Archive of Our Own ^beta

What people tend to forget in the midst of calling Madara a stubborn ass is that Hashirama is even worse.

"I distinctly remember telling you to fuck off," Madara grouses, shoving the sleeve of his turtleneck back up his arm before carefully dipping a green apple into the black-dyed sugar mixture. He eyes it speculatively, checking the syrup's viscosity as it slowly drips off the apple before nodding. He gently shakes off the excess and transfers the candy apple to a parchment covered tray so it can cool and set. "In fact, I remember telling you to fuck off multiple times, Hashirama!"

"Come on, Madara! It's fun!" the big lug says brightly, cheerfully nosing around and ignoring Madara's glare as he investigates all the finished treats and unused ingredients scattered around the huge kitchen. "Join in on the holiday spirit!"

"My holiday spirit," Madara hisses, tone venomous enough to match the 'poisoned' apples he's coating, "keeps getting misplaced every year along with my costume and KNOCK THAT OFF!" He kicks out a foot viciously as Hashirama tries to sneak a finger into raw cookie dough for the fifth time in the last two hours. He huffs in satisfaction at Hashirama's yelp, smirking as his idiotic best friend jumps around clutching at his shin, and deftly finishes twirling the last of the candy apples.

"I just wanted a little taste," Hashirama whines, sending puppy dog eyes Madara's way as the brunet snatches the mixing bowl away from him before depositing the apple tray on the table full of completed desserts. "Everything looks so good! You'll never even miss it."

"You are the overenthusiastic idiot who dragged me up at six o'clock on a Saturday to shanghai me into shopping for ingredients so that I could make these goddamn treats instead of doing what I said and buying them from a fucking store!" Madara snaps. "So keep out of the batter before I stab you with a cookie cutter!"

"But they're so much better when they're homemade," Hashirama argues, trailing behind Madara as he dumps the newest batch of black-dyed cookie dough onto a parchment covered counter before forcibly rolling it flat. "Look at how cute these bat cookies turned out!"

"Don't touch those either! No sneaking tastes before the party! Why is it that your five-year-old is more sensible than you are? TSUNADE!" Madara bellows, slapping Hashirama's hand aside and shoving past him to relocate the chocolate bat cookies. "You wanted to cut the cookies so get in here!"

The blond girl races into the kitchen with a gleeful cry before slamming into her dad's legs. "Lift me up! I wanna do it!" she demands yanking on Hashirama's shirt until he picks her up with a laugh. "Uncle Madara! Which cookie cutters do I get to use?"

"Fffudge if I care," he answers, ignoring Hashirama's disappointed look at the near miss. "You've got cats, witches, pumpkins, and circles left unused. Make whatever: your mentally challenged father bought half the baking isle's stock of decorative icing so we'll still have supplies when your mother's hair falls out from stress. Speaking of which," Madara says threateningly, glaring at Hashirama as he yanks on oven mitts and takes the pear tartlets out of the oven, "I still don't understand why it's always ME doing this instead of your actual wife!"

"It's tradition," Hashirama says with grave seriousness, absently handing Tsunade the Tupperware container full of shaped cookie cutters. "Just because we don't share an apartment anymore doesn't mean it isn't vitally important to our friendship to continue including you in the party preparations."

Madara grits his teeth, pushes his glasses back up his nose, and reminds himself that he'll hit Tsunade if he throws the hot pan at Hashirama's head. "I never wanted to do it then either."

"Yeah, but you're easier to bully than mom," Tsunade says frankly, bracing one hand against the counter as she places down a circle and then a pumpkin-shaped cutter with surgical deliberation, oblivious to how Madara glares death at her nervously laughing father. "And you're better at this than Aunt Touka or Uncle Izuna, and Uncle Tobirama gets bored too easily and starts experimenting so everything tastes weird. I'd much rather have your desserts. Also, the fire department told dad he wasn't allowed to try baking anymore."

"Sweetie," Hashirama says as Madara moves the tarts to a cooling rack, "it's not that they banned me—"

"No, they banned you," Madara ruthlessly interrupts, checking to see if the baking stone has cooled enough to use again for the next batch of cookies. "They absolutely banned you from anything involving an oven after the tenth incident. I distinctly remember dad calling me up to question my taste in friends, curse your entire family line, and then ask for a picture so he could put your face into a powerpoint for any new firemen he hired."

Tsunade laughs and Hashirama droops into the pathetically melodramatic depression that his daughter thankfully hasn't inherited. Madara rolls his eyes and sets down a baking sheet near Tsunade so the mature Senju in the room can start placing her finished cookies down to be baked.

"I said sorry about that," Hashirama says gloomily, as he helps Tsunade move the shaped cookie dough.

"Yeah, and my relatives still think you're a plague who should have an order filed to outlaw you from cooking. Don't think I didn't notice that you had no clue where any of the baking supplies are kept in your own house. Mito still not allowing you in your own kitchen, huh?" Madara mocks, taking the filled tray and sliding it into the oven.

Hashirama gives him a watery eyed look as Madara sets the oven timer and turns the sink on to let his daughter wash her hands. "I just forgot where they were, that's all."

"Is there anything else I can help with before Uncle Tobirama gets here?" Tsunade asks eagerly, looking around the kitchen.

"Not right now," Madara replies, suppressing an irritated twitch. He grabs a knife and lines up some of the kiwis and apples. "I need to cut these first. Come back in an hour and you can decorate the cookies."

He waits for the kid to make her way out of the kitchen and back to wherever her mother is hiding out and turns a withering glare on his lying traitor of a best friend. "Tobirama?"

Hashirama gives him a bright grin, utterly unashamed. "Yes?"

"Don't 'yes' me, you liar! You specifically told me your jerk of a brother wasn't going to be able to attend this time," Madara snaps, quickly peeling a kiwi in a long strip and setting it aside for the fruit kebabs.

"He was able to make it after all! Isn't it great?"

Madara bares his teeth in a not-smile, puts an apple on the cutting board, and shoves his knife through it with a sickening thump.

"Madaraaaa!" Hashirama whines, throwing an arm around Madara's shoulders as the brunet ignores him, swiftly cutting up the apple and sandwiching peanut butter between the slices. "Don't be like that. Tobirama already promised to behave and be nicer this year!"

"So it'll take him ten minutes to insult me somehow instead of five," Madara replies scathingly, shoving small marshmallows into the peanut butter to make teeth between red lips.

"I'm not asking you to actually get along with him," Hashirama says, exasperation sneaking into his voice. "I still don't get why you stopped liking him as much, but you can at least be civil at the party. You've known each other for over a decade: it shouldn't be that hard. Pleeeaaassseee~~~!"

"Oh for god's sake, stop that," Madara sighs tiredly, shoving his glasses back up with the inside of his wrist since his hands are covered in fruit juice. "I'll be civil for exactly as long as he's civil and that's it, alright? Now where are the rest of the big marshmallows you were supposed to buy when you went to grab our take-out? And where are my contacts because these glasses are driving me crazy."

Hashirama freezes against him and then laughs loudly. It's the same annoying laugh he always makes whenever he's about to say something spectacularly irritating and Madara deliberately puts the knife down. "About that..."

"Were they out of marshmallows?" Madara asks flatly, not exactly hopeful because he certainly doesn't care if the fruit kebabs have marshmallows so there's a snowball's chance in hell that's what Hashirama thinks he'll be annoyed about.

"Nooo. I—"

"Did you order the wrong Chinese?" Madara cuts in, digging his fingers into the counter.

"Er—"

"Goddamnit, Hashirama! It was the only errand I really wanted to do today and you forgot! You kidnap me, prevent me from stopping by the optometrist to pick up my order, stick me with making all the damn Halloween treats you want every single year, and then FORGET to pick up my contacts as the one thing I asked you to do while you got us lunch!" he snaps, so frustrated that his hair is nearly bristling right out of its messy bun.

"They were closed?" Hashirama says weakly, eying Madara’s angrily flexing fingers, clearly aware of how his best friend is visualizing his death by strangulation as the taller man backs away with his hands raised.

"That's why you were supposed to stop by their office FIRST! They close at one on Saturdays and I told you that!"

"I got you extra crab rangoons?" Hashirama offers up, snatching up a brown take-out bag and holding it out like a placating offering to an angry fire god.

"You!" Madara growls, snatching up a spatula covered in blood red frosting from a nearby bowl and aiming it at the man like a dagger poised to impale him.

"And hot and sour soup!" Hashirama says, backing away as Madara marches towards him. "You love that!"

"Get out of my kitchen."

"Technically, it's my—"

"OUT!" Madara bellows, lobbing a caramel candy apple at Hashirama's forehead with deadly precision. The taller man yelps and Madara is about to vindictively stomp on Hashirama's foot when the timer on the oven goes off. Madara swings around with a confused scowl since it hasn't been anywhere near long enough for the cookies to have finished. Hashirama takes the opportunity to make a rapid retreat, and Madara realizes too late that the sneaky lout had changed the timer while Madara had been making the fruit snacks.

He snarls.

"Bring back my Chinese, you coward!"

"Well look what the cat dragged in!" Tobirama hears as he opens the backdoor of his car. He looks up and has just enough time to catch sight of Touka walking towards him in vaguely familiar armor before his cousin catches him in a tight hug. "Did you enjoy your vacation?"

