Work Text:
Izuna's brush moves swiftly over the paper, not stopping even when more scrolls are placed on the tatami next to him, and it’s only when a familiar hand touches his shoulder that he looks up into eyes that are as dark as his own.
"I'm sorry, but the patrols have just returned." Hikaku gestures apologetically at the reports. "These almost certainly aren't urgent however."
"Still..." Izuna grimaces but stretches out to grab the one on top. "The sooner I begin, the sooner this will end."
"You know that's not true," Tobirama's low voice interrupts them as he nudges his way into the room. "Work of this kind is never ending - no matter how much you do, there will always be more of it.” He steps lightly through the maze of proposed treaties, correspondence, and maps that Izuna has been working on all afternoon, but the tray in his hands doesn't tilt and even the smallest slips of washi don’t flutter in the wake of his passing. "Nothing will be happening in weather like this," he deposits the teapot on the table without ceremony, but his hands are graceful as he pours. "You can both afford at least a short break."
Izuna eyes the tea longingly, torn between the demands of duty and the lure of pleasure, but Hikaku seems to feel no such qualms. Instead he murmurs his thanks and picks up his cup, turning it between his hands and warming himself on its heat.
It's one of the ironies of the universe, but the way all of the Uchiha are hotter than the shinobi outside of their clan - as if they share an inner fire - makes them unusually susceptible to cold. It's the difference between the environment and the body which gives rise to the sensation of chill after all, and all of the Uchiha know what it is to feel the bite of winter.
Just looking at the snow piled up outside is enough to make Izuna shiver, and the temptation is almost irresistible, but he hasn't lived this long without being able to master his own desires.
Those same years have taught him how to pick his battles however, and Tobirama's pointed stare makes it clear this is not a fight he can win.
Especially not when it's something he wants.
Izuna puts down his brush and lifts the cup to his lips, savouring it.
The tea is warm, but not as warm as Tobirama's care.