you think that you can hide

[kasarin]

TITLE: you think that you can hide
AUTHOR: kasarin (kasarin/kasarin)
FANDOM: Naruto
RATING: Explicit
CHARACTERS: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Obito
RELATIONSHIPS: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Obito
TAGS: Enemy Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Conflict, Internal Conflict, Possessive Sex, Emotional Sex, Anal Sex, Large Cock, Belly Bulge, Heartbeat Kink, Scent Kink, Dacryphilia, Kissing, Eye Contact, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Warring States Period, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canonical Character Death
SUMMARY:

Tobirama's hands snap out, seizing Obito's shirt as his foot sweeps Obito's legs, knocking his enemy off balance. Then he shoves, tackling Obito to the earth, his hands still clenched in ash-scented fabric, knees straddling Obito's hips.

"Shut up!" Tobirama growls. "Would you rather I had killed you? Do you want this to end with your blood on my blade?"

(a sequel to you tear down my reason)

you think that you can hide

The weather is cool and crisp, a sharp contrast to the fire burning within Madara, his desire to avenge Izuna like a thick, choking inferno. The intensity of Madara's killing intent cloys Tobirama's senses, suffocating him, a pressure alleviated only when Hashirama engages Madara in battle. But Madara's isn't the only vengeance Tobirama has to contend with.

There is no avoiding Obito on the battlefield. Tobirama tries all the same, darting from one corner to the next, seeking to engage anyone else. But wherever he goes, Obito appears, his chakra blazing, the Sharingan sizzling against Tobirama's skin. Cursing, Tobirama surrenders to the inevitable, and he leads Obito on a chase that takes them far from the fighting.

They don't need witnesses for whatever will happen next.

Tobirama finally stops in a copse of cedar trees, inhaling deeply, letting the soothing scent wash over him. It helps clear his senses, making it easier to think, plan, breathe. Then he turns, catching a glimpse of Obito from the corner of his eye. When did Obito get so fast? Was he hiding his true speed all this time?

Obito strides toward him, gloved fists clenched, chakra churning and spitting like a flame. There's no killing intent, but that's hardly the point. The fury in Obito is evident, and Tobirama knows how quickly an Uchiha's rage can turn deadly. Will Izuna's death push Obito over that edge? Will it be what finally ends this pointless game they play?

What a ridiculous question. Obito is an Uchiha. Izuna was his first cousin; Madara is his clan leader. Of course Obito will choose vengeance. That's the way their world works.

"If you plan to try and kill me," Tobirama says, watching Obito's hands from the corner of his eye, "you should hone your intent."

Obito jolts to a halt. His hands flex at his side, fists uncurling and curling as though he's considering wrapping them around Tobirama's throat. But he says nothing, his silence more oppressive than any scream.

"Well?" Tobirama demands, folding his arms. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"… Don't I have anything to say?" Obito's raspy voice is quiet, the edges sharp. "You arrogant piece of shit!"

The insult is expected. Tobirama refuses to flinch, denying the sting. Then Obito stalks forward, his movements so unwavering—so broad, so easy to read—that Tobirama hesitates, confused. That isn't the march of a shinobi bent on killing; so what is it?

Obito reaches out, aiming for Tobirama's collar. Too late, Tobirama steps back, lip twitching as a gloved hand catches his happuri, knocking it to the ground.

"Why did you fight him?" Obito demands, reaching again. "I was right there! Why did you fight him?!"

Tobirama dances back, deflecting the hands that grab at him, his lips pressed into a thin line. There is power behind Obito's blows, but his chakra is still wild, his movements unfocused. Is it a trick? Is he trying to lure Tobirama into dropping his guard?

"You said I was yours!" Obito snarls. "Yours to fight! Yours to fuck! You said I was yours, Tobirama!"

Tobirama falters. In an instant, Obito seizes his shirt above the armor, dragging him close. Instinct kicks in; Tobirama squeezes his eyes shut, his heart pounding in his throat.

For a moment, everything is silent and still. Then Obito speaks, his voice low and controlled. "Look at me."

Tobirama inhales slowly, tasting cedar and ash underlaid with Obito's distinctive honey-and-wood scent. Then he exhales, trying to center himself. Obito struck an emotional blow, just as he was doubtless trained. And Tobirama faltered because—

"Look at me!" Obito screams, his voice cracking, fists wrenching Tobirama closer.