"It was hardly a vacation, Touka," he says fondly, patting the woman on the back of her silver armor, slightly surprised that Touka had gone to the trouble of curling her hair for whichever costume she's wearing. "However, yes, I did enjoy that research trip to Kumo. I even brought you back pictures of Genbu and its wildlife."

Touka laughs and steps back to look him over. "At least that means you got out and away from your books and your seminar at some point. Although having you come back early was a fantastic surprise. Hashirama is certainly thrilled you made it back for Halloween. It wouldn't be the same without our yearly picture of you and Madara being ridiculous and in each other's face."

Tobirama rolls his eyes and turns back to the car to grab the first case of drinks so he can shove it at his cousin. "We're hardly that bad."

"We have a bulletin board full of pictures that prove otherwise."

"Hashirama has a bulletin board full of paired costumes that just happen to include a few of us being argumentative. And I'm sure that had nothing to do at all with the photographer's bias in which pictures were selected," Tobirama says, sarcasm lining his words as he grabs the ice, his lightsaber and his keys before closing the car door.

Touka grins toothily. "But they're such flattering pictures of you both. I feel like I really captured your relationship in those photos. A pity we don't have any costume pictures for the crossdressing year."

Tobirama sends her a sharp look. "You can hardly blame Madara for storming out immediately that year. Izuna got entirely too carried away when he picked out that absurdity to replace his brother's costume, and you certainly didn't reign him in."

"Madara might be an prickly cactus of a human being, but he's gifted in the looks department," Touka says shamelessly, utterly remorseless. "It would have been fantastic on him, and I'm not even interested in him. You must have been terribly disappointed, little cousin. Especially when Hashirama arranged for both your costumes during his turn last year and all that skin stayed hidden."

Tobirama gives that comment the dirty look it deserves and starts walking up the driveway. "I don't see why you persist in this delusion, Touka. Understanding why he felt humiliated two years ago by Hashirama and Izuna's grand conspiracy to make his costume complement mine doesn't equate to being attracted to him."

Touka hums, distinctly unconvinced as she shoves her long brown curls over her shoulder and picks up a sword leaning against a nearby car. "If you say so. Though for someone who doesn't like him you were certainly careful this year to pick a theme Izuna would find difficult to make... minimalistic." She waves a hand at the iconic black multi-layer robes and lightsaber that Tobirama had picked out for himself (and indirectly Madara given their brothers' unusual Halloween tradition) and smirks. "Which is very interesting considering how idiotic you found Anakin Skywalker."

"Don't insult me, Alice," Tobirama reprimands lightly, finally recognizing her costume as he catches sight of Izuna wandering around the front yard in Tarrant Hightopp's blue jacket, kilt, and top hat as he puts up the last few decorations. "I'm not Anakin Skywalker: I'm a Sith Lord."

"You would find evil less irritating than incompetence," Touka acknowledges with a laugh as he opens the front door and they walk into theoretically organized chaos.

Even though the party isn't scheduled to begin until fifteen minutes from now at six pm, there are already many, many (far too many in Tobirama's opinion) people present in Hashirama and Mito's house or socializing out on the backyard patio to the right of the pool. He can see his niece running around in a blue-layered Chinese dress, swinging a jagged (and hopefully plastic) sword at Jiraiya, who's in a black, fuzzy suit with a tail and enthusiastically defending himself with a short pool noodle. Tobirama snorts at the sight of an exasperated Orochimaru, in a stylized red and gold dragon hoodie, following his two friends around with a black horse mask in his hand.

Tsunade had evidently shanghaied her friends into doing Mulan this year. Of all traits for her to inherit from both her parents, she just had to get the full dose of running roughshod over everyone associated with her.

( Although if Tobirama is brutally honest about it, Tsunade was definitely doomed to inherit that tendency. Immovable stubbornness and a habit of getting their way seem to be family traits for the Senju and Uzumaki, and both her parents got more than their fair share to boot. )

Tobirama darts into the kitchen to get away from the crowd, Touka passing the doorway to head somewhere else, and whistles softly at the ridiculous number of themed sweets and snacks laid out around the room.

Either someone had assisted this year or Hashirama had kidnapped Madara very early this morning.

He's probably still pissed off about it, too, Tobirama notes with a faint smile, looking at the adorable palm sized shortbread owls with feathers made of almond slices and the unnecessary, decorative lines jerking through the colored layers of the pumpkin mousse trifle. Madara has an amusing habit of taking his frustration and anger out on whatever he's doing at the moment when he can't just yell about it, so excessively detailed desserts are typically his version of a non-verbal and blaring 'fuck off'.

It would be even more entertaining if it didn't foreshadow a fuming, ill-tempered Uchiha in Tobirama's future. As if Madara wasn't already likely to be prickly over Halloween in general.

( Honestly, those imbeciles should never have allowed Izuna to pick out his brother's costume unsupervised. Although at least this year there are less treats shaped like bloody and dismembered body parts, so Madara probably won't be glaring at each of them like he wishes he had access to a child-friendly poison. )

"Tobirama!"

Long, unfortunate practice meant that Tobirama doesn't yelp embarrassingly when Hashirama lifts him up from behind, but that's the only bright side about it.

"Put me down, you fool!" he snaps, slamming his head backwards.

Hashirama blithely moves out of the way of the headbutt (likewise from long practice) and swings his little brother around as if he's an overgrown, male version of Tsunade. "I'm so glad you made it!"

Tobirama gives serious consideration into dropping the giant bag of ice and letting it break open on the floor so he can punch his brother but practicality and thriftiness stay his hand. Which his brother had probably counted on. "I'm beginning to regret coming!"

Hashirama laughs, dropping him back down and quickly backing away. "Have you seen everyone yet?"

"I just arrived, Hashirama," Tobirama says, exasperated. "Where is the ice chest?"

"We have two," Hashirama answers, tugging his hat down by its ear flaps and looking over his shoulder as the front doorbell chimes. "Touka hauled one out to the patio earlier, and I think the other one is near the snack table where Madara is setting out desserts. Excuse me."

Tobirama rolls his eyes and heads towards the living room as Hashirama rushes off in a flurry of enthusiasm. A handful of kids in a variety of hair colors and costumes are kneeling on the couch, arms resting over the back and watching with predatory interest as Madara, dressed in a purple turtleneck with his hair pulled up, proceeds to lay out a variety of snacks on the dessert tiers. The other man absently smacks Kagami's hand as the teenage ninja tries to sneak away one of the black cat cookies under the pretense of 'helping', and Kagami whines, making a dramatic production of it to Madara's exasperation and grinning as the kids start giggling.

A few children nudge elbows and point at a short-haired brunet who's using Kagami's distraction to rapidly stealth crawl across the floor behind Madara. Tobirama cranes his head to the side, having just enough time to confirm it's Hiruzen dressed in the short orange cape and golden diadem of Son Goku from Saiyuki before the teen hides himself under the snack table.

Madara turns away from his younger cousin, gives a brief considering look to the right where Hiruzen had just vanished, and then goes back to laying down cookies.

Tobirama hefts the ice up to a more comfortable position and heads straight for Madara, making no effort to limit the smirk spreading across his face.

"Nice costume," he greets with a sly twinge of teasing mockery as he comes up behind the Uchiha, watching Madara jerk his head around.

"Fuck you, Senju! I haven't changed yet!" Madara snaps angrily, not noticing how Tobirama's eyes catch on the unexpected sight of thin rectangular glasses resting in front of dark eyes. Madara emphatically flips him off, forgetting about the watching kids in the room and missing how Hiruzen sneaks a hand up for the chocolate eyes while Kagami quickly shoves a handful of peanut butter acorns in his mouth behind his cousin's back.

Tobirama's brain sticks like taffy on how well the glasses flatter Madara's face, and he distractedly utters a mild insult to make the older man bristle more. The sinking, faintly mortified realization that Touka was right - that this 'couple's costume' joke that started years ago when he and Madara had both came in armor is more than just a joke - blooms in the back of Tobirama's mind as Kagami tries to laugh at his remark, causing Madara to spin around just in time to catch the teen choking like a moron on his ill-gotten treats.

"For god's sake, Kagami!" Madara groans loudly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and balancing the half-empty serving tray against his side. "The pizza will be here in ten minutes! Eat something else before binging on sugar!" he orders, kicking backwards without looking and catching Hiruzen in the rump as the teen shoots out from under the table in a failed attempt to escape unnoticed.

"I'm just going to put some of this ice in the other cooler first," Tobirama comments neutrally, accidentally banging his calf into the ice chest next to him as he walks away, not quite paying attention to where he's going as his eyes flicker between the pale neck that Madara had been rubbing at and the familiar gestures he's now making as he berates a coughing Kagami.

"And furthermore, chew your food!" the brunet snaps, not even noticing Tobirama rapidly departing. "If you start turning blue because you choke like a halfwit, I'm not doing the Heimlich to save you! If you're going to do something this idiotic just to get attention, at least be as smart as Izuna was and wait until your crush is in the same room to save your sorry ass! Or at least a friend who'll pity you instead of laughing like a loon or leaving you to your fate. Where is that Shimura kid anyway?"

"Shouldn't you get changed?" Kagami wheezes out frantically as Tobirama slides open the patio door to the sound of children laughing at the two Uchiha.

"Like I'm trusting you with th— KOHARU! Come watch the table, would you? You can shove another cookie down Kagami's throat if he tries stealing anything before I get back."

"Madara!"

"Goddamnit," Madara mutters, wrenching open the paper bag his costume had been in and finding it missing yet AGAIN! "I knew I should have just hidden the blasted thing in the kitchen with me where no one would have been able to get past me. I knew it!"

