There is a gleam in bistre eyes as they scan the forest, and like every other skirmish, Hashirama shifts around unsteady, grips the hilt of his blade with strain. He jumps, leaps, turns to meet every enemy with bold swings and a parry, and yet his footing is off balance, reckless. At his six o'clock, fifteen year old Tobirama trickles from branch to Mokuton branch, darting out in quick, graceful steps, and then recedes like low tide, protecting his older brother's weak spots.
Hashirama's light is ever-present, and especially bright whenever he speaks of peace, assuring that the war will soon come to an end and the clans will coexist. There is something about his features, something both beautiful and dangerous that softens when off the battlefield; but now, like this, as dead men fall to the ground in heaps of blood and grime, building their own pyre, his light morphs into hot lava, fanning out of his perception, searching, searching.
Tobirama muses it is similar to his own sensor abilities, except irrational, treacherous, as it is attuned to one man, and one man only.
There is no other explanation but one, and yet without proof, he remains silent, reluctant to voice his suspicions — especially to his father, as he did years ago. And yet despite the darkness that must surround Hashirama every time he sneaks off with Madara Uchiha, he continues to grow in his light, and even now in battle, there is something about him, something Tobirama wishes to preserve, if only the world could allow.
Six months later, Tobirama sits at a small wooden table with his arms crossed, a frown playing at his lips through the curls of steam that rise from two bowls of dutifully prepared rice. Tonight is the third night since Hashirama left to contact a merchant from the Fire Capital, sign a necessary contract, and obtain materials the clan severely lacked; in total, the feat should have only taken two and a half days.
Tobirama shifts his weight from side to side, stretches the expanse of his chakra in search for his brother.
Nothing.
His forehead creases as he looks down as his food, but he does not touch a grain of it. In all of Hashirama's inept laziness, his brother has yet to return late from an assignment since becoming clan leader, and an ebbing confidence nags at him; Tobirama could have taken this mission, and if something were to happen…
An hour later there is a shuffle outside, and Tobirama stands, a hand already searching for a kunai, and he waits.
"I'm ho—aah!"
There is a thump, and Tobirama's weapon lands in the wall, nearly slicing a startled Hashirama.
All Tobirama knows in that moment is the sudden spike of chakra filling the air with cold shock, and a sharp pain prickles behind his crimson eyes, temple throbbing, wind knocked out of him, and Tobirama attempts to suck in a breath, but wait, wait, something is different—
That smothering chakra quickly withdraws, returning to low, indistinguishable levels.
"Hey! You could have killed me!" Hashirama whines, and Tobirama almost replies that the chakra nearly suffocated him, but his words couldn't have come if he wanted, breath still hard to come by. So he sits, arms folded once more, and he stares at the opposite end of the table until his brother seems to understand.
Eventually, Hashirama sits as well.
"You're late. Did everything go as planned? And why are you suppressing your chakra? We are not in enemy territory, or have you forgotten?"
(Not to mention that his brother was always quite ignorant of chakra control unless healing someone, and it was odd to see him trying.)
"Of course!" Hashirama exclaims, a smile beaming like never before, light blindingly bright — unfortunately, as Tobirama's head is still pounding and probably will be for the rest of the night. "And I'm only…practicing! You always scold me for being easily detectable, after all."
Tobirama eyes his brother as he takes a mouthful of rice from his chopsticks, and the younger sighs, unfurls his arms, and takes a bite of his own. There is no complaint from Hashirama, oddly enough; there is not even a trace of heat left in these bowls, and yet his brother eats on happily, his entire portion disappearing in two minutes.
"You're acting more idiotic than usual," Tobirama comments, sipping his tea, and something about this sets Hashirama off. He's suddenly a giggling mess, and he's laughing, tears staining his eyes.
Has he finally gone mad?
Tobirama sighs, pressing the palm of his hand against an eye, and rubs at it irritably. "What did you do this time, brother? Please tell me you didn't waste the clan's funds on something ridiculous or shame yourself in the capital. We cannot afford to upset the Daimyo, especially not in the midst of this winter—"
"Tobirama," Hashirama interrupts, voice suddenly soft, laughter fading to a content glow. "Nothing went wrong, nothing at all. I promise."
Chakra fluctuates around his brother, leaking out, and it is hearty, soft like clay, kneaded with care, and like this, Tobirama instantly pinpoints a blaze dancing within, a warm fire entwined—
He chokes on his tea, cheeks aflame, and the coughing fit that ensues is enough to shut him up and organize his thoughts; they are thoughts he never wanted to consider, images he'd live better without, but that incriminating weave of chakra — tainted by that of Madara Uchiha's — paints a vivid picture of hot kisses and roaming touches, breathless gasps and slick skin, fingers stroking, pulling, penetrating; the Uchiha naked and underneath Hashirama, or perhaps the other way around—
"Are you alright? Tobirama!?"
My brother is sleeping with—
Sneaking around I could handle, but this—
I'm going to be sick.
"I—I'm fine!" he coughs, slamming his cup down harder than intended, and settles for a deep, calming, meditative breath.
"Are you sure?" Hashirama asks, reaching out to steady his cup, and is that a grin on his face?
"Yes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to catch up on since you took so long to return from your…mission."
He rises from his seat, pushes in his chair, and walks straight out the sliding door, his kunai still stuck in the wall. Work would have to be done outside tonight, as fresh air would be his only savior from the disturbing scenarios running through his head.
Inside, a fit of giggles and the clinking of dishes could be heard from one gleeful Hashirama Senju.