Tobirama's hands snap out, seizing Obito's shirt as his foot sweeps Obito's legs, knocking his enemy off balance. Then he shoves, tackling Obito to the earth, his hands still clenched in ash-scented fabric, knees straddling Obito's hips.

"Shut up!" Tobirama growls, sinking down until he sits, his ass pressed to his enemy's groin. "Would you rather I had killed you? Do you want this to end with your blood on my blade?"

Obito's breath comes fast beneath him, each inhale and exhale strained. Tobirama cocks his head, listening closely, nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air. Is Obito injured? Did he hurt something when he fell?

Slowly, Obito loosens his grip on Tobirama's shirt. One hand slides up, gloved fingertips ghosting over Tobirama's high collar, brushing the bared skin of his neck, his jaw. Then Obito lays a hand on Tobirama's cheek, thumb caressing a tattoo.

"Look at me," Obito whispers, his voice thick.

Tobirama's eyelids crack open. He catches a gleam of scarlet, the sight of soft lips twisted in pain—and a glint of water running down Obito's scarred cheek.

Shock evaporates the last of Tobirama's caution. He stares, wide-eyed, tracking the progress of that drop, watching as it catches on a dip in Obito's flesh. Then his gaze drifts to those blood-red eyes, finding a strange pattern staring back at him, blurred by a veil of tears.

A Mangekyō Sharingan…?

"You said I was yours," Obito repeats, fresh tears trickling down his cheeks. "So why didn't you fight me?"

There is nothing Tobirama can say. No explanation will change the facts; no kind or harsh words will alter reality. He killed Izuna because it was kill or be killed. He fought Izuna because it was the most logical thing to do. He feels no guilt, no remorse, no regret for killing Izuna instead of risking Obito.

But he can't explain that. He can't admit it.

He is a Senju. He isn't free to love who he chooses.

Wordlessly, Tobirama leans down, still staring into those deadly eyes. His hands find Obito's cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears, erasing that awful sight. Then he presses their lips together, kissing Obito with everything he can't say. Kissing Obito with everything he wishes they could have.

Scarred lips part beneath his, a moan that might be his name passing between them. Then Obito discards his gloves, letting them fall before sliding his hands into Tobirama's hair, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss.

This isn't like the biting, bruising kisses they used to share, lips trading insults whenever they would part to catch their breaths, snapping and snarling like angry animals. Nor is it like their last kiss back in the Uchiha encampment, when Tobirama's shadow clone whispered Obito's name against his enemy's lips. This is something else. This is something raw, actions saying what their words can't, desperation underlaid with a terrifying tenderness.

This kiss feels like goodbye.

Tobirama draws back, fingers unfastening the clasps securing his armor, quickly casting it aside. Obito grabs the hem of Tobirama's shirt, helping him pull it off, their coordination seamless. Obito's shirt follows, and then they are pressed chest to chest, hands running over familiar musculature, drinking in every scar, every imperfection, every so-called flaw that clothing conceals.

"You're mine," Tobirama whispers, hand sliding down to cup Obito's cock, massaging it through his trousers. "Do you understand, Obito? No matter where you go or what you do, you're mine."

Obito grips Tobirama's waistband, pulling his trousers down as far as Tobirama's bent knees allow. "Then why didn't you fight me?"

Still, Tobirama can't answer. So he kisses Obito again, working together to shuck off the rest of their clothing. Soon, they've stripped each other naked—and then Obito grabs him, hauling him close, kissing him again. Strong thighs wrap tight around Tobirama's hips, keeping them face to face, the Sharingan still ablaze.

"Wait—" Tobirama tries to say, the word lost in a groan as Obito rolls his hips, their bare cocks rubbing together. 

"No," Obito hisses. "You're not flipping me over this time. You're going to look at me."

A shiver races down Tobirama's spine, something like terror churning in his gut. But it isn't a fear of the Sharingan; it's a fear of how desperately he wants to grant Obito's wish.

Tobirama ducks his head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Obito's throat. His enemy's pulse pounds against his lips and tongue, soothing him, helping him to breathe.