Madara seethes, fruitlessly throwing the empty sack at the wall, even more frustrated as the paper flops in the air and only makes it halfway. He ignores the separate bag full of brown fabric sitting on the bed with his name tacked onto it in Izuna's handwriting and starts emptying the guest room's closet looking for where his shit of a brother or his useless best friend might have hidden the cop uniform he had grabbed this morning during Hashirama's kidnapping.

"Where is it? Where is it!" he snarls to himself, shoving blankets and miscellaneous items back into the sparsely filled closet. He stands on the tip of his toes, stretching to feel at the very back of the closet shelves and growling as it turns up nothing but dust.

Madara chants obscenities as he meticulously tears the room apart looking in every nook and cranny for his outfit. A part of his brain already knows it's useless given that this is the sixth year that one of those two took his outfit and successfully hid it, but he's not doing it again this year! He hadn't been able to turn down Tsunade's excitement at helping to make his pokemon outfit last year but he's not doing this anymore! Just the sight of that bullshit example of swimsuit armor the year before last had been miserably humiliating. He's NOT dressing complementary to that white haired jerk if they're all going to conspire together to use Halloween as an excuse to LAUGH AT HIM!

"Fuck them, fuck them, fuck them," Madara mutters getting more and more angry as he shoves up the ruffled bed skirt so he can squeeze underneath the bed frame and check there as well. "They think they're all so damn funny and that they can keep doing this shit and that it's just a joke. Well, FUCK them all with a rusty-"

"What does 'fuck' mean?"

Madara yelps, jerking up and banging into the metal bed frame as Tsunade's upside down face suddenly appears on the other side of the bed. He hisses, wiggling backwards so that he can sit up and yank out the tie from his hair. He gingerly presses a hand to the tender spot on the back of his head and looks up at the curious little girl sitting on the mattress.

"What does what mean?" Madara grits out, holding still as Tsunade scoots forward and pretends to 'inspect' his head before pressing a smooch to it and declaring it 'all better'.

"What does 'fuck' mean?"

"I don't know. Where did you hear it?" he lies, twitching at the thought of explaining that to Mito.

"You just said it!" Tsunade exclaims indignantly, planting her hands on her hips and fruitlessly kicking him in the chest as he rests back on his heels.

"I did not," Madara denies, raising an eyebrow as he crosses his arms. "I said 'duck'."

Tsunade gives him a skeptical, derisive look reminiscent of her uncle. "I really don't think you can say 'duck them all'."

"Sure you can."

"Then what's it supposed to mean," she interrogates, trying to call his bluff.

"It means we get a gigantic bucket full of yellow rubber ducks and pelt them at people's heads," Madara explains with a growing smirk, thrilled with his own brilliance. "I'll buy some tomorrow and you can help me attack your dad and Uncle Izuna."

Tsunade pauses, visibly considering that. "Why would you want to attack someone with yellow ducks?"

"The better question is why wouldn't you," Madara counterargues.

"... Does it have to be yellow ducks? I don't really like yellow."

"We can get pink ducks too," Madara says, feeling generous now that he's both successfully evaded that verbal trap and guaranteed a very amusing revenge, accompanied by his pseudo niece and (undoubtedly) her two minion-friends. He doesn't even give a damn how much rubber ducks might cost. Surely there are some he can buy in bulk at the warehouse store right? And it's still leagues better than the overwhelming sea of legos Hashirama had bought, seemingly just so Tsunade could create a painful minefield throughout the house.

"I like green better," Tsunade says, a sneaky look crossing the little con artist's face as she tries to get one over him.

"Green it is then," Madara agrees dryly, ruffling her hair at her cocky smile and bending back down to look under the bed.

Tsunade huffs and then thumps down to sit on his back. "Why are you sticking your head under the bed like a moron?"

"I'm not a moron and where did you hear that word?" he asks, shoving aside a hatbox (a hatbox? what the hell?) and two random board games.

Tsunade takes a deep, audible breath before listing out, "You, Aunt Touka, Uncle Izuna, Uncle Tobirama, Grandpa Butsuma, Mom—"

"Alright alright," Madara cuts her off, opening up the hatbox to check inside just in case. "As long as your mom's guilty too, I don't care if you say it. Is there anyone around you who actually doesn't curse?"

There's a long pause during which Madara gives up in disgust and admits that the damn costume isn't in the room. "I don't think dad has ever cursed," Tsunade says slowly, "but that's about all."

"Good on him," Madara mutters, scuttling backwards and sitting up with a grunt only to have Tsunade's arms latch around his neck. "Time to get off now, rugrat."

"You haven't explained why you were sticking your head under the bed," she insists, still hanging off his neck as he stands up and demonstrating the same streak of stubbornness that Madara recognizes from far too many years of knowing Hashirama.

He sighs in frustration, putting an arm behind his back to support her so she doesn't strangle him like a particularly cute and wiggly garrote. He only twitches a little bit at the pleased sound of satisfaction the brat makes. "I'm looking for my costume."

"Your costume is on the bed," she accuses, waving a pudgy hand towards Izuna's bag.

He scowls, twisting his head around to glare at blond hair out of the corner of his eye. "That is your Uncle Izuna being a little shit and it's not mine."

"It has your name on it! And it matches Uncle Tobirama's but in different colors!"

"That doesn't mean it's— wait! How do you know what it looks like?" he demands.

"Uncle Izuna asked me to bring it up here."

Madara slams a hand over his face, wincing as he accidentally shoves the damn glasses against the bridge of his nose, and sits down on the bed so he can drop Tsunade and free up both hands. "Do you know what my stupid brother did with my original costume?" he asks, taking off his glasses and checking to see if he screwed up the alignment on the nosepiece.

"Nope. I just know you're supposed to wear that one!"

"I don't care what my brother thinks I'm supposed to do. He can go fuuutterwacken like the Mad Hatter he's pretending to be and stop messing with me," Madara says, hiding a wince at the second close call in ten minutes.

(Sometimes he really does wish that he had better control over what comes out of his mouth.)

Tsunade makes an angry noise and punches him in the back, and Madara spins around to send her a warning look. She hunches up her shoulders and fists her hands in her blue dress but doesn't apologize. "You're being stupid," she declares stubbornly, as intractable as her entire goddamn family. "If you don't wear the outfit, Uncle Tobirama will feel left out."

Madara snorts on reflex and her lip pouts further, brown eyes flashing.

"You and Uncle Tobirama are supposed to match," Tsunade insists, voice rising. "I saw all the pictures! You're supposed to match Uncle like how Dad matches Mom's Nausicaa costume and how Auntie and Uncle are both from the Alice movie!"

"Rugrat," Madara says, irritation building as he pinches the bridge of his nose and waves his glasses in her direction. "I don't think you understand why those two pairs like to match each other."

"Do too!"

"You do not."

"Do too!"

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"Do not," Madara continues, amusement beginning to creep into his voice as the little blonde practically puffs up as she glares at him, evidently catching on that he's entirely petty enough to sink to her level and stubborn enough to outwait her. Especially when it's amusing.

Tiny eyes narrow at him and then Tsunade gives him a wide, smug smile. "They match because they like-like each other, so you and Uncle are supposed to match because you like-like each other. You're just being stupid because Uncle Izuna played a mean trick on you and you think Uncle Tobirama did it too, so that's why you were unhappy in last year's Halloween picture. But you should stop being dumb so you and Uncle can have fun again."

"You— He— I— NO!" Madara splutters, pointing a finger directly at her nose for emphasis. "Just no! That is not correct!"

"Is so."

"Is no—" Madara cuts himself off, glaring at the cocky girl and shaking his head slowly in denial.

Tsunade huffs. "You're being dumb. I bet you're not brave enough to go ask Uncle Tobirama what happened. I bet you're going to be stubborn and dumb and loudly angry aaall day and have no fun at all and then I'll make Jiraiya hit you with the blue pool noodle."

"I am not supporting the gambling habit you shouldn't have picked up from your dad," Madara says, aware that his left eye is twitching as he mentally lists the reasons why it is utterly unacceptable to randomly throw five year olds in pools when you are twenty-seven. Even if they are being utterly annoying on purpose.

"I think you're chicken!" Tsunade says loudly. "You're just afraid you'll lose the bet!"

"I can't lose the bet if I don't accept the bet, and you're going to get into so much trouble with those two friends of yours one day," Madara predicts, rubbing at his temple and trying not to recall all the ways in which this behavior vaguely reminds him of Hashirama and himself when they were stupid kids. "So. much. trouble."

"I BET THAT—"

"Oh for! FINE! FINE, you stubborn little princess! I'll go talk to your Uncle now would you just- ouch!" Madara yelps as Tsunade lunges forward and tangles her fists in his hair as he tries to get up.

"You have to wear the costume!" she demands bossily. "I promised Uncle Izuna you'd wear it and I promised Uncle Tobirama a month ago that I'd follow Uncle Izuna all around the costume store and I pulled on his hair every time he looked at something stupid just like Uncle Tobirama told me to do and Auntie Touka laughed and said I did just what I was supposed to and you're going to wear the costume I made him pick out!"

Madara stares at her incredulously for that rant, and then forcibly untangles her fists from his hair while grumbling about irritating nieces and the general insanity of everyone he knows. It's possible he loses at least twenty hairs from her stubborn yanking, but he finally gets his head back and shoves his glasses back on.

