Archive of Our Own ^beta

Over the summer, the alliance had set up a small tower in the curve of a sandstone outcrop near the Naka River, in one of the less contested borderlands between the Uchiha, Senju, and Aburame.  (The Aburame, specifically, were why such a good defensive location wasn't the site of centuries of Uchiha-Senju battles.  Why?  Because while mindless expansive conquest was a waste of resources and effort -- hence why the Aburame didn't do that -- so were the dick-measuring melee vengeance battles the Uchiha and Senju had been at for centuries .  End quote, once translated from medieval keigo.)

The Aburame had not changed said opinion in the centuries since that particularly talkative clan queen had laid down said threat.  It'd only taken about fifty years of armor-eating kikaichu ending every battle the night before it began -- the last decade of that with the particularly annoyed Aburame Yakuhana pointedly making an appearance in full view of both armies, right before the battle leaders' pants fell off -- for the Senju and Uchiha to just... pretend the outcropping didn't exist.

It'd therefore been easy to put the spot forward as a central location to arrange mixed-team missions from.  And then, over the autumn, the small tower began to spread, dividing into different rooms for incoming runners from the clans (to whom clients were still taking their requests), analysts to recommend the most suitable skill level and clan styles for each mission, outgoing runners to the recommended clans, and returning teams.  That'd spurred the addition of a permanent kitchen and commissary, as well as a small supply depot, a first aid station, and secure file rooms just so they didn't have to risk sending couriers back out to clans with important (and valuable) paperwork.  And now, small clusters of dormitories and cabins had started to pop up between the trees, as various shinobi decided it was easier to just live next to the tower rather than have to commute for every new mission.

Tobirama could see the writing on the wall.  He hadn't been home for more than heir-specific paperwork and politicking in months.  These days, Tobirama spent his mornings surveying the land and staking out future roads, following the paths starting to wear through the grass, his afternoons on mission analysis, and most recently, several evenings a week in the growing first aid station next to returning missions.

When he didn't sleep on a cot in the back of the first aid station, he slept in other beds, of course.  With more boundaries to the sex than he'd had before, and so far he'd only been rough with Izuna and Hashirama (and Inuzuka Ashi, who was too female and too brashly cheerful about life to trigger anything), but it was early years yet.

(Was this what Hashirama's daydream of peace was supposed to be?  Tobirama thought he might like it.)

He poured a fresh mug of tea from the kettle over the irori (they really needed to find a better way for heat in the coming winter than open fire in a room full of paperwork) and settled at his desk with a tray of unrolled mission requests.

A missing merchant girl, suspected elopement.  Hyuuga, Inuzuka, and Hatake all had good skillsets for that... but the closest place to marry without parental permission was Tanzaku Gai, hm... Tobirama jotted down the Hibari-Ashi-Rinmaru team (who were working out remarkably well for such disparate clan origins, and were in residence in their cabin as of this morning) as a first choice, since Uchiha Rinmaru had connections through the entertainment district there.

Some noble wanted a forger to change a cousin's winnings in their grandfather's will.  Another one wanted a particular golden painted screen without having to pay the (high, but market value fair ) price; Tobirama added a massive surcharge for the theft, and added a note on a separate scrap of paper to plant rumors that their client had hired it done.

It was one thing to not want to pay a ridiculously inflated price, or to steal from somebody rich enough to afford the loss.  But this?  No.  And if Tobirama didn't think -- if the clan who'd recieved this request in the first place didn't think -- the client would take his business to someone else, and/or encourage his connections to do the same, he'd flatly reject it.

They were already on thin ice with the daimyo after Hashirama had obliterated that one samurai clan's entire compound (though not the inhabitants) via their own gardens in the capital, and put the daimyo into the position of having to order honor suicides for the complicit members instead of the Senju.  Hashirama, after all, had been careful not to kill any of them.  But that did leave Konoha (Tobirama was never letting Hashirama name anything again) in a very difficult spot with noble clients.

Tobirama took a sip of the tea to wash the metaphorical bad taste out of his mouth, and went on to the next paper.

A request from Tea Country, delivered via... huh.  A Hatake, with a note in a different hand in the margins.  Not much money, but the messenger was a kid.  Poor thing came all the way to the border looking for shinobi.  Couldn't refuse to not at least look.   Curious.

An onnagata in Yukaku Port wished to hire a kunoichi-trained shinobi to take her place after performances for as long as she could afford, just to get some sleep.

That was odd.  Most onnagata were born to their troupes these days, not indentured servants, and shouldn't have to welcome more patrons than they could handle.  She should be fairly well-rested... and have a decent amount of pocket money, which (in the next bit of the letter) should allow a far higher payment than what was being offered.  It wasn't even really enough to afford even one night (having to factor in the cost of travel and accomodations and supplies, as well as payment for the shinobi and profit for the village to add to their budget).

Even possibly taking out accomodations (a very worrying part of the letter: there was a hint of desperation in the additional offer to lend her room or the theater's attic, which was so paltry as to be borderline insulting even to a shinobi), the price would have to be steep.  Yukaku Port wasn't even on the near side of Tea Country.

He really should reject it.  Apologetically, but for all that it was Hashirama's mushy idealistic dream, this village was a business .  And too early in development to afford charity or discounts yet.

Tobirama studied the paper for a long while.  Price, skillset, ethics, likely types of upcoming missions -- the season for border skirmishes was over, and would have been even if the shinobi clans weren't in an alliance that was going stunningly well...

Tobirama's tea had cooled by the time he scooped the request up, pocketed his authorization stamp, and -- with a polite "Be right back" to the other two shinobi sorting requests -- headed for the familiar sense of spark-edged fire burning near the river.  He found Izuna with a handful of new shinobi, some four or five years younger than him (possibly even unblooded, how impossible that would've been just a year ago!), throwing senbon into the river.

Hooked senbon, on chakra thread for Izuna and thin filament wires for the preteens, and zip!  A good-sized fish landed on the riverbank in a spray of silver, flopping frantically next to a basket of them in assorted bronze and silvery colors.  Under Izuna's evaluating eye, the ten-year-old that'd yanked the fish out knelt to dispatch and gut it, with an unpracticed but well-done chop, and into the basket it went.

Izuna glanced up once the kid had wiped off their kunai and the next one started threading a new senbon.  "Hey, Tobirama.  Thought you were working.  What's up?"

"You like kabuki, right?"

Izuna's eyes narrowed.  "I am not reciting Edoyo and Takemi for you, I know damn well you think tragic romances are hilarious."  Which was not the least bit true.  Tobirama thought they were ludicrous .  Completely different idea, and he certainly didn't snicker at every stupid decision the protagonists' libidos made.  Everyone who said so was imagining things.

He'd wear Izuna down one of these days.  It would be funny, not for the idiocy but because Izuna had an incredible talent for voices.  Hearing a small child or a bawdy old woman or an ingenue (especially the ingenue, all sweet and naive and innocent) come out of Izuna's mouth...

"Mission request," Tobirama simply said, correcting him.

"Ah."  Izuna looked over at the kids.  "Sorry, guys, gotta end this early."  A chorus of groans, but he continued, "Take those off to the kitchens and see if Obaasan has anything to trade for fresh fish."  That got them running off quickly enough, and Izuna turned back to Tobirama with one raised brow.

"What are your thoughts on voyeurism?"  Tobirama asked.  Izuna sputtered, but waved pointedly at his eyes.  Tobirama let his voice flatten, bland enough to needle Izuna, and honestly continued, "I don't presume bloodlines overlap kinks.  There's an onnagata in Tea who'd like to hire a stand-in after work for a few nights so she can get some sleep."