"I'm not going to turn you over," Tobirama says, keeping his voice calm. "I'm going to ride you."

Obito goes still. "What?"

"You heard me." Tobirama licks his way up to Obito's ear, teeth nipping the lobe. "I'm going to ride you, Obito. I'm going to sink down on your cock and ride you until you can't breathe."

Obito grips him tighter, cock twitching eagerly between them. "Why now? Why this time?"

"Don't ask stupid questions." Tobirama kisses his way over a scarred cheek, tasting the remnants of tears, smelling how close Obito is to crying again. Then he seals their lips together, willing Obito to give him what he wants. Willing Obito to let him have this.

For once—just once—Tobirama wants to feel his enemy inside him.

Slowly, Obito relents, allowing Tobirama to escape the prison of those muscular thighs. Drawing back, Tobirama shifts until he straddles Obito, the shafts of their bare cocks brushing. Then he slicks his fingers and reaches behind himself, unceremoniously pushing two fingers inside.

A quiet, concerned noise slips past Obito's lips. "Slow down," he insists, dark brows pinched together, eyes still blazing scarlet.

"Shut up," Tobirama hisses, hating that concern. Hating how it strikes him like a slap to the face, undeserved and unwanted. Hating how much he wishes they could be two people who take things slow.

Obito reaches for him, callused hands gripping his hips, covering his tattoos. "I don't want to hurt—"

"Shut up!"

Wide eyes stare up at him, plush lips slightly parted. Too late, Tobirama hears the edge of panic in his voice. Too late, he leans down to kiss Obito again, silencing them both.

Tobirama doesn't slow down. He knows his body's limits; he knows what he can take and how quickly he can manage it. Soon, he pulls his fingers from his stretched hole and starts slicking Obito's cock. It throbs against his palm, thick and hot, precum beading at the slit.

"Tobirama," Obito starts, the word a warm puff of air between their lips.

Leaning in, Tobirama silences his enemy again, kissing those scarred lips until his lungs scream for air. Then he sits upright, positioning himself above Obito's cock, a hand reaching back to line it up. Obito gazes up at him, blood-red eyes wide and wanting, fingertips digging into Tobirama's hips.

"Don't move," Tobirama warns. Then he slowly sinks down, the tip of Obito's cock pressing, pressing, then—

"Fuck…"

—pushing inside, breaching that tight ring, stretching it wider and wider. Clenching his teeth, Tobirama coaxes his body down farther, only pausing when he feels the flared ridge of the head slip inside. Then he stops, breathing slowly, willing himself to relax.

Beneath him, Obito remains utterly motionless, apparently heeding Tobirama's warning. His saliva-slick lips are parted, his eyes still filled with the Sharingan's gleam. A faint flush paints his cheeks, almost distracting Tobirama from the single teardrop sliding from the corner of an eye.

"What's wrong?" Tobirama asks, willing his voice to remain steady.

Obito strokes his thumbs over Tobirama's hips, slow and soothing. "You're beautiful."

Tobirama's lips part, but no sound emerges, no words to silence or refute Obito's claim. So he snaps his mouth shut and sinks down a little more, dragging a gasp from Obito instead, that thick cock twitching eagerly.

Satisfied, Tobirama forces a smirk. "Is that all it takes to make you cry?" he asks, his serene tone belying his pounding heart. "A pretty face and a tight hole?"

Obito tightens his grip, fingernails pressing into Tobirama's hips. "Don't ask stupid questions," he says, echoing Tobirama's words.

With a dismissive snort, Tobirama lowers himself a little farther, refusing to wince at the stretch. His thighs are tense, his hole squeezing around the intrusion, his cock leaking precum. How long has it been since he rode someone? How long since he took anything as big as Obito?

Slowly, Obito slides his hands down Tobirama's hips, caressing straining thighs. "You're beautiful," he repeats, eyes burning into Tobirama's. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

Tobirama bites the inside of his lip, fighting to keep his expression impassive. Then he shifts his hips, taking more of Obito's cock, finally sheathing enough that he can relinquish his grip. Leaning forward, he rests his hands on his enemy's chest, pleased that his fingers don't tremble.