The two people in the room - the grown man at twenty-seven and the child at five - have a glaring contest for a few minutes, looking cutely reminiscent of one another as they narrow their eyes with crossed arms.

In the end, Madara huffs at himself in disgust and snatches up the bag to head into the bathroom.

He can practically feel Tsunade radiating satisfaction through the door.

Tobirama strides through the crowd of costumed individuals with purpose, self-directed irritation, and a chilly demeanor that makes people freeze up or jump out of his path as he wastes key minutes by lugging the half-empty bag of ice around the L-shaped pool hugging the house and back to the front door. By the time he reenters the building, Madara has thankfully cleared out of the living room and left an unimpressed Koharu standing guard over the snack tables, smacking away hands with a paper fan in true Genjo Sanzo fashion.

This had not been how Tobirama had expected today to go.

"Hashirama!" he demands, forcibly shutting the front door and briskly storming into the kitchen. "Why does he have glasses?"

His brother's head jerks up from where he's crouching behind the kitchen island, wide-eyed and with a half-eaten pear tartlet in hand. "Oh it's just you," Hashirama breathes in relief, taking another bite of the tartlet and sneaking a look past Tobirama's legs and through the entryway. "I thought it was Madara for a moment."

"You're a horrible example for children, brother," Tobirama says, unimpressed as Hashirama gulps down the last few bites. "And that doesn't answer my question."

"Wha' question?" Hashirama mumbles through pastry, quickly washing his hands free of evidence.

"The glasses," Tobirama stresses, feeling unaccountably irritated at this unwanted rearrangement of his outlook on life. "Why is Madara wearing glasses?"

"Be...cause he needs them to see clearly?" Hashirama haltingly answers, confused at both the weird question and Tobirama's intensity.

"Since when?"

"Since before I met him? Are you alright, Tobirama?"

"He's never once worn glasses in all the years we've known him," Tobirama says flatly, digging his numbing fingers into the bag of ice. "Why is he wearing them now?"

Hashirama starts boisterously laughing as he rubs a hand against the back of his hat and Tobirama narrows his eyes. "Well, that's because I forgot to grab his contacts today like he asked me to! So if you could avoid reminding him that he's annoyed at me for that, it would be great, Tobirama."

"This is YOUR fault!" Tobirama hisses, irate that his brother had set him up by accident and without even realizing he had done it!

"To a degree, yes," Mito says brightly from behind him.

Tobirama stills, looking over his shoulder to find a blue-clad Mito staring at him with unnervingly sharp interest in her eyes, a deceptively placid smile on her lips as she watches him.

"Hello Mito," Tobirama greets, mentally backtracking over everything he had said with swiftly growing pessimism as he realizes that it doesn't matter where in the conversation Mito had started eavesdropping because she looks far, far too amused to not suspect something.

"Tobirama," Mito draws out, reaching up to adjust the yellow fox-squirrel plushie pinned to her shoulder. Her lips curve upwards as her eyes stay latched onto his with a steady focus that feels eerily similar to an archer drawing back a loaded bowstring. "What was this about Madara's glasses?"

Hashirama laughs a bit sheepishly. "Tobirama was just asking about how I... kinda forgot Madara's contacts."

"Yes, I heard that part," Mito says, undeterred, "but what—"

"MITO!" Touka bellows in an unexpected save from the front door. "The delivery man needs more money than I've got on me! Did you find Hashirama yet?"

"Excuse me," Tobirama interjects swiftly, escaping while he still can and grabbing a dish of cookies on the way out so that Mito can't grab either of his arms without spilling desserts or ice everywhere. He can feel Mito's dark eyes drilling into his spine as he makes his way out to the dessert table even as she and Hashirama head towards the front door to deal with the pizza.

The living room starts getting a little claustrophobic as children and adults begin migrating back inside, but he takes advantage of the temporary distraction to carefully rearrange plates to squeeze the additional cookie platter onto the snack table. He dumps the last of the ice in the cooler and looks briefly towards the front door, but he immediately abandons any plan to get pizza when he sees Mito and Touka talking.

Tobirama has no interest in getting trapped by those two. Especially while he's still partly distracted by the rearranging thoughts inside his head.

Since blending into a crowd of people is a lost cause with his height and hair, Tobirama decides to make a completely justified retreat upstairs to... well, not wait out Touka and Mito because that's an equally lost cause but to gather his thoughts and prepare for the unwelcome frontal attack he'll undoubtedly be subjected to before the night ends. It will go much better for him if he shores up his own opinion on Madara before those two get the chance to intercede for their own entertainment. And god forbid Izuna find out about it first: he'll either think it's the most hilarious thing he's ever heard and broadcast it everywhere or he'll have an attack of brotherly sensibilities, find it offensive, and then loudly broadcast it everywhere.

None of which touches on the necessity of eventually dealing with Madara.

Although, he considers from his seat on the floor of the loft as he observes the chaos downstairs, Madara at least is more easily distracted.

Except Tobirama frowns at himself because strictly speaking that isn't true. Madara is easily irritated and flustered at times, but he's also entirely more intelligent and observant that most people assume at first glance. The man's own personality might be very straightforward and open, but it doesn't mean he misses minor signals in other people that he can then use to piece together thoroughly inconvenient conclusions.

Additionally, irritation only tends to make Madara more aware of whomever he's focusing on.

In summary of Tobirama's misfortune, his sudden epiphany has occurred while he's trapped in a house with a hoard of acquaintances, almost every person who knows him well, and also the subject of his realized attraction who has a steadily increasing chance of figuring it out at any random moment rather than through Tobirama's own choice.

Which might possibly happen through one of their relatives laughing at or yelling about it at the top of their lungs.

Tobirama sighs, tilting his head back and lightly thudding it against the wall for good measure.

This could have had better timing. Admittedly, it could have had worse timing as well because he can think of few things more humiliating than if that first distraction over Madara's glasses had happened in front of his family. It would have been a toss up who blurted it out first before he even finished staring, but still... His brain could have had the decency to spring this on him while in the privacy of his own apartment. However, there's nothing to be done about it now. He just has to decide what he wants to do with this idea.

The noise level downstairs surges and recedes in waves as people talk over each other and argue about pizza and drinks and seating. Tobirama's place in the loft gives him an excellent viewpoint to watch everything, including how the less practical costumes get in everyone's way. One exasperated woman just shucks the entire upper half of her outfit after hitting Kagami full in the face with her angel wings. Tobirama's lips twitch as Koharu catches the stumbling Uchiha, Hiruzen grinning to the side while a mummified Danzo deftly snatches up Kagami's drink before it can spill.

The barely audible thud of a door shutting nearby catches Tobirama's attention right before his niece comes barreling down the hall. The little blonde is trailed by Madara who is actually wearing the pale muslin Jedi costume that Tobirama had half expected him to ignore.

Tobirama watches the older man stride forward in a quick burst of speed to bodily snag Tsunade just before she reaches the stairs. The tiny blonde shrieks with glee as Madara spins in place, clinging to the arm under her chest and laughing when the brunet swings her up onto his shoulder with a thump before descending down the stairs.

Light glints off the thin metal frame of Madara's glasses as he tilts his head to the side, bouncing a squealing Tsunade up into the air so that he can jerk his loose black hair out from under her torso. He gestures down at someone in the room below with long-suffering exasperation on his face, but who Madara's looking at isn't clear given that at least a quarter of the people in the room regularly inspire those feelings. It could be a laughing Hashirama, it could be Kagami, or it could very well be Izuna who is currently using his oversized top hat to shield his face from the room (but not regrettably from Tobirama's angle) as he steals kisses from his amused wife.

It's not that he dislikes the idea of finding Madara attractive, Tobirama considers, watching Madara put Tsunade down at the bottom of the stairs and smoothly weave his way through the crowd. Tobirama has found far too much amusement in teasing and matching wits against Madara over the years to not think him interesting. Even their actual arguments tend to be engaging on some level.

Madara is opinionated but fairly reasonable, family-orientated and intelligent, driven and confident and capable. He is frequently exasperated and prickly (especially with Hashirama which frankly is very understandable), but he keeps an eye on the people he knows and he acts when he thinks he needs to rather than standing by.

And while his protectiveness is occasionally unwanted and sometimes stomps right across the line into inconsiderate, it also makes a great deal of sense to Tobirama and resonates with some of his own values.

They'd could work well, he decides, watching as Madara swivels his head around, seeming to search for something. They would probably bicker more than most couples, but if Tobirama had preferred quiet serenity and peaceful interactions, his first comment to Madara today wouldn't have been "nice costume" to begin with.

He likes having someone to compete with. Things become... dull otherwise.

Tobirama reclines against the wall with arms folded, tapping a single finger against his bicep as he muses over the pros and cons carefully. He watches through the gaps in the loft railing as Hashirama blithely drags Madara to the front of the room for a public acknowledgement and thanks for 'having volunteered to contribute all the homemade sweets'. He chuckles softly as Madara gives Hashirama a look, eyes flashing behind his glasses, and it's immediately obvious who knows Madara and Hashirama well because there's a massive upswing of laughter from those individuals at the word 'volunteer'. Madara escapes as soon as possible after that, snagging a drink and plate of pizza as he resumes searching.