"... I'm going to assume you mean you would be the stand-in," Izuna said with slow, dangerous precision, and Tobirama nodded.  Because obviously .  Izuna wouldn't even technically be on the mission; he'd be on vacation.  (Such an odd concept.)  "Can I rig the selection to get someone hot?"

"Of course."

The danger dropped out of Izuna's voice.  "Sounds like fun.  When do we leave?"

"As soon as we're packed and I've dropped this off to file."  And Tobirama had withdrawn from his savings to make up the deficit in the onnagata's payment.  Vacations were supposed to cost money anyway.

Plus, now he was curious.

What sort of person did Uchiha Izuna find hot?

-0-0-0

Izuna loved sailing.  Sure, it was cold, and everything tasted of salt, and the underdeck was so cramped that he and Tobirama simply slept on the deck in a pile of oilcloth and small sails that went unused at night -- and the less said about the food, the better -- but the crowd control!  The limited scents!  Sightlines for miles!

If the village collapsed, Izuna was definitely going to consider being a pirate.  Arrr, yo ho, shiver me Tobis.  ... Yeah, he was never going to convince Tobirama to come play first mate cabin boy if the war started up again, but then, he was never really going to consider piracy and abandon Madara anyway.

(It would be fun, though.)

But the passage from Wave to Yukaku Port was only a few days long, and all morning the brisk salt air had been increasingly tinged with the smells of land.  Unfortunately, not of leafy forest, but the port itself, of which smoke was the nicest part of the mix.  Drying fish covered most of the rest.

Ropes creaked and sailors shouted, and Tobirama stepped up beside Izuna at the railing as they rounded a headland into the harbor and got their first look at Yukaku Port.  A mix of soft blue, red, and thatch-tan rooftops patchworked the city across what had once been a swampy delta (and now was a strictly-controlled network of river mouths and canals) and the hook of a barrier island in the bay, tipped with a squared-off lighthouse plastered blinding white.  Miles upon miles of rooftops, as far as the eye could see.  Long docks stretched well into the shallow harbor, each marked with clusters of lanterns and banners proclaiming draft limits.  Izuna's boat drifted in towards a deepwater pier on just the smallest sail and its own momentum.

He rather ignored the rope-throwing and yelling business of the sailors docking.  He and Tobirama had paid for passage when they'd boarded, and they hadn't packed more than they could carry -- no shinobi did, unless they absolutely had to for a civilian undercover identity -- so he simply waited until there was enough space that he wouldn't be knocking dockworkers into the drink.  Then he leapt over several people to land lightly on creaking wood, Tobirama at his heels, and they headed off into the city.

Trading houses by the docks gave way to a narrow street of fish markets and slick cobblestones paralleling the shoreline, the stalls almost completely sold out and switching from retail to lunch counters.  Late-running housewives and burly porters bearing shopping lists jostled elbows with tradesmen (ranging from laborers in just happi coats and fundoshi despite the chill, all the way up the social ladder to clerks in plain hemp kimono and aprons emblazoned with various store names) flocking to the counters.  Street children darted about in the crowds, some carrying letters, some carrying decoys and pickpocketing; one fumbled their inro purse after slicing the ties, and bolted before the owner could even finish snapping around.  The man's backhand hit a basket full of fish, and a frail slip of a girl carrying it slapped him off his feet.

Chaos and crowds.  Lovely.  So , Izuna was already half a step into the nearest storefront when Tobirama caught his sleeve to direct him that way.  He flashed a smile at the shopgirl there, and darted through the back with Tobirama and into the connecting hall to the merchant's house behind it, then up to the rooftop through the garden separating the business and home.

More store-and-home buildings, long lines of them snaking away from the docks in mirrored, tangled rows.  Fish Street backed into Papers Street, then vegetables, then meat, fruit, cookware and clothes and all the detritus of stocking a household, little alleys between thick with middens not yet taken away, compost bins, certain outbuildings -- the source of the smell wafting miles out to sea, that had been so well hidden under fish drying in bonito towers -- and the occasional untouchable man slowly lugging heavy, well-lidded twin tubs of fertilizer inland towards the city walls.

Izuna looked away and activated his Sharingan, looking for a different set of walls -- not those around the open, garden-lined compounds of the wealthy, or the temples crowning what bits of hill began to rise towards the back of the delta, but encircling an entire district of tightly-packed buildings-- there.  He tapped Tobirama's shoulder and twitched his head off to the right: they'd been going not quite the right way.

The red-light district was a block of brown and red rooftops taking up the smallest island in the city, low enough that the bridges to it sloped down from its neighbors and the thresholds of the gates sat under a finger's width of brackish water at high tide.

Samurai, by law, left their twinned swords in storage behind the gatehouse.  The attendant taking them gave Tobirama and Izuna a long, level look, sharp eyes catching on the brace of senbon under Izuna's sleeve and the kunai holstered at their sides.

"No offensive jutsu inside the district.  Please lock your weapons into their holsters; any use of genjutsu or poison will get you banned from the premises," she said boredly, digging several lengths of high-strength ninja wire out from under the weapons-check counter and dropping them on top of two information booklets.  "District rooftops are not fully load-bearing, please keep to the yellow tiles.  Any and all damages will be billed to your clan.  Patrons are only allowed to remain in brothels for thirty-six hours at a time.  Please enjoy your stay in Hikushima."

Under her unimpressed eyes, Tobirama and Izuna tied their kunai into place with strong knots, which they then tucked behind the holsters.  It wouldn't stop Izuna from pulling the blade in an emergency, if he used a chakra-enhanced yank and the reenforced holster tie didn't give way first, but it would stop pickpockets and angry drunks from getting the knife before Izuna noticed.  Which could've even been possible if he was a crappy shinobi, but he couldn't expect some random gatekeeper in Tea Country to recognize him on sight.

Inside, the din of the city crowds took on a distinctly more masculine and raucous note, underpinned by mismatched music from nearby buildings and the rapid clop clop clop of hundreds of geta.  A rakugo comedian seated seiza on a street corner stage could barely be understood past his laughing audience at this distance.  Tiny kamuro in vibrant silks and belled hairpins hung off the sleeves of several different expensively-dressed men within sight, bright little faces upturned as they declared their oiran sister was simply wasting away of love (Izuna didn't even need to lip-read that, it was what kamuro were trained to say), oh the pain, the angst , only a visit from that man (and his wallet) right now would soothe her delicate heart!

Maiko -- older than kamuro, and in a different business entirely -- hurried to their afternoon lessons at nearby gathering houses.  Their older sisters, the far more subdued and elegant geisha, floated through the crowds on their rounds to pay respect to teahouse owners.  Young servants of both genders, including more of the kamuro, ran errands in all directions .

Everything was dizzying and bright and loud , even worse than back on Fish Street, and Izuna had no idea how less skilled shinobi than himself could enjoy it.

Tobirama checked the information booklet and turned down a street that cut across the northeast corner of the island.  There, very nearly in the exact center of the quarter, red banners flanked every door of one of the largest buildings in the district.  Three stories tall, very nearly cubical under the upswept arcs of the roof, the theater's red banners proclaimed Rinzu Tabi , starring the client (Murasaki Ayame VI), and similar lineage names.

Very faintly, too faintly to be intelligible from outside and probably too faintly to be heard by average passersby, Izuna could hear bits of the sound effects rumbling to what had to be rafter-rattling audience yells.  Whether they were of awe, delight, or surprise, Izuna couldn't tell.

