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They were made for each other.
Izuna’s always thought so, even when they fought and clashed on the battlefield. It wasn’t just chakra and blades, but the way Tobirama’s fist connected with his face or collided against his shoulder. Muscles and skin absorbed the impact and when he’d lash out in a series of kicks, Tobirama’s body did the same, absorbing every blow like he was made to take them.
At night Izuna would admire his bruises, his trophies of a fight well fought. This is where Tobirama punched him, this is where he kicked him, and the ache in his chest is from a particularly nasty water jutsu that almost claimed his life.
Izuna’s pretty sure he was made to take Tobirama; everything he has to give.
They’ve traded their kicks and punches for a different kind of clash, still equally as intense. Some would call it violent, the way Tobirama pushes Izuna against the wall, the desk, the floor, a bed. Any surface will do when they collide, just like any battlefield terrain suited them before. They fight with their bodies, with breathy moans, and Izuna will deny ever begging for anything just as Tobirama will deny ever caving.
In the minutes, hours, days, or weeks that follow their trysts Izuna catalogs his aches and pains, just as he did before. This is where Tobirama’s teeth sank into his shoulder, this is where his nails bit into his hips, this is where he kissed him in the moments that followed when they fought to catch their breath. They linger on his pale skin like every bruise from every punch and he covets them all the same.
Izuna knows he was made to take Tobirama; everything he has to give.
He gives as equally as he gets. Leaves traces of himself against that alabaster skin, carves his way into his flesh. Scratches down Tobirama’s strong back, bites along his neck, an ache against his scalp from fingers that pulled too roughly at hair- too demanding in a way Tobirama was happy to give in to.
They dance carefully around each other, snipping and snarking as the tension grows and it always grows. Izuna picks and snips till Tobirama’s fingers close around his wrist and then it’s back to whatever surface is convenient. Ravished by an enemy turned something more, something Izuna won’t put a name to, by a body he knows better than his own these days.
They were made for each other and now they both know it.