Tobirama catalogs his features, actively looking at the other man's appearance in a way he usually doesn't bother with and Madara's... handsome. The glasses had startled him because they subtly change Madara's appearance from what Tobirama is accustomed to. They make his visage a bit novel and draw attention to how well Madara has matured from the fourteen-year-old boy Hashirama had first dragged home. At some point while they had been bickering and talking and otherwise existing in the same loose social circles, Madara had gone from a good-looking boy to a highly attractive man and Tobirama had just never considered noticing.

Madara was simply Madara: Hashirama's friend, Izuna's brother, and a decent person to waste time with on occasion.

Although, there are two major downsides to seeing if Madara would be interested, Tobirama thinks, raising an eyebrow as the brunet pauses and then twists to look straight up at him. The Uchiha stares with a neutral expression that's slightly unclear from this distance and then heads into the kitchen.

The first downside is that if it doesn't work out, neither of us are the type to let go. We wouldn't drift apart so much as implode in what's bound to be a noisy, violent mess, Tobirama acknowledges, brow furrowing slightly as he watches Madara leave the kitchen with a serving tray, snatching up more pizza, another drink, and then a medium plate full of a variety of sweets. The brunet heads for the stairs after that, pausing on the way to snap at Izuna, glare at Touka, and then abruptly stop in order to avoid running over Tsunade and her cohorts. All of whom remind Tobirama of the second, very significant reason for why dating Madara could be a terrible idea.

That reason being that if they do implode, they have too many friends and family members in common to avoid each other.

"Did you immediately come up here to avoid people like a hermit?" Madara asks, rounding the top of the stairs and approaching the loft.

"More Mito and Touka than anyone else," Tobirama admits, letting himself subtly appreciate the view as he traces Madara's features before giving into the urge to smirk. "And you? Did you decide chef wasn't enough, so you'd revisit your teenage experience as wait staff?"

"Don't remind me," Madara scoffs, putting the platter down beside Tobirama's feet and settling himself on the other side. "If I'm ever desperate enough to work in customer service again, it will be too soon."

"You were remarkably poor at it," Tobirama agrees, shifting so they're sitting side-by-side with the food in between them. He picks up the plate that had clearly been chosen with him in mind given that it has pepperoni and the black olives that Madara hates with a passion. He takes a bite, idly wondering when they had started remembering each other's food preferences.

"Thank you, by the way," Tobirama says after the first slice. "I was expecting to have to wait until far later before sneaking down for something to eat."

Madara waves it off dismissively, staring at him with a contemplative expression. "Did you know," he asks abruptly, "that Tsunade has internalized some odd ideas about how costumes work?"

"Oh?"

"Apparently she's gotten the idea that, at least for adults, having matching costumes is something people do when they 'like-like' each other," Madara says, humor sneaking into his tone as he looks down to select a chocolate eye with a sharingan design, missing how Tobirama blinks in surprise.

"That's—" ironically on point actually "— interesting. Especially since she's made other people wear her costume choices several times so far."

Madara snorts, clearly remembering last year and Tsunade's detailed plan to pick out and help her parents make costumes for their families. Touka as a pokemon trainer with himself, Madara, and Izuna as the three legendary birds had been one thing, Tsunade as Sailor Moon with Mito as a white-clad Shitennou had been another... but there is still a strong division of opinion over whether Hashirama had been more hilarious or more traumatic while wearing Sailor Jupiter's uniform.

(Given that Tobirama had once looked away from arguing with Madara to catch his sister-in-law staring at Hashirama's upper thighs with entirely too much intent, Tobirama is going with traumatic. No amount of cute family pictures will ever get that image out of his head.

Madara, the lucky bastard, had completely missed seeing that moment and thus has a different opinion.)

"Perhaps Tsunade thinks group costumes work on a different premise," Madara theorizes. "Either way, I just had to deal with a bossy five-year-old giving me Hashirama flashbacks while demanding I wear this so that YOU 'wouldn't feel left out'."

"And did you give in as quickly as you did last year?" Tobirama asks, eyes flicking pointedly over tan Jedi robes and down to Madara's utility belt, lightsaber, and boots.

Madara gives him a dirty look void of any real force. "Don't be so amused, Tobirama. There was hair-pulling, threats of pool noodles, and loud accusations of stupidity and cowardice. It would have been more annoying to deal with her all night than just wearing the damn outfit."

"I see," Tobirama says, amusement brimming in his voice. "So more blatant than Mito's threats but without Hashirama's ridiculous sulking, hm?"

"More or less," Madara concedes with annoyed resignation, leaning back on his hands and rotating his neck in a stretch before sighing and looking at Tobirama with sharply watchful eyes. "I'll be blunt since Tsunade brought it into question: exactly who knew in advance about that... that..." Madara's left eye begins to twitch as his mouth twists in the I'm-trying-not-to-yell expression that Tobirama often sees when Hashirama is especially frustrating in public.

The topic clicks.

"Two years ago?" Tobirama confirms obliquely, watching Madara nod briskly, hands fisting against the carpet. "Well, obviously it started with Izuna being an ass and his idea of what makes an appropriate practical joke against us both. Touka likewise has an evil sense of humor and an inclination towards humoring Izuna at both our expenses, so his making crossdressing the theme was just fine by her. For everyone else, I couldn't say. Although if you consider Hikaku's expression of rapidly dawning trepidation before he made himself scarce, he certainly hadn't known."

"Then... you weren't actively involved? It was a sensible assumption!" Madara snaps defensively as Tobirama narrows his eyes over a lemon bar. "I did notice that they never steal your costume, and you had a maid outfit that covered everything from shoulders to knees instead of BIKINI ARMOR!"

"I tell them what theme our costumes should be with the understanding that I'll only cooperate so long as I am the one to buy my costume and they leave it alone. The theme that year was supposed to be fantasy, as in a fantasy thief and an armored mage. Your brother," Tobirama emphasizes, taking on an icy tone at the reminder, "decided he would creatively reinterpret that as being a fantasy instead!"

Madara pauses to consider that, face steadily filling with pained realization as he presses two fingers to his temple underneath the arm of his glasses. "That... sounds like Izuna. Why did you have the maid costume though if you buy your own?"

"I had no time that year, and in a failure of judgment I asked him to grab mine as well when he went shopping with Touka," Tobirama explains, glaring downstairs where Izuna is performing hat tricks for a laughing audience. "The only reason mine wasn't as bad as yours is that apparently 'no one wants to see your pale scrawny chest, Senju'."

"... I should have done more to get back at the brat," Madara sighs, tension draining out of his shoulders as he brings up his right knee and slings an arm around it. "My apologies then for thinking you were culpable and for..."

"Being a bastard more frequently these last two years," Tobirama offers dryly as Madara waves a hand, searching for words. The Uchiha sends him a flat look but noticeably doesn't object before rolling his eyes and nodding. "I was hardly a victimized party in our petty arguments, but apology accepted. However, I expect you to keep in mind that I have far better taste before associating me with your brother's jokes again. Otherwise I'm open to giving you something genuine to hold against me."

Madara snorts before nodding, and they fall silent as they finish off the last of the desserts that Madara had brought with him.

"There is one more thing Tsunade brought up," Madara says, turning curious eyes to Tobirama and catching his attention more for the absentminded way he licked crumbs off his fingers than for his words. "Did you really assign Tsunade to police my brother's costume choices?"

Tobirama holds up a single finger as an evil smirk crosses his lips. "Wait," he says, reaching into one of the pouches on his belt to retrieve his phone. "And of course I did: someone responsible needed to be there to supervise given the existence of Princess Leia slave costumes."

Madara's face darkens at that as Tobirama unlocks his phone, accessing the photo album and scrolling backwards past the pictures from his recent trip. After a moment, an interested Madara moves the empty tray out from between them and shuffles closer to get a better look, causing the hairs on Tobirama's arms to stand up at the close proximity. Madara braces an arm behind Tobirama's back and a few locks of long black hair fall forward to rest against Tobirama's shoulder, almost blending in against his Sith costume.

Tobirama pauses momentarily, a little annoyed with how easily an average action now catches his attention, but at that point he finally finds the photos Touka had forwarded to him and passes the phone over to Madara.

Madara immediately barks out a laugh, bringing the phone up to see better as he scrolls through dozens of hilarious pictures of Izuna's Halloween shopping trip. Tobirama watches Madara while he's distracted: observing how emotions play across his face, thinking about the arm behind his back and the way they're nearly the same height.

"This is fantastic," Madara mutters, a hint of vicious satisfaction and schadenfreude lining his smile as he savors a particularly glorious picture of Izuna bent in half, caught mid-yelp and stumbling as the much shorter Tsunade stomps around the store, dragging him behind her by the long hair tangled around her fists. "Where did you get these?"

"Touka," Tobirama offers, making up his mind as he leans in to lightly rest his shoulder against Madara, who automatically angles towards him under the apparent assumption that Tobirama is trying to see the phone better. "Just because she humors her husband doesn't mean she's above finding humor at his expense either."

"At least she's fair about that," Madara says, smirking as he quickly selects all the photos and sends them to his own phone. "I think I'm going to print one of these out and carry it in my wallet as stress relief for whenever Izuna's driving me up the wall. Mom will think these are adorable even if Dad tries to pretend he never saw them."

"You know," Tobirama begins, voice deepening to a rumble as a idea crystallizes in his mind. "I have something interesting we can do if you have time and don't mind avoiding everyone else for a while longer."

"What wer—" Madara cuts off as he looks up, blinking at how close Tobirama's face is. He slowly draws back a bit, brows furrowing as he returns the phone and glances between the smug smile slowly widening on Tobirama's lips and the glint lurking in his red eyes. Madara pauses, but... "What did you have in mind?" he asks slowly.