They otherwise ignored the theater no more or less obviously than the dozens of teahouses, massage parlors, and brothels they'd passed, turning the corner to head towards whatever entertainment lay behind the theater.  A gap between it and the shorter bathhouse behind was blocked from the street by a wall nearly as high as the gap, its plaster streaky and chipping from past rains and the steam of the bathhouse; the gate leading to the alley beyond was in good repair, though, wood unwarped and iron fittings well-oiled against rust.

It was good to keep most of the public from trying to sneak into either theater or bathhouse through the back without paying, whether to use the facilities as intended or to harass the actors and washing attendants.  It may as well have been an open doorway for shinobi.

"Rinzu Tabi," Tobirama mused at the booklet's map, leaning against the cheap plaster ostensibly to get out of the flow of traffic.  "I don't believe I'm familiar with it, are you?"

Izuna shrugged, tracing a fingertip over the map as if trying to get them un-lost.  "I've never seen it performed," since it was eleven hours long and relied heavily on scenery, and for all that the Uchiha used the little dance stages in their shrines almost more than they worshipped at them, they couldn't really handle either.  Shinobi stamina was very much not actor stamina, nor could they put that many resources towards backdrops.  Special effects were right out, not in their little open-air stages.  "But yeah, I've read it.  Why?"

"The leading actress.  Does her character have a long period offstage during the performance?"

Ah.  Murasaki's position in the banner listings did indicate she played the female lead.  But there was a difference in Rinzu Tabi between the most important female character, the most high-ranked, and the one with the most stage time.  Any of those could be the role given to the most crowd-drawing onnagata.  Hm.  "Third act," Izuna said slowly.  "A lot of it's given over to a series of allegorical battles with very few kunoichi."  He considered the position of the sun, and the height it would've needed to light up and start the performance this morning.  "Give it another hour, hour and a half, and we can probably make contact.  Which gives us time to go find an inn," Izuna finished cheerfully.

Tobirama's brow furrowed as he folded away the pamphlet.  "You go," he said, his attention shifting subtly to the gate next to them.  "I want to get a look around."

Well boo to him too.

-0-0-0

An hour and a half, one minshuku room so cheap it had an attic beam cutting across the far end, and an order for food delivery to the theater tomorrow, Izuna returned to the district and hopped the gate into the alley.  Between steam trapped from the baths and the fires heating their boilers, the narrow confines were almost too warm for Izuna's light coat (they must be stifling in the summer), but they unfortunately did not smell of the soaps and water-freshening herbs behind the right-hand wall.  No.  A few steps out of line with the collection doors for the fire ash, and on the opposite side of the alley, more collection doors sat knee-high on Izuna under a line of privies.

Ah, the glamorous life of a shinobi, sneaking into grandeur... past the fertilizer removal.  Somehow that part never made it into the plays.  Wonder why.

But, a droplet of water circled unnaturally in the air before Izuna's eyes, and Izuna followed it over the privy roofs and down to Tobirama's side.  And the side of a stunning onnagata of perhaps nineteen or twenty (and, unsurprisingly, shorter than Tobirama, though not as much as Izuna), whose deepset eyes flicked to Izuna in dismay.  "I... I can't afford a second shinobi...?" she murmured, not bothering with the piercing, creaky falsetto customary on stage.

"You couldn't afford a first one," Tobirama replied bluntly.  Her face fell into confusion, and Izuna jabbed Tobirama sharply in the side, getting a half-exasperated glance.  "So you don't spread misinformation about our pricing and cause us unhappy prospective clients," he added, which didn't shift her confusion one bit.  "Izuna is a personal companion, not assigned to the mission.  And since I enjoy sex and needed a break from deskwork, I filed the mission as a vacation.  You're welcome."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the master of manners," Izuna muttered, and that got a tiny snort out of Ayame VI.  But then the onnagata glanced nervously over to the tiny garden space dividing the privies from the rest of the building, and beckoned them to follow her through the back of the garden, brushing past thick stands of fragrant winter-dry bee balm -- the only plants that stood thick and tall; broad swathes of the little garden, as well as the neighboring walls and some of the roof, had been replaced extremely recently.  The wood and plaster and roof tiles were all a brighter, fresher color in unnatural diagonal sweeps clawing up the back of the building.

Some shinobi had been throwing jutsu around recklessly within the past year.

Ayame ducked into a brand-new kitchen and returned with a small bowl of noodles, wearing an apron over her elaborate costume with the long, heavy sleeves tied loosely back.

"So we're agreed," Tobirama said, as Ayame put the edge of the bowl to her mouth and hastily shoveled noodles in.  "Izuna will meet you here after the performance with directions to... wherever he's booked us."  She hummed in acknowledgement.

Okay, Izuna was going to have to run back and get a guest slip, so Ayame could get their room while he was busy rigging the patron stuff.  Thanks, Tobirama.  We really need to discuss sharing your plans with other people.  Again.

"Now, pardon, I need to study your makeup..." And Tobirama gently tipped Ayame's face towards the light.  "Chew, swallow, give me a moment to mark the lipstick color."  Ayame paused in her quick... lunch?  dinner?... and let Tobirama dab faint traces of sauce off her mouth.  More tipping of her head to different angles, paying close attention to her eyes and, for some reason, her ears, then Tobirama peered around the back of her neck.  "I can mimic this well enough," he decided, letting Ayame go.  "Murasaki-san, I'll be waiting in your room after the performance.  Thank you for taking the time out of your break."

Well when else were they supposed to make contact with the client, Izuna thought, as Ayame thanked Tobirama as well between hasty bites and said she'd have their tickets available by sunset.  So that left them a couple of hours to kill, or more if they picked up the tickets later on when they were sneaking in to switch with Ayame.

He inclined his head politely to Ayame, and they left.

"So," Izuna said quietly once they were back on the street.  "I'll run pick up a guest slip, and meet you... back at the rakugo by the entrance gate, how about?"

"Agreed."

And so Izuna did just that.

After the rakugo performance, Izuna picked a teahouse off the information pamphlet, and they spent the rest of the afternoon by an upper balcony window, switching between watching the street traffic go by, watching odoriko girls dance in the light of clerestory windows (a favorite entry point for shinobi, hidden under the eaves and usually out of sight of the rooms below), or playing 'don't tap the cup' (not so much to see who could go the longest, since both of them had reflexes quick enough to always catch when the other player took the coin off the overturned cup, but to see who could fake out or distract the other the most often in that crucial split second).

Slowly, the light turned coppery, then dusky, and the street below grew louder as patrons streamed in for the night.  The sky flattened from its pinks and golds to a rich medium blue that lingered as gangly house boys lit red paper lanterns hung in dense rows along the eaves of every building, cranking pulleys to reach more lanterns strung across every street.

The crowds parted before the pushing of several servants, the ring of shakujou bells and the cry of Oneeeeriiiii! alerting everyone within earshot that one of the top-tier oiran, a tayuu, was coming through.  Her procession passed by at a snail's pace, the shakujou herald and lantern-men, two solemn kamuro in identical red, then the oiran herself and the man guiding her steps under a massive parasol in the same red -- perfectly steady save for the telltale sway of the procession's distinctive gait, despite being held level with the balcony eaves Izuna sat next to.  Three apprentice oiran followed, their geta the normal kind so they needed no man's shoulder to balance against, though they swayed with the same careful deliberation to each step.

Izuna and Tobirama took advantage of the distraction to leave the teahouse out the back.  Which wasn't really necessary, but training and habit spurred them on.

