#cajoled

Kakuzu catches himself with one hand on the Hokage desk and one hand on the back of Hashirama’s seat even as Hashirama yanks him down by the front of his shirt. Hashirama is the only person Kakuzu allows to manhandle him like this, but even with the allowance freely given, the unmistakable challenge in Hashirama’s strong grip and mischievous eyes send a hot bolt of competitiveness through him. Resolutely, he stifles the temptation as best he can. Hashirama has been playing around for two days, now---he can wait a little longer. As far as Kakuzu is concerned, Hashirama owes him as much for all the teasing he’s pulled. 

“Hashirama,” Kakuzu warns, voice maddeningly level. Hashirama hasn’t pulled him any further in, but neither has Kakuzu pulled away. Instead, they are in a stalemate, waiting to see who breaks first, who caves earlier, practically daring each other to both close the gap and to break away (do it---you won’t). Their faces are close---close enough that Kakuzu can feel the heat coming off of Hashirama---but not quite close enough for Hashirama to kiss him without getting up out of his seat. 

Hashirama’s expression is pleasant---practically tranquil. His smile is broad and easy, and his eyes lazily trace over Kakuzu’s arms, his shoulders, his neck---before settling on his eyes, then on his mask, where his mouth would be. Kakuzu can tell Hashirama is imagining what’s underneath the mask even though he’s seen Kakuzu’s face plenty of times before. Hashirama’s expression is nothing short of hungry, although it still carries a careless sort of languor---something akin to a predatory big cat. 

Insistently, Hashirama gives another tug at Kakuzu’s shirtfront. Despite himself, Kakuzu yields just the slightest amount, coming just the smallest bit closer---but it’s miles for Hashirama, whose grin only grows. His eyes flicker up from Kakuzu’s mouth to his eyes, glittering with mirth. In reply, Kakuzu’s eyes narrow, and the frown he acquires is pronounced even through his mask. Unperturbed, perhaps even taking it as encouragement, Hashirama complains that Kakuzu does not have a shred of romance, that he’s far too much of a grump, that he didn’t seem to mind them doing this a few weeks ago... 

Hashirama’s reeling Kakuzu in as he speaks until they are nose to nose with one another. Kakuzu can feel Hashirama’s breath on his cheek, and he, with frustration that borders on fury, feels his own resolve failing. Hashirama, perhaps sensing victory, tilts his head a little, parts his lips the slightest bit---welcoming. An invitation. Expectant. 

Kakuzu growls something about how ludicrous Hashirama’s libido is and how he should learn some shame for the workplace and for his own position as Hokage---all things he’s said before---and Kakuzu can tell Hashirama is basically ignoring him. Instead, he’s watching Kakuzu as he reaches for his mask and yanks it down, looking altogether far too self-satisfied. 

Experimentally, Kakuzu flexes his fingers. The tight-woven bandages around his hand restrict his movement somewhat, but they respond effortlessly, with minimal pain. Likewise, while the rest of his body still aches, it moves to his command. There will be scars, he knows, across his arms, but frankly, he could have gotten off far worse. The God of Shinobi, huh? 

The nurses said he would be able to walk around today if he liked, but Kakuzu is unsure if he wants to. While the fresh air might be nice, he does not want to subject himself to stares from the rest of the Konohagakure. Technically, he has as much right to be here as anyone else---Hashirama Senju personally bade him to stay, even after Kakuzu tried to kill him (frankly, Kakuzu is still suspicious of his intentions)---but Kakuzu has not missed how the nurses avoid his gaze. He cannot imagine how other civilians will react---or other shinobi. 

“You have a visitor,” a nurse announces suddenly from behind him. Kakuzu turns, surprised, before immediately bowing despite his wounds’ protest. 

It’s an ostentatious flower, boldly colored, and with broad petals expanding as if in mid-embrace. It stands out immediately among all the flora here. Kakuzu obligingly looks it over and comments, “It certainly suits you”, although his tone is mild (if not somewhat amused)---tempered only because Hashirama extended the trust to show him this garden in the first place. He is surrounded by greenery here, all grown by Hashirama’s steady and loving hand. Kakuzu truly feels as if he is stepping into a quiet part of Hashirama’s very being, and he prizes the fact that he is privy to it in any capacity, big or small. 

Hashirama chuckles a little and thanks Kakuzu---although, he adds quietly, that flower Kakuzu is looking at is not the one Hashirama wanted to show him. Kakuzu raises a brow---“It isn’t? It’s the loudest flower here,” he says, blunt, although Hashirama knows him well enough to know he’s teasing---but does not protest as Hashirama takes his hand and guides him further into the garden.  

Hashirama’s touch is light, but Kakuzu can tell he’s nervous. It’s the air about him: the typical boisterous, confident God of Shinobi is uncharacteristically pensive and thoughtful as they walk towards the back of the garden. Kakuzu wonders what this flower could possibly be to have Hashirama like this. Perhaps it’s another toxic one that Kakuzu explicitly told him to stop having around else he would die of asphyxiation---

They reach the back of the garden, and suddenly, Kakuzu stops in his tracks. He blinks, not sure if he’s really seeing what he thinks he is, because hanging low from a tree is a cluster of soft, light-colored, small and delicate flowers, and they are unmistakably from...

Kakuzu’s already moving to them as Hashirama begins to explain. He’s talking about how he knows Kakuzu misses Takigakure sometimes, that he wanted to make Kakuzu feel more at home here, that he had done some of his own research to grow something he thought Kakuzu would like from his own country---he does like them, right? 