"So sentimental," he mutters, as though he doesn't feel the same about Obito. As though he's never lain awake at night, pleasuring himself to the memory of his enemy's lips. As though the sight of Obito's cocky smirk didn't drag him into this mess.

Beneath him, Obito shakes his head, his hands sliding up Tobirama's sides. "Sentimental is telling you that I don't want anyone else. Sentimental is telling you that I'll never want anyone else."

Tobirama's fingers twitch, his stomach swooping, heart pounding. Then he grits his teeth and pushes down, down—

"Slow down. Tobirama, slow down."

—down and down, until his ass presses against Obito's thighs, his enemy's cock deep inside.

It's too fast. Too much, too fast. Body quivering, Tobirama drops forward, hands finding and squeezing Obito's broad shoulders. Then he sucks in a breath, forcing out a shaky exhale. "Shut. Up."

Cursing, Obito runs his palms up and down Tobirama's back, kneading tense muscles. "You idiot," he whispers, the words choked with worry.

Tobirama ducks his head, biting back a thousand words, willing himself to regain control. Willing his body to do as he commands. Willing the discomfort to pass so that pleasure can take its place.

Gradually, Obito draws Tobirama closer, their chests pressed together, their faces centimeters apart. Scarred lips brush Tobirama's forehead, callused hands tracing his spine and combing through his hair. All the while, Obito keeps up a quiet litany of words, nonsense no doubt intended to ease Tobirama's aches.

It's undeserved, unfamiliar, and utterly terrifying.

Tilting his head up, Tobirama presses his lips to Obito's, tongue sweeping in to taste his enemy's mouth. Like this, things are simpler. Like this, he doesn't have to hear Obito's voice, the raspy tones wrapping him in false comfort. Like this, he doesn't have to bite back the urge to hiss, I killed your cousin.

They both know what Tobirama did. There's no need for more tears.

Finally, the ache of intrusion fades to a dull throb, the sensation of fullness pushing to the forefront. Tobirama shifts, testing the feeling, shivering as Obito's cock throbs inside him. Then he levers himself upright, staring down at Obito from beneath lowered lids, claiming his enemy's lap as though it were a throne.

"Don't move," he repeats, one hand splayed on Obito's abdomen. Experimentally, he rocks his hips—first back and forth, then side to side, measuring his body's reactions, discovering what feels best. It's been too long since he's done this. Why did he wait until their last time together?

Because one way or another, Tobirama knows this will be their last time. He knows that Hashirama and Madara's fight will end with Madara on the ground. He knows that he will need to be the one who ends Madara's life.

Obito may be able to forgive one cousin's death, but two? Impossible. Once Madara is gone, Obito will be lost to him forever.

So Tobirama rolls his hips in smooth circles, savoring the sensation of his enemy's cock buried deep inside, filling him to his limit. He watches Obito's eyes, staring into the Sharingan like a fool begging for death. He basks in the feeling of Obito's chakra, warm and welcoming as a cooking fire on a summer's eve. And he breathes deep, drinking in that honey-and-wood scent, willing himself to never, ever forget it.

"Do you feel that?" Tobirama asks, raising his ass just enough to slap back down, his pace increasing. "Do you feel how deep you are?"

"Yeah," Obito says, his hands sliding over Tobirama's thighs, shamelessly caressing pale skin. His voice is strained, muscles flexing with the effort of keeping his hips still.

Smirking, Tobirama grabs one of Obito's hands, laying it on the tattoo between his cock and navel. Then he lifts his hips, rising halfway off that thick cock before sinking back down. "Feel that?"

Obito gapes, palm pressing against the bulge formed by his own cock, slight but distinct. "Fuck," he breathes, his hips twitching, fingernails digging into Tobirama's thigh.

"You'll never forget this." Tobirama threads his fingers through Obito's, holding his enemy's hand in place. "You'll always be mine."

Scarlet eyes snap up to Tobirama's. For an instant, Obito's face twists in pain, as though Tobirama were digging a blade into his gut. Then Obito suddenly sits up, his arms encircling Tobirama, clutching him in a fierce embrace.

Instinctively, Tobirama grabs Obito's shoulders, grunting as that thick cock shifts inside him. "I told you to—"

"I'm yours," Obito interrupts, his face buried in the crook of Tobirama's neck. "I'm yours, Tobirama. And you're mine."