They picked up the tickets, Tobirama left to sneak into the building, and Izuna waited in the shadowy back of the garden for Ayame.  Everything went exactly as planned: Izuna could hear a fight starting on the far side of the theater as he murmured directions to Ayame -- her makeup still exquisite, but her wig gone and head hidden under a winter shawl, a long, heavy coat covering whatever hasty mess she'd made of her clothes when changing to streetwear.

He really should go with her to make sure she made it to the minshuku, but... well, the guest slip had the name of the minshuku on it, she could always ask someone if she got lost.  And it was far more important to make sure that the patron the troupemaster welcomed to Ayame's room -- to Tobirama -- was hot, and smelled decent even after a long day packed like sardines in the audience booths, and most importantly bore exactly no resemblence to bandits or Suna men.  Izuna settled in over the theater's lobby doors, upside-down in the eaves and hidden behind one of the banners behind the glow of the lanterns, and watched a knot of men in the crowd streaming from the theater, well over a dozen of them fistfighting in the street to reach the troupemaster's booth first.

Ugly, boring, bad teeth equaled bad breath, ugly -- one man stumbled out of the fray with a bloody nose, weak , ew -- a short, round man stepped out of the theater, spotted the fight, and tried to sneak around it behind the banners.

Izuna glanced down at that one, and he tripped right into the next banner over, tangling himself up in the anchoring ropes.  Which was of course not the fault of an illegal genjutsu at all.  Clearly.  Izuna would never do that to some sweaty civilian flashing a tastelessly overdone haori lining in public like that.  Never.

About the best of the bunch was some rakish middle-aged samurai trying to dress too trendily for his age, who at least had the brains to carry a long, heavy smoking pipe since he couldn't have his swords, and was jabbing neatly at guts and grappling hands rather than swinging it around like a sword.  A modicum of intelligence and restraint, and he probably kept up his hygiene if he dressed like that.  Shame he wasn't particularly striking outside his fashion sens--

A flicker of pink, and the man dropped like a rock.

Oh. sweet. Sage .

The lady sailing through the fight flicked a pink-silked tessen as if it were made of paper rather than steel, laying about with the flat of the blades and knocking men aside, dazed or retching or winded.  Standing head and broad shoulders above the crowd, her face serene and... were those gill slits?  It was some sort of sharp fold on her cheeks, and she'd enhanced them and her black-under-gold eyes with deep pink eyeliner.  Trailing floaty, unseasonal layers of pastel gauze in an exotic cut -- soft violets and pinks and a few touches of aqua, wisely matched to the delicate periwinkle blue of her complexion rather than the earthy tones of the season -- and her storm-blue hair pinned up with silver and tiny pearls, she was absolutely stunning and Izuna had to see her with Tobirama.

She reached the troupemaster's booth with no intervention needed to rig anything.  Izuna crept just close enough to hear her asking to visit Ayame.  Score .

He flipped around to the top of the roof awning and darted around back.  Ayame's room was... two, three, and the fifth window lattice down had been slid aside, with Tobirama's cool chakra inside.

"Tobi, you will not believe who's bedding you tonight," Izuna crowed breathlessly.

Tobirama looked up from where he -- as an extremely convincing facsimile of Ayame -- was folding up a slightly worn costume kimono, skirts printed with the bright geometric patterns of the Land of Jungles and the furisode sleeves marked straight across by a notable fold line and the remains of basting stitches.  Ayame's missing wig sat on his head, white makeup over the lace tacky from not allowing time for fresh glue to set; his furisode from under the costume was almost all undyed summer-weave cotton -- two layers of it over a somewhat less sheer knee-length slip, all of it clinging to the planes of his shoulders and torso as if he'd actually spent the entire day roasting in it -- only the collar and edges done up with strips of opaque silk in fire-charm red.  A similar red, not quite identical and slightly more orange, in oversized ovals around his eyes pushed their color more gray; the same color of lipstick was drawn just small enough to make his lips seem fuller than they really were.

(He and the lady were going to look amazing together.)

"Won't I?" Tobirama murmured.  "I'm curious to see who you chose."

"Only the most beautiful woman I've ever seen ," Izuna declared, and Tobirama blinked in surprise.

"A woman?" he echoed.

It wasn't that much of a surprise, was it?  Izuna was pretty sure Tobirama slept with women.  Senju didn't have lineages to protect.  Besides, "You should see how she wields a tessen."  The elegant flicker-flash, perfect followthrough, not a speck of blood or spit or dirt or even hair oil  caught on the fine silk.  "Poetry, Tobirama," Izuna purred.  " Poetry ."

Tobirama did not look impressed.  Of course he didn't, how could mere words convey this?  "Uh huh," he said, with one final fold of the kimono before picking up the bundle, standing, and catching Izuna under the elbow.  "Into the closet with you," and he plopped Izuna down on the folded-up extra futons stashed inside.  The costume went on a shelf over Izuna's head.  "Do try to keep the mooning silent," Tobirama said, and slid the door mostly shut.

And then she was here .  Even more beautiful in lamplight, shimmering gold caught in layers of gossamer silk like dawn on the sea.  Izuna only vaguely paid attention to whatever Tobirama said as he greeted the lady -- Hoshigaki Nitari, of course her name was as lovely as her, Izuna wondered what kanji she used to spell it -- as Tobirama took and hung up a peach-pink scarf that'd been draped around Nitari's shoulders and over her elbows, weighted at the ends with tiny, finely-embroidered bright blue birds.  Offered sake and small senbei, a dish of dry wagashi sweets shaped like maple leaves.

Nitari smiled sweetly, and her teeth shone like knives.  "Don't worry, lovely," she murmured, voice soft and deep and rich, Izuna was dying .  "I know how to keep my teeth to myself."  A pause.  "Or that's what I'd say if you were actually Murasaki Ayame."

Tobirama went very, very still, and Nitari glanced past him straight at Izuna .  "Come out, honey."  She beckoned with her tessen.  "No need to be shy, I can sense you."

Er.  Izuna met Tobirama's eyes, and Tobirama made the tiniest shrug.  Which.  They'd been caught fair and square, and so far Nitari hadn't attacked, so... slowly, Izuna slid the closet door open, hoping he didn't have a stupid look on his face.  (He had a stupid look on his face.  How could he not?  She was powerful and elegant and good enough to spot them in less than a minute .)

"I do hope this isn't an assassination attempt," Nitari continued kindly.  "It would be a shame to break this lovely theater district in a fight."

"No!" Izuna blurted.  "No, we--"

"Breaks for a pretty face," Tobirama muttered (how dare, Izuna was not sharing confidential information here!), pouring a third cup of sake.  He didn't seem to notice the surprise that ghosted across Nitari's face.

Izuna slid out of the closet and off the futons with a soft thump, tugging himself across the soft tatami to lightly kick Tobirama in the ankle.  "We're just helping the lady get some rest," he told Nitari, so there , and he bowed deeply to her.  "Please don't take offense."

Nitari hummed, flicking her fan up to hide her (lovely, thin) mouth (that Izuna wanted to see flushed with kisses; he might have a bit of a type there).  "I paid very well for time with a beautiful, highly skilled young man."  Golden eyes flicked between Izuna and Tobirama.  "We'll see about the skill, but I seem to have gotten more than I bargained for," she decided cheerfully.

She thought Izuna was pretty.

The fan that had just touched her lips (and casually whapped down half a dozen men in ten seconds flat, and could slice right through his throat at the twitch of a white-polished fingertip) tapped under Izuna's chin, delicately closing his mouth.  ( Sweet Sage .)

"Did I?" she asked.

Did she what...?  Oh .  Get more than she bargained for.  "You can have anything you want," Izuna breathed.

