. You are, probably, the best deal I can get my clan. So of course, if you're serious, yes. I'll marry you.”
Tajima looks at him, and he can see no sign of lies, of deceit. His heart is thumping wildly in the pit of his throat, and his fingers tingle where they touch Tobirama's skin, and his stomach is fluttering, and he thinks, red eyes, red eyes, red eyes. The Uchiha has not been so blessed in generations. It will—open the gates for negotiations, for sure. They can't outright reject the wants of the blessed; a good faith effort must be put in. And if that leads anywhere—well, Tajima is of an age where he's starting to expect grandkids.
He doesn't want them dead like his own children.
“I promise, you will be happy,” Tajima murmurs, leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to Tobirama's warm cheek, the skin soft under his lips. He pulls back before he tramples too many boundaries, determined that this is going to be done right. There will be no room for doubt.
Tobirama allows Tajima to pull him up, and it's clear that some wound is bothering him. He limps when he walks, and while Tajima is responsible for some of that, it's not wholly his fault. He offers Tobirama his arm in support, and after a second Tobirama takes it. It is—overwhelming, in a way. Tajima can't look away.
Getting back to the Uchiha compound isn't a hardship, and doesn't take long. Tobirama is a good sensor, Tajima learns; he must have caught onto Tajima's presence far earlier than Tajima ever assumed. Perhaps even from the beginning, if he's as good as Tajima thinks.
“You won't go back on your word,” Tobirama states as they approach the gates to the Uhicha compound, and Tajima smiles at him.
“I won't,” he agrees, and Tobirama studies him for a long moment, finally nodding. He's still carefully avoiding Tajima's eyes; Tajima approves. Tobirama is cautious but not afraid to take a chance presented to him, and Tajima finds that he likes that. Clever, he thinks. And beautiful. Deadly.
Tajima is honored, that Tobirama accepted him.
He'll do nothing to jeopardize it.
He knows the moment his clan realizes who he has brought home; knows the moment they spot the red eyes. And knows the moment they realize Tobirama is a Senju, too. But Tajima has no regrets, and he will not budge on this, one way or another—and he needn't have worried, not truly. Tobirama has red eyes, after all, and he's never been on the battlefield. There is no question if the Uchiha will accept him or not.
Tobirama, out of the battle armor and a soft yukata, is a vision of divinity, a blessing untold, and Tajima doesn't look away all evening.
Tobirama doesn't make him, either.