#hstb

Ch. one: Blooming in Your Lungs. (itty bitty snippet—unedited)

Tobirama was a formidable man—

Soft clicks, soft taps, pattering against the thick wooden boards beneath his moving feet.

He was a clansman, first and foremost, and always fighting for his people.

The fabric around him snug on his slim body, sleeves were flowing and billowed against the outdoor breeze.

Tobirama was skilled, strong and the true definition of a man. No one will ever take that away from him.

He stepped forward on the large stage, his geta he wore continued to clap and tap against the flooring as he now stood before the silent but curious crowd, lights shone down on him as he took center position. The soft glow of stage lights had illuminated his attire: a gorgeous red kimono, decorated with floral designs speckled accented in gold threads and captivating pastel pinks and whites aimed to flattered the figure. Came into view, a flawless face one would never find on a man of war, painted a stark white and curling red lines on his cheeks and chin, more red streaked around his eyes, striped down his inner and outer spaces of his eyes, a feminine and feline touch rather. Pretty.

Yes. No one would be stupid enough to question Tobirama's carefully cradled masculinity, even when he wore a pretty dress.

Admittedly, Hashirama can get a little carried away.

"Does it hurt?" Hashirama asks.

Tobirama trembles in his arms, panting as Hashirama rolls his hips up in a steady thrust, never breaking rhythm as he washes Tobirama’s hair.

When Tobirama fails to respond right away, his body already spent of all that he can give, Hashirama lays a gentle kiss to his shoulder- a warning of an inevitable promise.

Even if he had the strength to think, never mind talk, Tobirama would never admit to the ache in his scalp from where Hashirama gripped his hair in an unforgiving hold as he held him face down on the bed, fucking into him at a brutal pace- teeth gnawing at the skin of Tobirama’s neck before licking and kissing away the initial sting of his teeth.

Tobirama would never admit to the soreness of his hips from how wide Hashirama pushed his thighs apart as he rolled him over and fucked him again, watching as he sunk into Tobirama again and again, claiming what had always been his over and over.

Hashirama was never shy about his jealousy- though he never once worried or doubted Tobirama’s loyalty, that didn't mean he wasnt irked by unwanted eyes following Tobirama wherever he went.

Tobirama knew that look- that wide smile paired with cold eyes, never towards him, but to whomever stood a little too close, to whoever spoke a little too familiarly for Hashirama's comfort.

Tobirama would never admit to the way he aches even now, dead weight in Hashirama’s lap. Even as Hashirama continues to fuck into him Tobirama refuses to tell him to stop simply because he doesn't want him to.

Everything that he is, even from the beginning, had always belonged to Hashirama.

It doesnt matter if he is sore, if he aches, if it burns- none of that matters because Hashirama's breath at last has begun to shudder. No longer is it steady and unhindered- now its staccato- labored and quick as he rolls his hips up in an unforgiving pace.

He will come soon and Tobirama hopes it will be inside him this time.

Hashirama is still gentle as he washes Tobirama’s hair though and such control only tells Tobirama this night is still far from over.

Tobirama was his father's prized possession. Forged in the fire of his mother's womb and his father's love as the perfect, obedient, placating weapon. Of course he feels like he's melting every time Hashirama praises him, like their father never truly did. Feels like he's floating when Hashirama drinks to excess, and his eyes go dull in that same way their father's did right before he made Tobirama useful.

Their parents adored each other, Hashirama vaguely remembers that. Butsuma made sure that everyone knew just how much he adored his perfect wife. There was never any shame about that in their home, never any real privacy. If he thinks hard enough he can remember their father keeping their mother on his lap, whispering to her, watching for the smirk she'd always give in reply. They were perfect for each other.

Tobirama doesn't really have any memories of his own, but he became a vessel for Butsuma's. "Just one more son" he'd whisper, slurring in Tobirama's ear and reeking of intoxication and sweat. "Remember when we made Itama? I know.. I know I said he would be our last but, you just do it so well.." and Tobirama would play the part until his father fell asleep, warm and heavy around him.

Blood drips from a cut to his forehead right where the happuri had crumbled under a harsh blow that left him discombobulated for a few moments- inciting Hashirama's anger from across the battlefield.

Tobirama shook off the force of the blow- quickly regaining his footing once more and dodging another attack that would have surly done further damage.

Hashirama knew his brother- just as sure as he knew his loyalty.

Never had there come a day where he didnt return to Hashirama’s side as promised- as expected. Today would be no different.

Depleted of his chakra Tobirama turns to hand to hand combat- teeth glinting in the unforgiving sun- a secondary option if needed.

Hashirama can hear Tobirama’s snarls loud and clear as he slowly makes his way across the battle to his side. The ground trembles beneath him and roots become ravenous.

Hashirama thinks of the night to come- when the battle is done and Tobirama is in his arms once more.

Hashirama thinks of how he will hold him- how he will run his hands across his body- soothing away bruises and any scars that threaten to remain with his lips and fingertips. Marks that have no buisness lingering on Tobirama’s skin any longer than they had to.

Marks that were not his own.

Hashirama knows there will be plenty- knows himself well enough that it will be a challenge to hold back.

Instead he focuses on what is to come- focuses on the reward that is Tobirama once more at his side.

He thinks he will be gentle- maybe at first- or perhaps towards the end.

Either way, Hashirama looks forward to the sting of Tobirama’s nails raking down his back as he desperately tries to hold on- as he often does.

Mother had always disliked the close bond they shared- had called it dangerous and unhealthy. Oftentimes warning them against such attachments to one another in a world where lives were snuffed without recourse.

Hashirama pitied her.

Mother would never understand what it was to love and be loved in return.

Mornings like these is what proved to Hashirama that goodness and peace still resided on this earth, so long as Tobirama’s heart continued to beat as she slept beside her.

Tobirama’s cheek is pressed onto Hashirama's breast, her pillow long forgotten in favor of Hashirama's chest.

Her legs are entangled with Hashirama’s beneath the sheets, the summer heat discouraging heavier blankets. Her arm twitches slightly where it lay slung across Hashirama's waist.

Hashirama strokes Tobirama’s cheek as she lays a kiss to the crown of her head, silky silver hair ticking Hashirama's nose.

Soon the sun will finish rising and Tobirama will scrunch her nose in displeasure before her eyelashes will flutter open for just a moment. Then she will turn her head and bury her face into Hashirama's chest to hide from the sun as she curls in closer to chase any warmth radiating from Hashirama's body.

Its a routine Hashirama knows like the back of her hand- one she would never trade for any other.

One she will kill to keep.

And has.

A shame really- their father was quite young when his sudden illness had taken him so soon.

That very night Hashirama had moved her futon back into Tobirama’s room as he drew his last breath.

Such unfortunate things come to pass in life however and are best not dwelled on for longer than a passing thought.