Kakuzu turns back to Hashirama even as he cups a single tropical flower in his hand. It is so small, it barely covers two of his fingers. Hashirama’s look is eager, if not somewhat uncertain. Inexplicably, Kakuzu feels his own expression soften underneath his mask. His lips even turn up in the slightest of smiles. 

“Yes,” says Kakuzu, “I like them. Thank you, Hashirama.” How very much like Hashirama to do something like this---and as a surprise, no less. Kakuzu does wonder how much Hashirama researched these flowers. He doubts Hashirama knew the greater significance of their meaning, but the coincidence seems almost too great to dismiss as simple happenstance. 

But seeing Hashirama simply break into a grin and bound over without another word about it confirmed to Kakuzu that he is unaware of the symbolism---else this entire escapade would have been ten times more dramatic. As it is, Hashirama embraces Kakuzu and says how happy he is Kakuzu likes them, and pulls down Kakuzu’s mask to drink in Kakuzu’s smile before kissing him. Kakuzu returns it, his free hand tracing Hashirama’s neck, before Hashirama breaks away and cheerily reaches for a flower. Deftly, Hashirama picks one off from its cluster and begins to reach for Kakuzu’s hair to put it in. 

“Hashirama,” Kakuzu starts, smile fading into a mild frown. He instinctively leans away a little, but as if on cue, Hashirama’s trademark pout crosses his previously radiant face. He says something about how adorable Kakuzu will look, and how well the color will suit Kakuzu’s complexion---all things Kakuzu doesn’t care about---but with a sigh, he says, “Alright, alright, fine.” Denying Hashirama this after all he’s done seems unnecessarily mean-spirited, and anyways, Hashirama will not stop complaining about it for days if Kakuzu doesn’t. 

Hashirama immediately brightens again, and he happily places the flower in Kakuzu’s dark hair. Kakuzu feels his cheeks heat up a little as he reflects once again on the flower’s cultural meaning. Hashirama only seems to take this as general embarrassment, however, as he laughs and kisses Kakuzu again, wrapping an arm around his middle to hold him close and placing a hand on his face to run a thumb along his scars. Despite himself, Kakuzu gives in: he leans into Hashirama’s touch and puts a hand on the back of his neck, tangling fingers in his long hair, and enjoys the moment. 

Kakuzu knows Hashirama is being genuine right now (that is his greatest strength and his greatest fault: being genuine), which is the only reason he’s not scornfully pushing Hashirama away and scowling---that and the fact that Kakuzu cannot deny Hashirama anything. This is a stark fact that he has accepted with almost alarming tranquility. Kakuzu knows what loyalty is. He is a shinobi. He was and is prepared to die in the name of his village. But what he has for Hashirama is something he has never felt for a person, and Kakuzu thinks it cannot just be quantified as simple “loyalty” anymore, but real and unbidden “devotion”. 

It’s love, a voice says to him. This is what love is, and on some level, Kakuzu is at peace with it. But some other part of him---a harder part, a trained part---rebels against this. Konoha has made him soft, and he’s said it jokingly, but tonight he said it with full seriousness and not without some amount of bitterness after an uncharacteristic lapse in judgement and work ethic resulted in a mission failure. Realistically, the effects of this are minimal---this was not a terribly significant mission---but the fact that he bungled something any half-competent moron would consider so simple only made him more unreasonably infuriated. 

But he can’t maintain his frustration with Hashirama’s forehead pressed against his own, nor can he keep his pronounced frown against Hashirama’s touch on his cheek---running along his scars again, as if reminding them both of the strength of Kakuzu’s resolve. 

“Maybe you do,” Kakuzu says at last, although it comes out more as a sigh rather than anything with any sort of venom. “Some of us have to keep things straight so the village runs like it’s supposed to.” But he’s already tucking some hair behind Hashirama’s ear with one hand and drifting over his waist with the other one. Kakuzu pauses before adding with more seriousness, “You didn’t invite me to stay here so I could fail. Say what you want, but I don’t see the point of declaring loyalty if I’m useless to you.” There’s the barest emphasis on “you”---you as in the person. You as in Hashirama Senju. Not the village, or this Will of Fire, or the Hokage mantle, but just him. 

kakuzu has walked into multiple establishments, be it restaurants or stores, where he’s immediately recognized as hashirama’s partner/guard even though he’s never been in there because of course hashirama has chatted up some of the workers at one point and chattered all about kakuzu, and kakuzu has been mortified at the stuff they say hashirama has told them

kakuzu has insisted hashirama use mokuton on him so he can practice maintaining his earth spear against it, since it’s the only thing that’d consistently broken this ability since he’d mastered it. this has…mixed results. mostly because hashirama is not taking it very seriously for a variety of reasons. but kakuzu has bribed him into trying it once or twice and has actually come away with, to his satisfaction, worthwhile practice.

hashirama has discovered that kakuzu, predictably, had next to no tastes for music, art, poetry, or anything of the sort. this is not particularly due to serious disinterest but more so his upbringing and, later on, not seeing much point or need to get into any of them. since learning this, hashirama has probably dumped lots of poetry on kakuzu to read aloud, showed him a lot of clothes and other art hashirama enjoys, and all in all exposed kakuzu to lots of different things. kakuzu has acquired somewhat of a taste for these things, and can appreciate why people like them, but mostly he just commits what hashirama likes to memory for gifts or similar purposes later.