Red eyes drift down to linger suggestively on Madara's lap where a lightsaber lay nestled in the crease between Madara's abs and upraised thigh before slowly meandering back up until a faintly smirking Tobirama is once more staring at Madara's face. Tobirama leans back and flows to his feet with sinuous grace, keeping eye contact as he steps around the seated brunet.

"Are you coming?" Tobirama purrs over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded as he walks towards the guest bedroom, detaching his own lightsaber and removing items from his belt as he goes.

Madara stares after him, eyebrows raised high, but climbs to his feet and follows.

"I can't find either of them," Mito tells Touka as she comes down the stairs, pouting slightly as she checks the living room once more. "It's like Tobirama and Madara just vanished into thin air. I did find their phones and wallets on the guest room's bedside table though."

"I'll try outside one more time then," Touka says, shrugging and handing over her camera. "They've got to be somewhere, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're trying to escape the costume contest. Hold onto this for me since Hashirama's about to start."

She walks through the crowd, waving acknowledgement at Izuna on the other side of the room and slips out the front door just as Hashirama starts calling for attention behind her.

"Everyone! Everyone, quiet please!" Hashirama calls out, hands cupped around his mouth. He beams around the room as the din begins to die down. "So at my brother's suggestion, we've decided to have a few categories in our annual costume contest this year instead of just one general winner. So we'll have most original, most accurate reproduction, a category for cute, an uh... 'attractive' category," Hashirama says with a grin at the low laugh that goes around the room, "and then the top prize! So we're going to take pictures of everyone's costume during the next half hour and then Touka is going to... Touka?"

Hashirama cranes his head around looking for his cousin, and Mito steps up next to her husband. "She's currently stepped out to—"

"What's that thumping sound?" Jiraiya interrupts loudly.

Everyone pauses to listen and a faint irregular thudding sound becomes obvious. A few guests lilt their heads back to look at the ceiling in confusion right as Touka starts laughing hysterically outside.

"MITO! MITO, BRING ME MY CAMERA!" she yells between bursts of laughter. "I FOUND MADARA AND TOBIRAMA ON THE ROOF IN FLAGRANTE DELICTO!"

Izuna inhales sharply, choking violently on his drink and coughing as it goes down his windpipe. Dead silence descends on the room except for his spluttering and hacking as he grabs for a napkin to mop up the liquid on his face. Hashirama's mouth falls open as he mechanically turns his head towards the front door, and Mito's eyebrows shoot up. Expressions range from shocked to aghast to humored interest and then Orochimaru speaks up.

"What does 'in flagrante delicto' refer to?" he asks, sharp eyes fixed on the wheezing Izuna.

As if it was a prearranged signal, an intrigued Mito bolts for the front door, quickly followed by Izuna and Hashirama. A flood of people follow her while others stream out the back, and it's more miracle than caution that keeps any kids from getting trampled in the melee.

"That is SO COOL!" Jiraiya exclaims, skidding to a stop on the front lawn as he catches sight of the two men on the roof. The white haired boy jumps up and down in excitement as chatter breaks out among the guests. "I want to do that!"

"Not unless Orochimaru and I get to as well!" Tsunade snaps. "Aunt Touka! Aunt Touka!" Tsunade demands, tugging on Touka's chain mail as the laughing woman plants her hands on her hips. "How do we get up on the roof?"

"TOBIRAMA! MADARA!" Hashirama yells, waving his arms frantically as if that would get their attention more successfully. "This isn't what I meant when I said you should get along better! Get off the roof before you break your necks! This is not appropriate!"

"You are an evil woman," Izuna says, voice hoarse as he stares with betrayal and admiration at his wife's toothy grin.

"MADARAAA—!"

"I don't know what you mean, Izuna?" Touka mocks, accepting her camera from Mito as she quickly begins filming. "In flagra—"

"Shut up, Hashirama, you hypocrite! You've got no place to talk about doing dangerous things for fun!" Madara bellows, pointing his glowing green lightsaber down in Hashirama's direction, hair flowing like a banner in the wind as he abruptly ducks under a vicious slice from Tobirama's red blade before lunging sideways.

"—icto refers to being caught in the act of doing something one shouldn't be doing," Touka finishes with toothy amusement. "And they definitely shouldn't be up on the roof having a lightsaber battle as the sun sets dramatically behind them. Did you know I heard one of them say something about the Dark Side? Those nerds," she says fondly, slowly walking backwards to get a better angle for the camera. "I bet the idea of having a lightsaber fight was at least seventy percent of the reason my geeky little cousin picked Star Wars this year."

"Evil," Izuna insists, matching her steps while keeping his eyes fixed on Madara's struggle with the white-haired 'Sith' on top of the second story. "You are nothing but pure—"

"—evil, Lord Tobirama," Madara says, glaring and resisting the urge to grin in Tobirama's face.

Tobirama gives him a look of cool superiority over their locked lightsabers, pale features turned eerie and unnatural in the vivid mix of red and green light. "You overlook too much in your philosophy. The Dark Side is not evil: it's merely another power. It's only practical to use all available tools to achieve your objectives. Limiting themselves to only the Light Side while eschewing the Dark is why the Jedi Order is weak!"

Tobirama breaks to the side and surges forward in a lunge that Madara spins away from. They circle each other with predatory focus, recentering their fight in the middle of the roof.

"We use passion as our strength," Tobirama explains calmly, steps falling in gentle thuds. "Strength is about passion and the discipline to force it to serve your cause. Your passion shines, Madara, and your discipline in battle is admirable. Give in."

"You are not all powerful!" Madara declares dramatically, snapping his sword out in a flurry of hits, striking Tobirama's red lightsaber with harsh clacks. A small portion of Madara's mind laments that their swords don't make the appropriate humming sound when they clash. The rest of him, however, is busy concentrating on getting one up on Tobirama while keeping track of where they are on the roof.

Tobirama smiles darkly, sword gleaming in the dim light of dusk. "I hardly need to be, dear Jedi."

A black-clad leg sweeps out at Madara's feet, red saber quickly following its path, and the Jedi jumps sideways over them both. He twists to land in a crouch, bracing himself with one hand as he lashes out. His green sword brushes against the trailing fabric of Tobirama's long black undertunic, and Madara curses.

No point for him this time.

"The Force is an indifferent ocean, Madara. It doesn't care for morals or mercy. It simply exists and consumes the ignorant who misstep. All the Jedi do by serving it is float on rafts and wait for a riptide to pull them under. You must learn its rules, the principles that govern it, and harness it to your cause! Rules and laws exist in the Force, but they are only as strong as the will that enforces them! Accept my help!"

The Sith attacks with a rapid combo, stubborn ferocity giving life to his face and emphasizing his savage markings and cold beauty. Madara matches him strike for strike, taking a grazing blow to his sleeve and returning it with a solid hit to the thigh. "I need no help from your kind!"

"You do," Tobirama purrs. "Some may consider it unnatural, but the Dark Side is a pathway to many useful abilities. To cheat death is a power only one has achieved throughout all the centuries of studying the Force. Come to the Dark Side, Madara," he entreats persuasively. "I will help you find the strength to revive your brother."

Madara snorts in laughter, immediately scowling and spitting out a curse as Tobirama smirks victoriously at his break in character.

Well, Madara had known that Tobirama would have an advantage when it came to emotional control. He'd just have to gain yet more points through battle to make up for it.

"You're a Sith, Lord Tobirama," Madara says as he begins again, matching Tobirama's smirk with one of his own as he shifts into a sideways stance to present a smaller target. He rotates his saber in a lazy circle in front of him, green sliding in and out of his line of sight as he locks eyes with his enemy. "The only help you offer, the only truths you speak, are those meant to cut open hearts and drain out all the good so that your rot can seep in through the cracks."

"You give me too much credit, Master Jedi. I define and illuminate what qualities already exist in people: I add nothing. I don't need to," Tobirama says, smirk fading back into an impassive expression as he circles Madara in slow deliberate steps. Occasionally he lashes out to test Madara's defenses, becoming increasingly focused as he fails to land a solid hit. "Hatred is a curse in force users. You have it even now. It is unavoidable."

"Nothing is unavoidable if you have hope. If you're willing to dream of and work for a better future then even the world can be changed!" Madara refutes stubbornly. He deflects another attack and, with a sharp flick of his wrist, almost succeeds in yanking Tobirama's lightsaber away.

"Excessive optimism," Tobirama says derisively, shaking out his sore wrist and switching his lightsaber to his other hand. "It is your destiny to fall to the Dark. You, like many before you, are now mine," he says darkly, something flickering in red eyes under the false possessiveness. "And if you will not be turned, you will be destroyed."

Madara smiles viciously. "That would be more menacing if you had actually managed to hit me yet."

With a glare, Tobirama attacks in a whirl of dizzying color, and Madara matches him: blow for blow and step for step.

They trade positions, switching back and forth between offense and defense as they dance across the roof. They ignore the crowd of people on the ground below: their cheers and their hoots, their laughter and Hashirama's muddled yelling about something or other. They focus on each other: on the coming strikes and deflected blows, on trusting their opponent to shift as needed to accommodate their rooftop battleground.

"The Force is strong with you," Tobirama breathes, locking blades once more, pupils blown in the dim light as he blinks away the brightness of their sabers. "A powerful Sith you will become one day. With our combined strength, we could end this destructive conflict, these wars that constantly range throughout the galaxy, and bring order to the people!"