"Unbelieveable," Tobirama huffed.  He waved a sake cup between them, breaking Izuna's line of sight (beast!  philistine!  jerk!) and plopping the cup into Izuna's hands.  The other, he offered to Nitari with a properly polite half-bow, giving her a long, considering look as she took it.  "Shark Sage?" he asked, rather than quoting haiku to her beauty, because he was clearly blind .

Nitari blinked in mild surprise again.  "Why, yes," she said.  "Most of it, at least.  Most people think it's a bloodline -- how did you realize?"

Tobirama set a hand to his chest.  "Snow leopards," he replied demurely.  Then, with a somewhat more dismissive wave at Izuna, "Idiots."

"Hey!"  But Nitari started giggling behind her fan, golden eyes bright, so Izuna would forgive the slight.

The giggles continued off and on -- increasingly more on, a violet flush darkening over her cheeks and nose -- as Tobirama continued to pour rounds of sake and make teasing comments about Izuna, and ask how shark summons and sage arts worked, mostly in how they handled the communication barrier between air and water.

Nitari admitted to having slightly more cartilage than an average human, and slightly less bone, at her joints, and demonstrated by chugging the last of the sake out of the pitcher and popping it into her mouth without trouble.

Izuna lost the last traces of thought in his head.  "Does love/In such deep bonds/Always seem to entangle?" he quoted.  Nitari's jaw dropped in shock, and she barely caught the little pitcher as her face flared violet all the way down to the collar of her gown.

"You... actually mean that."

Why would he not?!  Izuna opened his mouth to say exactly that, but Tobirama covered it with a hand.  "If he's bothering you he can tone it down."

"No!  No, it's... it's fine," Nitari said.  She flicked her fan open again, this time covering her breasts (even though Izuna wasn't looking there -- he would!  He very much would!  But her face was right there and she smiled and blushed so prettily--!)  "I..."  She paused, pearls swaying as her gaze flickered away.  "... should probably know your name, pretty."  Her eyes flicked back to his.  "If you're going to flatter me so."

She wanted to know his name .  "Izuna," he said, ignoring Tobirama rolling his eyes again.  "Uchiha Izuna."

Her eyes widened, but her gaze stayed steady meeting his own.  "Izuna," she repeated, almost a purr.  Then, "I look forward to saying it again... soon ... if you would let your friend undress you for me?"

He would let her undress him for her.  Anything the lady wished.  Tobirama didn't even need bother to ask; he simply slid over, pressing a kiss just before Izuna's ear -- showy, angled to let Nitari see, a tiny nip to the lobe and tilting Izuna's head to bare his throat -- and settled in half-behind Izuna.  He guided Izuna up onto his knees and straddled his calf, furisode skirts spreading to either side of Izuna's leg.  Tobirama's cock (bare, he hadn't bothered to keep his fundoshi on when he'd changed to Ayame's clothes) brushed warmly against the back of Izuna's knee.  Another kiss, this time along Izuna's side, and Tobirama began untying Izuna's clothing.

Off went his high-necked overshirt, shuffed to the floor and tossed aside.  Pale hands stroked down Izuna's stomach, skirting the erection Izuna had been trying to ignore since well before Nitari's trick with the sake bottle, flattening the cloth of his pants taut over the sensitive flesh and making Izuna twitch up into the pressure -- balancing Izuna against Tobirama's shoulder before stroking over his groin slowly, skilled fingers toying with the hidden head and making Izuna groan, then sliding down his thighs and spreading his knees a bit wider.

Between that and Nitari's intent gaze, little whines came out of Izuna's throat with every breath by the time Tobirama stopped playing around over Izuna's clothes and started pulling more of them open.  Izuna regretted still having his own fundoshi, when Tobirama untied his pants and let them drop around Izuna's knees.  When Tobirama then went for Izuna's opened kimono shirt and pulled that slowly off his shoulders, gathering the fabric to capture Izuna's arms behind his back, arch his hips forward towards Nitari with the pale linen of his fundoshi hiding everything except where a small translucent wet spot clung to the pink head.

And then Tobirama left the fundoshi in place , his hands hard and inexorable around Izuna's wrists, silk swaying against the back of Izuna's legs as he shifted, coiling around Izuna's side to lick at a nipple just barely in reach.

"You are lovely," Nitaru murmured when that made Izuna's breath catch in a shuddery gasp.  She leaned forward, her fan discarded, and traced a finger down the side of his face and over his throat.  Her fingertips came to rest over his collarbone, five points of warmth and the prickle of sharp nails.  "What can I do with you, Izuna?"

" Anything ."

Tobirama's hand covered Izuna's cock.  "Except taking this in you," he added, because the world was a cruel, cruel place and Tobirama was the worst .  "Unless you're interested in anal."

An-- she-- buh-- wha--?

She gave a considering hum .  About.  At.  That .  Her blue fingers tangled in Izuna's own, and she brought his hand forward and laid it on her waist, on one of the bows trailing ribbons there.  "Undress me, Izuna."

Izuna's mouth went dry.  It was only his shinobi training (he was sure) that let him not fumble helplessly at the knots, satin ribbons slipping through his fingers, the embroidered belt dropping onto Nitari's lap and letting her overshirt fall loose.  He pushed delicate, sheer aqua gauze away from her powerful shoulders, his fingertips catching on soft, cool skin as he lowered it down her arms -- shuffling forward on his knees to almost, almost straddle her lap, legs spread wide and just one layer of linen, a couple of violet and pink silk between him and (as he bent to push the open jacket fully to the floor, puddled around her hips, so close he could feel the warmth of her shoulder next to his eyes) her stomach.

He dared to trail his fingertips up the corded muscles of her arms, then (so close, so close ) down her back, finding the flat bow of a ribbon at the embroidered upper hem of her strapless top.  The bow wasn't tied to another end of itself or to another; under his searching fingers, following the line of her back and the warmth of her in his arms, the bow was serving as a stop-knot at the end of a row of eyelets in the silk.  He slowly unthreaded the ribbon from each, her top loosening in soft draping between their chests, until he reached a second stop-knot bow and it fell entirely free.

She shifted just enough to let the silk drop between them, sage in the heavens ; perfect, tiny breasts skimmed against Izuna's abs, nipples like blueberries brushing just barely lower than his own.

" Please can I kiss you? "

Nitari's storm-blue hair slid through his fingers as she looked up at him in surprise.  "... Nobody's ever asked me that before," she replied slowly.

Was that a 'never kissed' or 'never been asked permission'?  Either way, "The world is full of idiots.  Please?"  A slow nod, and Izuna bent to her lips.  The sweet burn of sake and sugar, warmth and a hint of something floral, something briney.  Her teeth weren't as sharp as they looked -- which should have been obvious, she'd hurt herself every time she tried to speak or eat if they were -- but added tiny, firm points of interest as she clumsily tried to match him.

(Definitely a 'never kissed', and that was a fucking shame almost worthy of crazed hermit plots involving the moon.)

(Almost, because that meant her first kiss belonged to him .)

She pulled Izuna down more firmly, catching his wrist to drop his hand to her stomach, where the last bow of her outerwear sat.  This one came loose even more easily than the others, having not been threaded through anything or done up in a complicated knot for decoration, and silk gauze billowed between Izuna's legs as the skirts fell entirely away.

No additional waistband appeared.  Just smooth, blue skin rippling softly down her abs to.  to.  ... aaaapparently women didn't wear fundoshi like men did.  At all.  Or at least Water Country ladies didn't.

"... Izuna?"

