#I imagine them shouting Hashirama in unison

[kankuroplease]

Dad!Madara marching the lastest minions to go see Hashirama

[louiserandom]

Of Nosebleeds and Allergies

Rating: T

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara

Summary: The sight of Madara waltzing around in the summer heat half-naked, muscles flexing beautifully, causes Tobirama to have an unexpected nosebleed. To hide the true cause from his overbearing Anija, he blames it on aggressive pollen allergies. 

It seems fine, until it isn't, because of course Hashirama would then assume that his Mokuton is a devastating allergen and starts sobbing because he now has to stay away from his beloved baby brother.

A/N: for @tuliharja who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS MADNESS, SOMEONE ARREST HER😤😤😤 but also thank you asdfghjk i had WAY too much fun writing this😂😂😂😂 this is peak flail. PEAK FLAIL i tell you

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 enjoy!

It's a cursed day, Tobirama decides.

For one, he'd always remained blessedly ignorant over why exactly Izuna swoons practically every time Tōka accidentally flexes her muscles—though whether or not it's ever truly accidental is up for debate—until today.

Today being the particularly sweltering mid-summer day when virtually every citizen of Konoha is frying alive, apparently, with only Tobirama, whose body temperature is naturally cooler due to his enhanced affinity for water, feeling perfectly content.

Madara, on the other hand, doesn't seem as comfortable, and that's Tobirama's only fully coherent thought before his mind blanks at the sight of Madara taking his shirt off, in their shared office no less, and stretching out his arms in a decidedly indecent manner.

Tobirama swallows heavily. Madara decides then to take a drink from his water bottle, so sloppily that stray droplets trickle from the corner of his mouth, along the column of his neck down his chest. Tobirama's brain, in turn, short-circuits.

Fuck. 

Tobirama wonders if it would really be that strange if he runs away through the window right this second. Or douses the office with a Water Dragon.

He clenches his fists. Sighs. Berates himself for his ridiculous thought process.

Maybe Tobirama is overreacting. All right, maybe he's definitely overreacting, because of course, he logically understands that were it not for his stupid, godsdamned uncontrollable crush on the Uchiha Clan Head, he wouldn't be phased by the current display. He takes care to keep his face neutral and his posture more or less relaxed, focusing his gaze on the papers before him and away from the thick, bulging muscles, the tantalizing expanse of exposed, slightly tanned skin. It's more than a little horrifying for Tobirama to catch himself imagining how he'd licking the thin sheen of sweat on Madara's collarbones, chest, abs and—

Well. This is going nowhere.

Tobirama closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, frantically thinking of dead kittens and bloody battlefields in order to ward off the scorching flares of arousal.

Annoyingly, it doesn't work. He opens his eyes only to see drops of red on his—well, what used to be his top-priority tax proposal, and it takes his malfunctioning brain a few seconds to realize that he's been hit by what used to be Hashirama's constant plague during his sexually hyperactive teenage years.

A nosebleed.

A fucking nosebleed.

He scrambles for a tissue, keeping his gaze fixed downward and hoping to the gods Madara hasn't noticed the debacle.

"What the fuck is wrong, Senju?" Just Tobirama's luck. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Tobirama says, shaking his head erratically, "I just—I'm fine. A random nosebleed. Nothing to worry about, just—keep working." He even does a little wave with his hand, which is reminiscent of the flailing that's supposed to be Madara's specialty.

By the Pure Lands, this is embarrassing.

Madara watches him with narrowed eyes and then, because the universe doesn't care for Tobirama's mental stability, stands and walks over to him, removing the tissue from his face and inspecting the damage. Pale green flashes in Tobirama's vision, and he shuts his eyes closed, half-petrified, half-savoring the warm, comforting tingle that is Madara's chakra sizzling through him as he presses his fingers to the bridge of Tobirama's nose to heal him. The sensation stokes Tobirama's increasingly uncomfortable erection, making him resent the delectable pleasure.