"You may have a point, Tobirama," Madara grunts, shoving the taller man back. "But order and peace, real peace... That's not a dream you should be allowed to enforce!"

Tobirama smirks. "There is no escape. Don't make me destroy you, Madara."

"As if you could!" Madara snaps. Tobirama lunges forward, and Madara grabs his wrist to stop a sideways slash, brings up his own blade for a overhead slice, quickly steps backwards to pull Tobirama off balance, and—

The roof shingle underneath him breaks loose with a crack.

Madara yelps. Off-balance on a single foot, his ankle turns and he goes down hard. He lets go of Tobirama in time to avoid taking the other man down with him, and in the midst of a tumbling roll he lets go of his lightsaber in favor of trying to stop his momentum.

Tobirama curses, scrambling after Madara to the sound of screams. He gets a solid grip on Madara's left arm just as the man clears the roof and grunts as he's yanked to his knees.

Seventy kilos of adult male swing into the side of the house an instant later, and Tobirama twitches at the resounding thud.

"Are you alright?" Tobirama asks sharply, slowly maneuvering into a different position for better leverage as he braces himself with his left arm.

"...ow," Madara says tightly, fingers digging into Tobirama's elbow even as his right hand shoots out and grabs the edge of the roof. "That... stung a bit. Incidentally, I'm positive I just heard our lightsabers shatter as they hit the ground so there goes the idea of a damn rematch."

Tobirama snorts, carefully glancing down the side of the building to see if there's anything Madara can brace himself on, but the second story doesn't have any windows here. "At least you chose to fall off the side of the house that's flush against the pool."

Madara breathes out, planting his feet against the wall and carefully looking over his shoulder at the pool below him. The water is deep enough here that it would be fine if he fell so that's comforting. He would prefer to go in at an angle though rather than falling straight down if he has to do it. Having more distance from the house would put a larger space between his landing point and the concrete edge of the pool.

"Do you think you can pull yourself up if I help you, Madara?"

Madara considers it. He looks down at the pool, glances up at Tobirama, takes stock of his newly sore shoulder, and glances down at the pool one more time as calculations tick over in his head.

(Madara had recently watched an animated movie with his mother and Tsunade where a side character had a devil and an angel on either shoulder who tried to persuade him to do the right or wrong thing. Said morality advisors had looked like miniature, costumed versions of the character in question.

As he stares down at the water though, Madara's pretty sure that the evil little voice maniacally laughing in the back of his head sounds more like Izuna than himself. And there might be another voice arguing against being a bastard for the sake of humor, but that one sounds a lot like Hashirama and Madara is still annoyed about his contacts and the early morning kidnapping for sweets, so...

You only live once right?)

"Madara?"

He looks up at a frowning Tobirama, concern written faintly into the crease of his brow, and Madara grins. It's a wide, childish, gleeful grin that pushes his cheeks up enough to brush the rim of his glasses, and Madara can't quite remember the last time he's been this genuinely amused and pleased with himself.

Tobirama narrows his eyes in suspicion. "What are you—"

"A true Jedi Knight," Madara interrupts, letting go of the roof to grab Tobirama's arm with both hands, "would never accept a deal from a Sith Lord."

Red eyes widen abruptly before Tobirama glares, "Don't you dare—!"

With a push of his feet, Madara shoves away from the house and drags them both off the roof and into the pool.

Tobirama surfaces to the sound of laughing spectators and the distinct feeling that he should have seen that coming.

At least he ended up kneeing Madara in the stomach when they hit the water.

He swims over to the side of the pool rather than taking the long way to the steps and hoists himself up to sit on the edge. Madara finally comes up for air behind him in a hacking mess of spluttering coughing, and for about two seconds, Tobirama is genuinely concerned over how much pool water the man had inhaled a moment ago when Tobirama had crash landed on top of him.

Then it becomes apparent that half the reason Madara can't breathe is because he's laughing too hard and Tobirama stops giving a damn.

"You are such an incredibly reckless ass," Tobirama says flatly, irritated and wet and in no way willing to admit to any humor at the situation.

"I'm sorry," Madara says insincerely between bursts of laughter and coughing and water-logged giggles. "Remind me who it was that suggested we go out a second story window and climb a tree in order to have a lightsaber fight on the one part of the house that wasn't covered in kids. Oh riiight, that was YOU!"

The Uchiha rests his arms on the edge of the pool, propping his chin on his fist as he grins up at Tobirama. Strands of black hair cling to his forehead and cheeks while drops of water slide down his skin. Madara's wild hair is pulled down by the weight of all the water, and what's not clinging to him floats around him in a dark halo, starkly contrasting the glowing turquoise created by the pool's LED lights.

It's ridiculous and unfair how gorgeous Madara is, especially when he's pleased with himself.

Tobirama's fingers twitch as he watches Madara push hair away from his face. He gets to his feet, pointedly not offering Madara a hand up, and Madara snorts, still grinning as he heaves himself out of the water.

"Well," Madara says, shaking off water and waving towards where Izuna and the rest are lurking several yards away, "it's not exactly the fall from Cloud City, but given I didn't lose a hand either, I'll take it."

"Oh we're not done," Tobirama says slyly, stepping forward. "There's still the matter of who won."

Madara snorts, turning back to him. "Obviously I w—"

Tobirama sweeps out his left leg, knocking Madara's feet out from under him and catching him in a dip before he can hit the concrete. He smirks right in Madara's face as the brunet yelps and reflexively grabs onto him for support.

"SENJU!" Madara yells, squirming as Tobirama grabs his thigh and lifts him clear off the ground. "What the hell do you think you're doing! Put me do—"

Tobirama cuts him off with a kiss, watching from up-close as Madara's eyes widen as he stills in shock. Tobirama draws him in closer using the hand bracing Madara's back, red eyes fluttering shut as he savors the kiss. He ignores the noise in the background, and concentrates on the feeling of lips beneath his, of muscles under his fingers, and of the pleasant warmth of a living body underneath the chill of soaked clothes. The edge of Madara's hand resting against his bare neck stands out in his attention like a ember catching fire, and Tobirama hums in pleasure, trying to coax Madara into responding.

A bead of water slips down Madara's face to where their lips meet. Tobirama draws back slightly to lap up the moisture and Madara moans before finally kissing him back.

Tobirama tightens his grip on Madara's thigh as he deepens the kiss. Fingers thread through the short white hair clinging to his face and Tobirama's eyes flicker open. Madara's gaze is half-lidded and dark and his cheeks are slightly flushed, and when Tobirama pulls back for a breath, it's incredibly gratifying to see black eyes drift to his lips.

"One thing, Madara," Tobirama says lowly, voice rumbling in his chest.

"Yeah?" Madara asks absently, licking his lips.

A smirk spreads across Tobirama's face as he brushes his lips against Madara's one more time.

"I win," he whispers pointedly.

And with that, he heaves the distracted Uchiha back into the pool.

Tobirama ignores the huge splash that further soaks his boots as he works to get his belt off. Everyone else is making a ruckus or catcalling and he glances up in Hashirama's direction to see Touka carefully close her camera before she starts to cackle while hanging off Izuna's shoulder. Said cousin-in-law has his arms crossed and a mildly nauseous glare on his face, and Tobirama responds by raising an indifferent eyebrow as they look at each other.

"You!" Madara splutters as he surfaces. "That! That was a dirty Sith trick!"

Tobirama smirks down at him as he tosses his wet belt to the ground. "How lucky for you then that you got extra exposure to the pool's chlorine to sanitize any dirt you might have picked up."

Madara shoves a wave a water in his direction with a huff, an embarrassed flush darkening his face and neck as he realizes exactly how many people just saw them. He pulls himself back out of the water and sits on the ground with his back to the crowd as he starts pulling off his own shoes.

Tobirama expression softens faintly. "I'll go ask my brother to bring us towels and a change of clothes."

He starts walking towards Hashirama who has one hand over his own eyes and the other over a struggling Tsunade's. Mito, of course, looks completely unbothered and starts a slow appreciative clapping as he gets closer. "Very nice," she compliments, ignoring how her gigantic husband groans and curls in on himself.

"I've been deliberating words that begin with the letter 'D'," Izuna says, resting his hand on his sword and glaring at Tobirama through yellow-green contacts while wrinkling his nose. "Disgusting. Disturbing. You are a Disreputable, Deceptive Dastard who almost Damaged Hashirama's Darling Daughter and Destroyed my peace of mind by Deciding to switch from a Duel to seducing my Dear brother to the Dark Side!"

"That would be thirteen points to Izuna," Mito calculates under her breath as Touka wheezes harder.

Tobirama glares right back at the shorter man in his mismatched colors and kilt. "My Deepest apologies, Izuna. I Didn't know your sensibilities were so Delicate. I had heard you were a Dependable adult who had Darted over for Dinner and babysitting before. However, if you're Distressed by Disney level actions such as a Dip and a kiss when I haven't even attempted to Defile your brother yet, I'm sure Tsunade would be willing to go through her movie collection the next time you watch her and carefully Designate the Different films you can safely watch. That way a true love's kiss Doesn't Darken your night and make you Despair as you wish for Death," he retorts scathingly.

Izuna glowers at him indignantly, mouth working soundlessly as he tries to move past his outrage and horror, and with particular pleasure Tobirama adds: "You Dork."

"And that's seventeen," Mito chirps.