"You're beautiful," Izuna managed, eyes pinned to that long expanse of gently curved blue and the not-quite-shadowed-enough spot where the fallen skirt's waistband allowed just the tiniest peek of shapes Izuna had only ever seen in explicit prints.

What did he do?  What did she want him to do?

A touch to his back made him jump.  He'd actually forgotten about Tobirama.  "You should tell her that with more than words," Tobirama murmured.  "Like this."  He reached past Izuna, taking up one of Nitari's hands.  He turned it upwards and, leaning forward, pressed a kiss to her inner wrist.

Her spreading blush darkened, violet shifting to a berry red at the height of her cheeks.

Izuna lifted her other hand and did the same, her pulse fluttering rapid and heated under his lips.  Her fingertips slid through his hair as he followed Tobirama's lead, slowly kissing down her arms.

Tobirama's hand -- the same size as Nitari's, but short-nailed -- tipped Izuna's chin away when they reached her shoulder, nudging Izuna back to her mouth while Tobirama trailed down to her breasts.  A moment into this second kiss, Tobirama's wig tickling at Izuna's chest, she gasped into Izuna's mouth, cool hands clutching hard on his thigh and shoulder.  Izuna angled himself just enough to glance down, finding Tobirama licking around one small, periwinkle blue breast, a thumb rolling her nipple in a way that she clearly liked, arching into the touch.

A tap to his hand, and Izuna followed Tobirama down, kissing slowly down Nitari's throat and into the smooth, shallow curve of a pectoral -- familiar in shape, though not in taste, a sweeter and more muted hint of musk under jasmine that Tobirama never wore -- before finding the swell of unfamiliar territory.  Just enough to fill Izuna's mouth, soft unlike anything else, the nipple larger than a man's but otherwise the same nub against his tongue.  Nitari clutched at Izuna's hair, pulling his ponytail askew; the silks of her skirts slid away from between them, out from under Izuna's legs.  He only vaguely noticed, moving with Tobirama's guiding touches, following Nitari as she lay back on Ayame's plain futon.

Moving further with Tobirama's nudging, one last suck before reluctantly letting her breast go, tracing down the well-formed grooves of her abs with his tongue, down to.  A.  A little fold, where Izuna paused to blink at the lack of hair.  That... that wasn't like the erotic prints at all.

"Shark sage," Tobirama murmured, brushing his lips against Nitari's fingers.  "Loss of body hair happens with most non-mammalian summons, if you master their sage arts."

Oh.

"Nitari, may we?" Tobirama asked, tracing a fingertip down from her navel in indication.  Her belly fluttered under his touch (what would that feel like on Izuna's tongue?)

"I am," she squeaked when Tobirama's fingertip reached just a couple fingers' width above the start of that fold, "here to," she pointed out.

"That means we should be even less rude in taking liberties," Tobirama replied.  "I know what I'm doing.  Izuna doesn't."  Izuna's ears burned: don't just say that, Tobirama!  "Which would you like?"

Nitari exhaled shakily, consideringly.  Then cool fingers brushed against Izuna's cheek, catching a lock of his hair.  "Tell him how it's done, not-Ayame."

Tell.  Tell.   Not... not show.

Tobirama's thumb pressed lightly on Izuna's lower lip, a hint of familiar salt drawing Izuna down to.  To.

Nitari squeaked again when Izuna's lips met the same spot Tobirama's fingers had just been.  The little fold brushed Izuna's chin, the scent of musk and salt strong as he kissed downwards.

He was going to screw this up, he was going to screw this up so badly , but--

That little fold parted for the tip of his tongue, revealing a thick fluid -- slick and sweet, and far more complex and compelling a flavor than the honey so many songs and poems spoke of.  He needed more.  Izuna took a shaky breath, and chased the taste so much better than honey.

Soft moans, velvet thighs against his shoulders, more mysterious folds parting against his tongue.  A hip, the curve underneath cupped in Izuna's hand, his finger settling in the bend between.  Nitari's hips rose into his touch, a pressure he answered with the flat of his tongue spreading everything wide.

Izuna could stay here all night .

Moving up to where the inner folds met, a little nub almost like the bead of a nipple -- but a direct suck got a flinch away, so Izuna returned to licking around the spot, up and down the folds, down to find a very different, firmer knot that the tip of his tongue slid into.

Nitari gasped, powerful legs yanking him closer -- would he have bruises over his shoulder and around his ribs? he did not care -- and continued to squeeze in sharp little flexings as he found pressure just outside that spot, the tiniest dip inside, worked wonders.  Her breathing quickened fast, hips thrusting up against Izuna's mouth, wet and slick spreading faster than Izuna could lick it up.

With one last squeeze that was definitely going to leave a bruise over his shoulder, Nitari shoved her hips up and held him there, something jerking in sharp little jolts against Izuna's tongue.

A seemingly-long moment later, she collapsed, breathing hard.

"Izuna."  A tabi-clad toe pushed at his shoulder.  "Back off, give her a minute."

Izuna managed to drag himself away, barely -- just enough to.  To.  See what he'd just been tasting, all flushed violets and berry reds.

While he'd been... busy... Tobirama had slid up to lounge next to Nitari, propped up on his side and holding Nitari's hand to rest against her small, heaving breast.  One of her pearls had somehow caught in Tobirama's wig, the chain glinting where it stretched between them.

It took a minute, her breathing slowing, before her eyes opened.  The gold was just a thin ring against the black now, hazy and half-lidded, and Izuna wished she'd happened to be gazing at him.

"Okay?" Tobirama asked.  Nitari hummed in agreement.  "Did you have a decision about anal?"

Tobirama by all six paths I swear--

"I've..."  Nitari considered her words for a long moment.  "No one's ever gone slow enough to try."

No.  No, she deserved better than that.

"Then best not tonight," Tobirama recommended.  "A finger, perhaps, but it'd be most pleasurable to work up to a cock over several sessions."

Nitari snorted.  "I definitely can't afford several sessions."

"I'm not for sale," Izuna blurted hopefully.

Those gold eyes finally shifted to him.  "... Maybe some other time."  She nudged his knee with the inside of her thigh.  "But hold that thought, pretty boy."  A pause.  "And come back up here."

Izuna gladly went.

Several hours later...

Izuna was going to die.  Happily, but oh sage he was exhausted.  He lay where he'd fallen half-entangled with Nitari, sticky and aching all through his hands and jaw.  (Could you dislocate a tongue?  He thought he might have done that.)  He was exaggerating in his own head out of habit, though he wasn't entirely sure why -- whatever vague reason that might be lay hidden behind a mind full of orgasms Nitari had allowed him to memorize.

So. Many. Orgasms.  Women had it good .

A faint movement of air brushed across his face, noticeable only from how it cooled the sweetness still wet there.  Izuna groaned, rolling his face into the corner of the pillow there wasn't enough room for his head on.

"Up," Tobirama murmured, poking Izuna's cheek.  "I've got water heating in the kettle already, it's not going to stay warm forever."

That was what katon was for-- oh.  Right.  Undercover, and no jutsu in the district anyway.

Izuna pushed himself up, circulating chakra to combat the fatigue.  Nitari followed, long locks of hair falling from her hair, loops twisted up with the dangling pearls of her headdress and swaying against her breasts (almost imperceptibly mottled with gentle violet love bites, as were her shoulders -- though not her throat, understandably).  Washcloths, basin, soap... Tobirama dug fresh sheets from a high shelf in the closet as they wiped the sweat and fluids off, just enough to not ruin their clothes -- well, except for Izuna's fundoshi, he really hoped Tobirama had a suiton good enough for laundry -- on their way to the bathhouse behind the theater.

