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When, at long last, they heard keys aggressively jiggling at the front door, a hush fell over the room and Izuna bit his lip to keep in the cackle that wanted to escape his throat. He had spent months on this, had even bit the bullet and told his sister in advance to beg her compliance on the matter, and finally, it would all come to fruition. For once, the twins’ birthday would be celebrated outside of the family’s annual Christmas Gathering, and while Madara usually was content to fly under the radar and let his sister bask in the limelight of the whole family’s attention, this year Madoka agreed to let him have his grande moment since it was their thirtieth birthday.
That Madara was most likely to kick them all out within the hour and wouldn't talk to Izuna for at least the next three months was neither here nor there, but it was the principle of the matter and Izuna had neither forgotten nor forgiven the one time the twins had taken it upon themselves to invite the whole family to the local amateur theatre group’s play that Izuna had been forced to participate in by his then-girlfriend—to ‘show their support’ and ‘give him the attention he deserves’. Izuna had rocked that garish princess dress, but he still hadn’t needed video evidence of his shame. While he still didn’t know if it had been Madara’s or Madoka’s idea, any retaliation on his sister was bound to end in assisted suicide at best, so revenge on Madara it was.
At least he had the good sense to dress it up as a genuinely nice gesture, otherwise Madoka would have had his hide before Madara had a chance to suspect anything amiss. And as much as it galled him, Izuna had to thank Hashirama for even having made it to the final stage of his plan. The big oaf didn’t have a single deceptive bone in his body and no Uchiha shared Madara's fondness for his friend’s guileless cheer, Madoka least of all. Involving Hashirama as a cypher had been a stroke of genius on Izuna’s part, and it was well worth the additional cost of ensuring the whole stunt was kept quiet until it was too late for his antisocial brother to weasel out of it.
As if on cue, the door opened and was kicked back shut after Madara tumbled in with far more noise than a single man had any business to produce. But despite how painstakingly Izuna made everyone practise a unison Happy Birthday, only silence echoed from the living room when it became undeniable that it wasn’t just Madara returning home.
“Fuck, baby. You’re impatient tonight,” a vaguely familiar voice cursed with no heat, and Izuna could only stare into the darkness with wide eyes and existential horror settling into his gut.
In the deafening silence shared between a few dozen hidden guests that mostly consisted of family, the wet sounds coming from the hallway—mixed with muffled choking and quiet gasps for air—couldn't be mistaken for anything innocent. And after the initial statement, it was just as unlikely for the low moans to come from Madara, which could realistically only mean one thing.
“I'm not complaining, but if you keep it up, you have to wait even longer for me to fuck you through your mattress as promised,” the guy teased, consequently throwing Izuna's worldview under the bus. It was no secret that his brother was gay, but for Madara to take it up his ass? It was hard to believe that their walking ball of anger issues and embodiment of masculine strength would roll over and take it rather than working through his emotions employing his sheer muscle mass. It was as surprising as it was disturbing, if only because Izuna hadn’t ever wanted to spare as many thoughts on any of his siblings’ love life.
As Izuna forced himself to forget any thought he just had, his brain came up with a random connection that he could have lived without just as well. Of course, did he know that voice. The sudden epiphany landed like a punch, pressing a strangled noise from Izuna’s throat as he pawed at the wall for the light switch that had been right there just a fucking second earlier.
“Just the cat," Madara throatily dismissed Izuna's untimely demise and started pulling his lover to the bedroom. "I’ll feed it later. Bed, now, or I swear to God the next time, we won’t leave the gym until you’ve fucked me in the bathroom first.”
“Next time, huh? Starting to plan ahead, I like it. If you gave it a try sooner, you might have packed some lube in the first place. I could have made you cum all over your backseat.”
There was a sound of what Izuna liked to interpret as barely suppressed rage, but then the door to Madara’s bedroom was thrown open when fumbling bodies collided with it, and a sliver of moonlight poured into the pitch-black living room, forcing Izuna to abandon his wishful thinking. If Madara were to look up, he’d see the softly illuminated faces of his family, frozen in abject horror at what their nice innocent surprise party had turned into.
But as it was, Izuna’s brother had only eyes for the monochrome figure looming over him, Tobirama’s unique colouring thrown into sharp relief against the night until he seemed like a demon out of the stories set on devouring a maiden. The impression was only strengthened by the sharp smirk pulling at his lips, the hunger in his eyes that was obvious to see even in the low light. Even more so, by how his long limbs easily caged Madara in as one hand was inching deeper and deeper, teasingly slow, until it vanished under the waistband, making Madara’s breath audibly hitch in the quiet night.
“Save your lofty promises and put your money where your mouth is.” For all that his face portrayed nothing but his ferocious signature scowl dusted in an all-encompassing blush, the breathy quality of his voice betrayed Madara’s eagerness.
Ew.
Izuna’s searching fingers finally found the light switch but just as he pressed down on it, the bedroom door crashed shut with a thud and the light flashed to life unnoticed. The whole family stood in awkward silence that was suspiciously echoed behind the closed door.
Izuna didn’t trust the sudden peace for a second.
“Oh no, I missed it! Was he surprised? Happy Birthday, Mads! Wait, where is our birthday boy?”