"Stop, stop!" Touka rasps. "I can't breathe!"

"Why couldn't you have just gotten off the roof earlier before you two fell?" Hashirama asks plaintively, clearly trying to ignore everything related to the kiss.

Tobirama gives his brother a flat look before turning to Touka as she catches her breath. "I assume you got most of that on video?"

"Well I missed the beginning, but I got everything since right before Madara yelled at Hashirama," she says with a grin, tugging playfully on Izuna's long hair. "And Izuna here is going to get me copies of everyone's vid files from their phones so that I can put together a beautiful edit of the entire event."

"I don't remember agreeing to do that," Izuna says, still watching Tobirama with narrowed eyes as the Senju shucks off the soaked tabard he had worn over his inner tunics.

"You don't want your reward?" Touka asks idly, slowly smiling as Izuna's head immediately snaps in her direction. "How sad. And I was so looking forward to hearing about your father's reaction when he sees what Madara was up to."

Tobirama refrains from scrunching up his nose at the exchange, looking over at Hashirama whose smile has become a little fixed. "Could you get us some towels and a change of clothes? We can use the storage shed to switch outfits."

"Absolutely!" Hashirama exclaims in relief, picking up both Tsunade and Jiraiya and practically running for the front door while they complain. Tobirama rolls his eyes and Mito smiles after her husband fondly, gently pushing Orochimaru to follow.

"TOBIRAMA!" Madara yells from behind him. "Get back here and help me find my glasses! They got knocked off when we fell!"

"Excuse me," Tobirama says dryly to Mito. He stops after a few steps away though and turns back to Izuna. "I almost forgot," the Senju says with a wicked smirk. "Do you remember what happened after I saw the only costume I let you buy me, Izuna?"

"... The maid one?" Izuna confirms suspiciously.

"Yes," Tobirama answers mockingly, walking backwards as he pointedly peels off his wet inner tunics, leaving him in only his pants and boots. "Well, your brother does."

Izuna narrows his eyes, watching as Tobirama walks backwards in order to continue smirking at him. The brunet mouths 'your brother does, your brother does' to himself several times, trying to pin down where Tobirama's trick is.

Tobirama tilts his chin up smugly, gesturing at his bare chest from shoulders to hips before turning around and sauntering off.

"I think," Touka comments, sounding terrifyingly amused as she rests her chin on his shoulder, "that my little cousin was referring to what you said about why you bought him that maid costume two years ago."

Izuna frowns at her. "What do y—"

     No one wants to see your pale scrawny chest, Senju.

     Well, your brother does.

Izuna's mouth falls open as the penny drops.

"YOU GUDDLER'S SCUTTISH PILGAR-LICKERING, SHUKM-JUGGLING SLUKING URPAL!"

"What the hell is Izuna screeching about?" Madara asks Tobirama as the man sits down next to him, baffled as he squints over at his brother. The only thing Madara can clearly make out from the ramble of disgusted sounds and gibberish is Izuna cursing the Senju name. And given that the two blurry figures standing next to his brother are a brunet in something shiny and a red-head wearing a blue dress, he's willing to bet it's Tobirama and not Hashirama that Izuna's yelling at.

"It's nothing that he didn't bring upon himself," Tobirama says with satisfaction, taking off a boot and holding it upside down so that water can drain out.

"He does tend to do that," Madara agrees with amusement, ringing out his tunic one more time before tossing it into the pile of cloth resting nearby. "Do you happen to see my glasses now that you're here?"

"Give me a moment," Tobirama says, lifting his arms his head and stretching his spine with a pop.

Madara swallows before looking away, brain all too willing to conspire with his memory in order to fill in the details he can't see at the moment. He gathers his hair in front of him and squeezes out the water, deliberately not watching as Tobirama turns and slips back into the pool.

Madara isn't a hundred percent sure how he got here today. Metaphorically, that is. Literally, he is perfectly aware of how he got both 'here' as in the house and 'here' as in the pool and a Senju is at fault for both of them, but metaphorically he feels like he somehow walked through a familiar door and into the wrong house. It's like that time Hashirama came into his apartment and absently moved one item three inches to the right while waiting, and while Madara had known it was Hashirama's fault something felt weird, he hadn't known what the something was.

Except that the metaphor is backwards because it's damn obvious what changed here but Madara has no clue what caused it.

Tobirama surfaces with a quiet splash behind him. "Here," he says, handing the glasses over before getting out.

"My hero," Madara mutters absently, using his pants to wipe off most of the water on the lenses. He doesn't bother to put them on while they're still streaked with liquid and just stares as Tobirama sits right next to him. "Why the hell did you kiss me?" he blurts out finally.

"I wanted to," Tobirama says frankly, staring straight at him.

"That's not a good reason!" Madara argues.

Tobirama huffs softly in an almost laugh, looking up with eyes creased slightly in humor. "I'm fairly certain that's one of the best reasons to kiss someone, Madara."

"You know what I mean!" Madara insists, gesturing with one hand as he leans in. "That's not a good reason for why now."

Something slightly rueful crosses Tobirama's face as red eyes flicker away and return. "There was also the glasses."

"The..." Madara squeezes his eyes shut and reopens them like that will somehow force reality to make sense again. "The glasses?"

Tobirama raises an eyebrow unrepentantly.

"You kissed me... because of my glasses?"

"They're a little charming."

"I've worn glasses before!" Madara exclaims, pointing said glasses at Tobirama's nose.

"You really haven't," Tobirama stresses lightly, eyes darkening as his expression shifts, gaining a subtle heat that makes Madara's breath hitch.

"You... You have a glasses kink?" he asks, a little weakly.

"Absolutely not," Tobirama refutes simply. "I like those glasses. On you specifically." He pretends to think for a moment before smirking at Madara. "And I suppose that since you come with the glasses I'll just have to take you as well. It's a terrible hardship, but you're amusing enough and fun to provoke."

Madara barks a laugh, rubbing the side of his hand across his mouth as his ears go hot. "I suppose you're not terrible either," he admits, smirking back. "Even if I do occasionally want to strangle you... I can't believe you kissed me because of my glasses though! I wasn't even wearing them!"

"It did also let me win."

"You did NOT win," Madara counters immediately, eyes narrowing at Tobirama's cocky smirk. "I definitely had more points even before I dragged you off the roof and that should count for extra."

"I bodily tossed you in the pool."

"It still doesn't cancel out my previous points!"

"The number of your points hardly matters, Uchiha: I still win."

"How does that even make sense!" Madara demands.

Tobirama smirks, shifting closer so that their bare shoulders are almost touching. "It's simple: you won the pointless fight, I won the war that actually mattered. After all, I got exactly what I wanted out of this, didn't I? Not quite a full Xanatos gambit like a proper Darksider, but it was quite effective in the end."

Madara swallows as Tobirama leans in a little further. "And what exactly is it you think you've won, Tobirama?" Madara asks, voice dropping as he leans forward in turn.

"A date," Tobirama purrs. "How about tomorrow for lunch? You can try and argue some more about who won then?"

"Ye— wait," Madara curses himself. "I have plans, but... dinner? Or, or you could come with me earlier?" he offers, wincing a bit at the embarrassing way his voice rises in hope at the end of the question.

"I'd like that," Tobirama agrees simply, expression soft as he moves to kiss Madara again.

Madara reaches out a hand to cup a tattooed cheek, eyes falling shut and—

"KISSY, KISSY, KISSY!"

"See! See I told you Uncle Tobirama like-liked you!"

The mood shatters like fine porcelain on stone and Madara groans, dropping his head onto Tobirama's shoulder. "I hate people," Madara bitches, lips brushing against the damp skin of Tobirama's collarbone, bitterly annoyed that the brats had ruined the moment as the younger man shivers against him. "I really hate them. Especially white haired ones and nosy nieces."

"Really?" Tobirama drawls, frustrated amusement in his voice as he lays a hand on the back of Madara's head.

"Shut up. Having white hair doesn't mean you're a kid so you don't count. Do you think Mito kept the receipt when she and Hashirama brought that whelp home from the hospital? I'd like to take her back for a less stubborn and mouthy model."

"But you're such an ass that if your favorite people weren't incredibly stubborn, you wouldn't be interested in them at all," Tobirama says lightly, leaning his head against Madara's.

Madara snorts. "They probably don't make non-stubborn Senju anyway considering how the concept is inherently an oxymoron."

"And that's not even accounting for the Uzumaki blood," Tobirama reminds him in amusement, a shiver spreading across his skin at the overdramatic way Madara groans against his neck at the thought. "Get up. I'll go grab the towels before Hashirama figures out whether he wants to stick his head in the sand, give you a shovel talk, or just skip the talk and go straight for the shovel."

"Fuck, I knew there must be a reason this is a terrible idea," Madara says, paling a few shades. Even so he catches Tobirama's hand as the other man stands up. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Tobirama confirms, smiling slightly as he squeezes his hand.

Madara watches Tobirama head for the house on the other side of the pool and grins.

He supposes he'll have to forgive Hashirama for waking him up at six o'clock today after all.

Epilogue

/The next day/

"Ready, Tsunade?"

"Ready!"

"Madara, Touka is down there with Hashirama and Izuna. Are you sure this is how you want to introduce Tsunade to the concept of acceptable collateral damage and Pyrrhic victories?"

"Did you like that maid costume? No? Then shut up and grab a duck, Tobirama."

~*~

/Sunday, 5:30AM/

~*~

THE END