Tobirama opened the window lattice as Izuna borrowed the onnagata's hairbrush.  He carefully unwound the pearls and silver from Nitari's hair, hunting out pins to free the half-loose locks, then rebrushing those and winding them back into the deceptively intricate coils Nitari had arrived with.

Yes, everybody leaving the district at this hour was either well-fucked (or a servant on supply errands, who certainly wouldn't wear gauze and pearls), and everybody knew it, but there was no need to let Nitari look a sated wreck.

"You're good at that," Nitari murmured, as Izuna folded and pinned a figure-eight to add more petals to a flower shape.

"I know, doesn't look like I can manage more than a ponytail," Izuna replied.  "But it takes three hairdressers and an exorcist to dig my brother's face out of his hair in the morning.  'Presentable' needs miracles," another pin to stabilize the flower, "and lucky me, I get to be the miracle worker.  Do you want the rest up, or should I leave it the way you had it last night?"

She shrugged.  "If you have enough pins, up would be nice."

"I'll see what I can do."

It turned out he only had enough pins if he took down and simplified the flower, but he did manage to make it work.  Then he helped Nitari dress, shaking out the worst of the wrinkles in the breeze from the window, and lacing up the eyelets and stopknot bows more neatly than she could do herself.  She ended up still looking decidedly sated, the sheer jacket and scarf doing nothing to conceal the love-bites on her shoulders, but most of that was in her half-lidded, glowing eyes and the more languid manner of her graceful movements.

She allowed Izuna to give her hand a farewell kiss, inclined her head to Tobirama, and left.

Silence.  Just the sounds of the settling theater -- the whispery thrum of dozens of people breathing behind closed doors, wood creaking under the footsteps of early-day servants at work, doors rumbling open and shut -- and the sparse traffic outside.  A bird somewhere, something foreign to Fire Country so Izuna didn't recognize the call.

"Do you think I could convince the clan to let me marry her in?" Izuna asked.

Tobirama groaned and dumped Izuna's clothes onto his head.

-0-0-0

The rest of the week went much the same as the first night.  That first day after Nitari, they chakra-wiped their fatigue away and watched Rinzu Tabi performed; the days after that, they spent mornings sleeping in their narrow minshuku room, crammed together on the single futon that could fit until well into the afternoon.  After an evening spent with the light entertainments the district offered, Tobirama switched with Ayame, Izuna manipulated the assignation if there was someone pretty in the hopeful fans, and they switched back around dawn.

Izuna didn't make a selection that second night, leaving Tobirama with a rather ordinary samurai attempting to go incognito while slumming it, but the third night brought a Houki kunoichi in makeup more elaborate than any of the kabuki actors, which Tobirama was careful not to smudge so much it let skin peek through, respecting their clan customs.

The fourth night brought someone slender and dark-skinned with short, pale curls and gray eyes.  They'd flowed through the crowd like the serpent-summoners clan, making their arrangements between the fourth and last act rather than waiting for the end of the performance... which was also very much like the serpent-summoners, though no Orochi had that coloring or lack of sage marks.  (Enough generations of sages left its mark in clans.  Some, like the Inuzuka and Orochi, more literally than others.)

That fourth-night guest, who come to think of it may have been half-Orochi, finished the night with a sly smirk and a flick of tongue at Izuna's closet.  "Good night, little Uchiha," they purred in their deep voice.  "I do hope you enjoyed that as much as I did."

Eventually, though, their time had to come to an end.  On the eighth day after arriving in Yukaku Port, Izuna and Tobirama set sail for home.

Several hours after reaching shore, they skirted Akimichi territory (skirted, because the Akimichi only ever claimed land over the trade route when leaving the road unguarded meant it would become a battleground instead of safe passage; otherwise, they left it public and blocked all attempts to put tolls on it) and were almost to the ragged spur of foothills that the Yamanaka claimed, when Tobirama faltered, wobbling when he landed on a low branch.

Izuna stopped on his higher landing, peering down to see the very faintest tinge of sickly green in that pale complexion.  "Crap.  What did you catch?"

Tobirama shook his head sharply, white hairs catching on the slight damp coming up on his forehead.  "Nothing," he clearly lied.  "We're being followed by something."

And he was sick.  Great.  "Who?"

"Not a who."  Something deep in Izuna went cold at the timbre of that flat response.  "A thing .  I don't know what it is," Tobirama continued darkly.  "It feels like..."  A long, considering pause, his color going more ghastly.  "... I'm not sure."  Another pause made the chill in Izuna's stomach start to twist.  "Something about it seems familiar.  From very long ago."

Familiar in a very, very bad way, whatever it was.  "Right," Izuna said.  "No ghost stories from you tonight.  Is it hostile?"

Tobirama gave him a Look.  And yeah, okay, something that felt that confusing to a sensor wasn't likely to be good for humans, but there was a difference between toxic and hostile.  "Yes."

"Can we kill it?"

Tobirama's glassy gaze shifted.  "Izuna.  I'm not sure it's entirely alive."

Definitely no ghost stories.  "Can we destroy it?"

"... Maybe."  Oh that was encouraging.  "If we can get at it."

Even more encouraging!  What the fuck Tobirama you're one of the fastest shinobi Izuna knew--  Oh.  Something tracking them from such a distance that Tobirama was only just now recognizing it.  Or.  Er.  Not-recognizing it, technically, as something completely foreign to every living thing in the Five Countries.  There was little to no chance of it not realizing it'd been noticed if they turned in pursuit, and even less chance of it not escaping at such a distance.

... Tobirama's opinion of letting an enemy escape had been burned into the minds of every single Fire clan shinobi old enough to understand it.

"Hopefully it already knows you're a slut."

"That would be extremely believeable, yes," Tobirama replied, after the scarcest pause to connect the dots.  "Water break and an argument to lead up first?"

Okay, yeah, jumping straight from running to fucking would be suspiciously weird.  "Sure."  Izuna hopped down to Tobirama's branch, plopping into a seat and taking out his water flask.  "What are we fighting about?"

Tobirama joined him, sitting on the branch somewhat more out of reach than a friendly pair would be.  "Nitari."

" What?! "

A cool red glance, belying the sickly sweat and pallor of Tobirama's face.  "I did not appreciate you ignoring me for her."

Izuna sputtered.  "Excuse you!" he snapped.  "One, she is a goddess and was also the client . Two, if you wanted more you should've said!  It's not like you've ever been shy before!"

"It's unprofessional," Tobirama replied coldly.

" That's what you're going with?"

"Considering the profession?  Yes ."

Fucking icy bastard.  Unprofessional, please, she'd already caught them, she knew damn well what they were.  Izuna growled at the sneering idiot.  He knew this so-called peace would fall apart.  Senju couldn't be trusted -- just look at Tobirama, luring him out to the middle of nowhere on some trumped-up milk run, he'd really do anything to get to (Izuna) his target --

Bile rose in Izuna's throat, choking off whatever nonsense he'd been yelling.  Tobirama would do anything.  Did do anything.  But everybody in Fire knew how far that had gone.  (That it'd directly saved Izuna and his patrol.)  Everybody... except, apparently, the whispery voice, inflicted and accented so very like an Uchiha's.

So very like.  But not one at all.

Those thoughts weren't his own.

Izuna blinked a flash of genjutsu at Tobirama, the scarcest trace of chakra and a movement of lips that didn't match reality, a single word: Where?

Tobirama didn't -- couldn't -- answer, not without being in Tsukuyomi, but Izuna's Sharingan were on.  He saw the faint tension of muscles, the hinted intent -- a defensive block, a sign that began most suiton, both halted before Tobirama could start the move at all -- and he followed the cue, spitting fire at Tobirama.