(This is probably the gods' revenge for all the times he'd broken the laws of nature with his experiments. It's maddening.)

"Just a couple burst vessels," Madara says with a nod, finally (albeit regrettably) removing his hand. "Probably because of the damnable heat, yeah?"

"Mmhm," is all Tobirama manages, throat dry and mind ever more foggy as he's treated to a close up of Madara's taut, dangerously enticing nipples.

"You should maybe work from home the rest of the day," Madara suggests, pressing his palm against Tobirama's forehead. "You don't appear to have a fever, but you are a little flushed." He smirks then. "I thought you were blushing. It's a—it's a nice look—whatever, shut up!" Madara jerks away from him suddenly, both hands flailing a little.

Now that's... an interesting comment. Something to think about later.

"When did you become a mother hen, Uchiha?" Tobirama teases while Madara stutters through a bunch of incoherent insults. At least this is the Madara he knows and—likes, a welcome contrast to his uncanny concern earlier.

"Tch. Like I care," Madara glowers, "get a heat stroke, whatever, I don't give a shit. I mean—I do, but only because your brother would cry and get snot all over me if you get sick."

As if on command, Hashirama struts right through the door, the wood disassembling and patching itself back again once he's inside.

"Good morning!" he sing-songs.

"Stop abusing the fucking door!" Madara and Tobirama shout in unison.

"Oh, come on," Hashirama whines. "The door doesn't mind—I'd know!"

"We do," Tobirama says.

"Yes, and I also mind your presence," Madara growls. "You have your own office, so get the paperwork you need and fuck off."

"Madara, don't be so—Tobi. Tobi! Is that blood?"

Tobirama rolls his eyes. Great. Just what he needs right now.

"It's just a nosebleed, Anija. You don't need to heal it, Anija, Madara already did. Please, for the love of the gods, keep quiet." It takes all of Tobirama's self-control to keep his voice level as he talks alongside his brother's panicked whining, and it takes a particularly hard shove for Hashirama to shut up and focus on him. "Anija. I. Am. Fine."

"Okay," Hashirama breathes, worry never leaving his eyes, "you're fine—for now. But what if you get another nosebleed? How much blood did you lose? Is it the weather? Are you sick? Did Madara hit you, do I need to beat him up?"

"Hey!"

Tobirama scoffs. "I find it insulting that you think I wouldn't beat him up myself," he says, "especially considering his pathetic defeat in our last sparring match."

"You cheated, you fucking dick—"

"But none of the above," Tobirama goes on, silently laughing at Madara's attempts to get past Hashirama and presumably strangle him. "It's just..." His eyes trail treacherously over Madara's straining biceps. "Aggressive pollen allergies," Tobirama blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

The right thing to say, too, because Hashirama heaves a massive sigh of relief.

"Oh. Gods, well, allergies are easy to treat at least," he says, "but they're still dangerous, Tobi, and they can hinder your breathing! You'll need to stay inside a lot, of course, and I'll prepare some medicine for you, and—"

"Stupid fucking Senju," Madara grumbles, a bit calmer now and simply glaring at both of them, arms crossed. "Make sure to stay away from your precious brother too, since your Mokuton is one big fucking allergic hazard," he sneers.

Well, fuck.

Hashirama's expression twists into one of terror, and Tobirama sorely laments the lack of much-needed alcohol in their vicinity.

"I'M AN ALLERGEN, OTOUTO," the God of Shinobi screams, his eyes welling up with tears. "No, no, no, that means I'll have to stay away from you and gods, all the trees I grew in the village—"

"Why," Tobirama says, fixing a confused Madara with a glare.

"—I'll have to draw away all my chakra and probably seal and oh no, think of the children! What if I've already caused deadly allergic reactions—"

"Why would you do this," Tobirama sighs as Madara grows more and more baffled by the spectacle. He obviously meant it as a (poorly contrived) joke, but has apparently forgotten that Hashirama is an idiot.