Naturally, the big oaf his brother liked to call a friend somehow managed to make the whole situation feel even worse. Izuna didn’t know if it was Hashirama’s genuine guilelessness, or the muffled yell petering off into a wanton moan suddenly to be heard from Madara’s bedroom—where his brother obviously wasn’t willing to lose any time with his self-made birthday present, the ungrateful asshole.
“Oh.”
Well, that was certainly one way to put it.
Izuna was torn between embarrassment, the need to escape before he heard anything more that he could never unhear, and the devilish glee of a little brother who had been served a lifetime’s worth of blackmailing material.
As the noises from Madara’s room got all the more uncomfortable, it wasn’t that much of an internal battle anymore, though. If their whole family had to suffer through second-hand embarrassment, then the least Madara could do was join them. He, and his stallion.
Before Izuna could take a single step to the door, a deceivingly delicate hand clasped over his mouth with the force of a steel press. The shinigami’s smile flashed at the corner of his eye as his sister cosied up to his back, going on her tiptoes to rest her chin on Izuna’s shoulder and whisper into his ear.
“Think again.”
A drop of sweat ran down Izuna’s spine. He loved Madoka as much as any of his siblings, but for all that she got all the social grace and cheery demeanour her twin lacked, Izuna knew better than to expect his sister to have mercy on him. Where Madara wore his mighty scowl as if it were a badge of honour, hiding his mother hen tendencies underneath a prickly demeanour, Madoka was the devil in disguise, an angel ready to doom the unsuspecting to eternal hellfire with nothing but a smile. There was a reason she was the uncontested heir to their father’s business, and it certainly wasn't because she was soft in any sense of the word. With her charming smile and cut-throat attitude, their family wouldn’t run out of money for at least three generations.
Drawing from a bottomless well of experience, Izuna did the sole sensible thing and put his hands up in silent surrender.
“Good boy.”
Madoka smacked a little buss on Izuna’s cheek—accentuated by a particularly bone-chilling wail of pleasure as their brother was supposedly fucked within an inch of his life—before she rocked back on her heels and smoothed out non-existent wrinkles on her immaculate dress.
“Now,” she said with a sunny smile towards the gathered guests. “As you can hear, Aniki has made his own birthday plans. As the birthday girl, I’m going to make the executive decision that we’ll cut out the surprise of the surprise party Zuzu-chan planned for Madara and resume the party part tomorrow night at our parent’s place for the usual joined Birthday and Christmas Gathering. Thank you for coming, I’m sure Madara appreciates the thought, I know I do. Please take your leave silently.” The or else went unsaid, but even their crotchety father didn’t fight Madoka on it. He knew better than that, even if it had taken him the longest time to learn to not cross his daughter—especially where her twin was concerned.
Izuna was sure the whole family still had nightmares about the time Tajima had set aside doting on his little princess in favour of making it his mission to mould his eldest son into a proper heir for his legacy. Funnily enough, if he hadn’t been so hell-bent on making Madara miserable with his expectations, chances were high no one would have ever realised what a shark Madoka truly was—no one but her little brothers that is. While Madara liked to pretend they were a hassle and still fussed over each of them, it was no secret that Madoka’s sisterly love and doting care were firmly reserved for her twin only. Although, Izuna could admit their rowdy band of three younger brothers might objectively have been a terror to have around for a girl they had suspected of being a changeling who liked to keep up sweet appearances.
One by one, their assembled family left Madara’s flat without making a fuss, their faces a myriad of ghostly pale and cherry red. Then again, Izuna suspected they most likely could have stomped out too without Madara noticing. He sounded rather… occupied.
Already, he could feel his lifespan shorten with every involuntary whimper fucked out of his brother, every moan and half-yelled encouragement. There seemed nothing left of his regular angry and shouty attitude but the volume with which he made his pleasure known like a wanton whore, and Izuna would have lived a happy life without ever bearing witness to it.
This was the worst and Izuna vowed to make his brother rue all the psychological damage he unknowingly dealt.
“Don’t even think about it,” Madoka warned. It wasn’t the first time that Izuna wondered if his sister was a psychic on top of being a completely unapologetic badass. “If you dare to ruin this for him, I won’t let you know a single moment of peace for the rest of your natural life and beyond it.”
Izuna wouldn’t—for a multitude of reasons of which his sister’s threat didn’t play a big part—but still.
“Do you know how much trouble it was to make this party work? To organise everyone’s schedule without Madara being any the wiser—even with the oaf involved? It has taken me months, not to speak of the amount of bribes I had to offer Mito so she’d keep her husband’s loose mouth under control. I have three weeks of babysitting duty now, Aneki. Three weeks, which are to be multiplied for every year that Mito doesn't cash in her favour. They don’t even have a child yet.”
“Don’t be disgruntled, Izuna. It doesn’t suit your sweet babyface,” Madoka cooed as she reached up and poked Izuna’s scrunched-up nose as if he were still a child. “It’s your own fault for wanting to throw a surprise party in the first place. You should have known better than to spring anything on Madara. You knew better with me, after all.”
Well yeah, as if there was any world in which that one would have gone over well. But for all that Izuna was slightly terrified of his sister on a good day, somehow, like most people, he tended to forget that the double-layered good cop/bad cop act the twins liked to play up was nothing but a lie. They were both assholes, simple as that.
“Don’t test me, brat.”
God dammit.