The promised wall of water snapped up to block it, and Izuna shot more: hotter, faster, a twisting phoenix with a blue-white heart.  Tobirama's walls twisted into a dragon in reply, coils stabbing through the fiery wings, steam billowing as they circled each other, fleeing the other's jutsu, angling for advantage, a single split-second's edge over the other.

A gap in the spinning water.  An opening -- but not aimed at Tobirama.

Izuna fired a white-hot jet of flame into the opening, at a too-dark shadow among the trees.  Something screeched , a piercing sound unlike any human or animal Izuna had ever heard; the fire burned on a shape that might have once been human, might have even almost looked it, if the creature held still.  There were too many limbs, though, an extra pair like misshapen lobster-claws shielding a head that pulled in two before one side slammed back into the other with a far more nearly-human scream.

Somehow, even in white fire, a pair -- a trio, a quartet, a pair -- of eyespots blazed bile-yellow.

It leapt for Izuna.

" Amaterasu !"

A veritable tsunami shoved him out of the way of his own black fires.  The thing hit where Izuna had been standing, a writhing mess of limbs charring and flaking into ashes.  Its shrieking abruptly cut off when the fire seared through whatever equivalent of a voice box it had, but still it thrashed as if it didn't have lungs to choke on superheated air, didn't have a heart to flash-boil from there.  And as it burned, it became horrifyingly clear that was true .

Most of the thing -- one full side and the lobster claws -- burned evenly like fine-grained wood, as undifferentiated inside as a mushroom or potato.  The other half of the almost-human... didn't.  Bits inside, bits that were almost shaped like a lung, a heart, a stomach, bits that were placed almost where they should be, burst as the flames burned down to them, down through flesh monstrous enough that even Amaterasu's divine fires put off reeking smoke instead of consuming the material entirely.

Izuna, dumped in a soaking heap at the base of a tree, gagged at the stench, clenching a hand tightly over his mouth as he controlled the flames.  What hell had this thing crawled out of?  What hell was Izuna hopefully sending it back to ?  (And where was Izanagi's rock to block the gates and keep the denizens the hell away from the living? )

When the black fires were down to a spiraled pile of ash and the bones of half an almost-human skeleton, Tobirama's panic-shaky breath caught.  "... I remember where I felt this before," he said, his voice brittle in a way that it hadn't been even... even that day so many months ago, Izuna's patrol stumbling across him in a clearing of messily dead bloodline thieves.

Amaterasu cracked open a thick almost-femur right down the middle, marrow-like rot sizzling.

"It... wandered the forests between us when I was very young."  Tobirama swallowed.  "I remember a night it tried to breach the walls -- I threw such a screaming fit the guards thought there were assassins in the compound."  A huff.  "I only remember from how furious my father was about a stupid nightmare."

Izuna gestured sharply at the thing.  Yeah, real stupid nightmare right there.  Amaterasu should've flashed through something this size in about twenty seconds flat.  That it was still burning ...

It took nearly half an hour, and almost all of Izuna's chakra, before there was nothing left but a massive divot of ash and lumps of glass.  Izuna slumped onto his face and let the fires go.

"Oh sage," he breathed into the dirt.  He didn't want to know what he'd just killed.  (He was pretty sure it was a demon.)  He did not want to know .  It'd gotten into his head, and stalked their clans (oh sage, it'd been around when Izuna was a toddler, when he and Tobirama were young enough they hadn't learned to report instead of cry, it got into people's heads and had been there when Izuna was a toddler ).  "Oh sage," he repeated shakily.

"Sage," Tobirama echoed, barely more than a whisper.  The nauseated pallor was draining slowly from his complexion.  "I don't even want to study the ashes."

Izuna was going to come back later anyway with Madara, and make sure there wasn't enough left for even the smallest sample.  He'd make Madara burn a crater down to the bedrock if that's what it took.  Hire someone with lava release to fill the hole.  Something.  (Because what if a single speck hadn't been charred enough and it returned? )

Bedrock.  Lava.  Salt the earth, set every clan exorcist on it.  Build a shrine of 'keep this thing out '.

... Keep it out.

"It tried to get in your compound?"

Tobirama gave him a long, level look.  Calculating.  Then, "You're asking about your mother."  Izuna didn't need to confirm that... but if it had tried to get at the Senju, and lived -- existed?  lurked? -- in the forests between them, why wouldn't it go for the Uchiha?

It had been there when Izuna was a toddler.

Tobirama sighed.  "I don't know exactly when your mother and youngest brother died in the first place," he pointed out.  "And a toddler's sense of time is rudimentary at best.  But," his gaze went distant, and slowly he said, "I think I remember the creature was out of range once when it was very hot outside, and that my mother cried with relief when I asked for more melon instead of sicking it up."

Late August or early September, then.  "It was too hot to sleep at night," Izuna offered.  "Dad stayed up with us," the sound of splashing water, cool wet washcloths turning hot on burning cheeks and bare little chests, moonlight almost invisible in little cracks around closed winter-storm shutters.  Bare tatami sticking to his skin.  "Nee-nee... Nee-chan, I don't remember which one ... yelled at me for whining about it.  That we couldn't sleep on the porch anymore, it wasn't safe."

The Uchiha summer mosquito netting was fine armor mesh now.  Izuna had forgotten it hadn't always been metal.

He stared at the scorch mark left on the ground.  "It killed my mom and the baby, didn't it.  Not you."

"Hashirama refused to check," Tobirama answered tiredly.  "We already knew we were responsible for your sisters."

Izuna knew Tobirama, though.  "You looked."

"... I looked," Tobirama agreed.  "If it was a Senju assassination, it was off the books and never spoken of again."

Which, considering neither of their clans had ever been shy about claiming kills -- Izuna still remembered the bragging about ( sage ) one of Tobirama's brothers -- meant.  Yeah.

Izuna hissed at the smear of ashes and did not cry.

Eventually, though, they did have to get up and leave.  Tobirama put down some sort of seal over the scorch mark, and a makeshift barrier of coiled nin-wire and folded seal-paper streamers to warn travellers off, and they continued on through the trees parallel to the road, subdued and watchful.

(the floor sticking to his skin, water dripping from a washcloth onto his face)

Izuna needed to stop thinking about it.

(his sister yelling at him with tears glinting in red eyes)

"Hey."  What could he say to shut up his memory?  "Were you actually mad about it?"

"Mad about what?"

"Ignoring you for Nitari."

Tobirama sighed.  "Not as much as I made it sound," he replied.  "We do have lessons about romantic interest."  Izuna turned to stare at the man.  Lessons?  "Half on recognizing the symptoms--"

"Love isn't a disease what the f--"

"-- and half respecting that it happens and has to be accounted for in mission strategies."

Well.  Izuna had wanted to be distracted.  "That's cold, Senju."

Tobirama shrugged, strengthening a leap to skip a landing-size branch that'd developed poison ivy.  "Cold's better than dead," he pointed out.  "Admittedly, I'm on the extreme end of the spectrum there.  You'd want to talk to Hashirama if you wanted a more typical view of those classes."

Ew, Hashirama.  "But your clan really teaches it like a disease."

"We're good at medicine.  It's a familiar format."

"... if you say so."  A disease.  Izuna knew about fifty Uchiha who would self-combust hearing anyone mention symptoms of love .  (Rinmaru would write an entire opera in rebuttal.  ... And then a comedy about idiot Senju doctors.)  "What are the symptoms, then?"

"I'm not helping you woo Nitari."

"But--"

" No ."