They're only words. Only desperate words that can do nothing to change reality. Only a pitiful attempt to stave off the inevitable end.

But if they're only words, why does Tobirama clutch Obito in turn? Why does he bury his nose in dark hair, treasuring his enemy's scent? Why does he want them to be true?

Obito rocks his hips, pushing into Tobirama, the thrust all the more overwhelming for how closely they're entwined. With a quiet groan, Tobirama matches Obito's pace, slowly writhing in his enemy's lap. Then he slides his arms around Obito's shoulders, one hand tracing scar tissue, the other buried in dark hair.

"Tell me you hate me," Tobirama says, his cock pressed tight between them, the scent of precum heavy in the air. "Tell me you despise me."

Scarred lips brush his earlobe. "I can't."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tobirama bites his tongue, refusing to beg. Instead, he focuses on all the places their skin touches, memorizing everything he can as he pretends they're lovers.

His peak comes slowly, less a dive off a cliff and more a gradually cresting wave. One moment, he's rocking between two incredible sensations, the pressure on his cock and deep in his ass utterly perfect. The next, he's spilling himself between them, shuddering and sighing, every ounce of tension draining away. White noise fills his ears; Obito's moans and gasps are all that penetrate a quiet world. Then he feels Obito come, seed pushed deep inside—and Tobirama huffs a laugh, triumphant.

"You're mine," he murmurs, kissing Obito's hair.

"You're mine," Obito echoes, the words whispered against Tobirama's neck, lips kissing where the pulse beats beneath the skin.

⁂

They dress slowly, an odd lethargy plaguing their movements, as if by delaying, they might stave off the inevitable. Tobirama tries to focus on putting himself back together, each piece of clothing and armor a metaphor for his composure. Usually, that tactic works flawlessly, and he can face Obito with cold eyes where lust once raged. But this time, he feels bizarrely misaligned, as though he's composed of disjointed parts.

It doesn't help that Obito won't stop watching him, those scarlet eyes still ablaze. How much do they see? How much can they read in Tobirama's movements?

"Don't go."

Tobirama blinks, then he locks eyes with Obito. "What?"

"Don't go." Obito stares back at him, his jaw set. "Don't run away this time."

"I never run away," Tobirama lies. "Besides, I have no choice."

"You can choose to stay." Obito steps closer, arms slightly raised at his sides. His gloves are clutched in one hand, the other left bare and oddly vulnerable. "We can face this together."

Scoffing, Tobirama narrows his eyes. "Precisely what would that accomplish? A traitorous brand on both our names? Accusations of blame for every battle we've ever lost, whether we were involved or not? You would make us scapegoats for both of our clans."

Abruptly, Obito laughs, a low and bitter sound. "You say that like it would be something new."

Tobirama blinks again, trying to make sense of those words. Then a pulse of power draws his attention back to the faraway battle, Hashirama's chakra clashing wildly with Madara's.

"I say it because it's true," Tobirama says flatly. "If you want to come with me as an Uchiha defector, you may. But until the war is over, no one can know about this."

"And what is 'this' to you, Tobirama? What are we?"

Frustrated, Tobirama fixes his happuri into place. "You're mine, Obito."

"I didn't ask what I am." Obito moves closer still, eyes burning. "What are we?"

Tobirama meets those eyes, refusing to flinch. "We're a Senju and an Uchiha."

Obito's lip twitches, his hands dropping to his sides. But he says nothing, merely staring into Tobirama's eyes as if awaiting something more.

Quietly, Tobirama continues. "My brother will finish this fight soon. When he does, I need to be at his side."

For a moment, Obito remains silent. Then he takes a breath, exhaling slowly. "And if my cousin wins?"

"If Madara gets an opportunity, he'll try to kill me. But that won't happen."

"… No," Obito agrees, something dark flickering through his eyes. "It won't."

Another swell of power pulls Tobirama's attention, his eyes drawn to the horizon. "I need to go."

Obito leans forward, their lips brushing in the barest suggestion of a kiss. "Then go."

Impulsively, Tobirama tilts his head forward, kissing Obito one last time. Then he disappears in a flash, retreating to Hashirama's side.

Author's Notes:

crossposted to ao3 here.