"—Tobi, you have to move out immediately!" Hashirama shouts at him, shaking is shoulders, then recoils with a yelp, and Tobirama senses him forcefully toning down his chakra. "And far away from me, until I find a suitable treatment—oh, Madara!" He turns to his friend. "Since Tōka and Izuna are on their honeymoon, Tobi should live with you for a while—I mean you've finally confessed and you can spend quality time together! Just, you know, don't sleep with each other until Tobi—"

"WHAT THE FUCK," Madara shrieks.

What the fuck, Tobirama's mind echoes.

"I DIDN'T TELL HIM, YOU UTTER ASSHOLE." Madara lifts Hashirama by the collar and pins him against the wall. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"But you told me yesterday—"

"I lied!"

"Well, you can tell him now," Hashirama whines, prying Madara's hands off himself, "while I quarantine and de-Mokuton everything, because Tobi could suffocate and die, Madara, this is serious."

"I won't." Tobirama raises his voice to be heard over Madara's cursing. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a massive headache setting in. "Anija, you do not need to quarantine yourself. It's all right. I am not allergic to the Mokuton."

"How can you know?" Hashirama demands, managing to restrain Madara's hands behind his back. "You've never had allergies before, only this year when we've basically moved into a village half-built by my jutsu, Tobi! It all fits."

"It doesn't," Tobirama growls, "because I'm not allergic at all. I lied. Go away."

"Why do you two keep lying to me? And then why did you have a nosebleed?" Hashirama tilts his head to the side, confused.

Tobirama sighs. "Madara hit me. We need to talk it out."

"Wh-what the hell, Senju?"

"What?" Hashirama growls, just as Madara yelps as his hands are squeezed tighter.

"I hit him first," Tobirama lies through gritted teeth, "and he hit back. Stop fretting. Now if you leave, I promise we'll talk, make up and maybe even hug it out like you always force us to."

Hashirama blinks. "Hm." He slowly releases Madara and drops the scowl, though his eyes remain narrowed. "You'd better be telling the truth this time. If you're not, I will ground both of you and issue a decree for that if I have. And I expect both of you over for dinner today along with detailed explanations from both sides because this kind of behavior is unacceptable," he chastises them before stalking towards their desks, grabbing the paperwork labeled for him and heading out in the same atrocious way, through the malleable door.

Leaving Madara and Tobirama drowning in a very uncomfortable silence that stretches on mercilessly.

Madara clears his throat, speaking first,

"Fuck."

With that concise assessment, he stalks back to his desk, dons his shirt back on and hides his face behind the high collar, slumping onto the chair like a disgruntled porcupine.

"So," Tobirama starts.

"Your brother is a menace."

Madara's chakra rages throughout the whole office, now almost painful as it burns against Tobirama's senses. He sighs.

"So," Tobirama says firmly, "when Anija said you meant to confess..."

Madara sinks further into his chair, half-concealed by his desk at this point.

"He meant—you like me?" Tobirama asks, wincing as Madara's chakra flares further.

"I hate him," Madara seethes.

Tobirama rolls his eyes. Such childish behavior.

"Well if that is what you were trying to tell me," he says, "I was going to say that I might—"

"Not attempt to kill me?" Madara cuts in.

Tobirama resists the urge to throw something heavy at the infuriating man. "That I might possibly not completely hate you too."

This has Madara fumbling to raise his head above his shirt only to gape at Tobirama for a few tense moments.

"Well, why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demands and even has the gall to sound offended.

"Why didn't you?" Tobirama parries. So many things would have been easier if he had, Tobirama's far-too-frequent hard-ons included.

"Because," Madara glowers, "because—why should I be the one to take initiative?"

Huh. Another interesting observation.

Tobirama smirks. "Fine then. This is me taking initiative: I say we ditch Anija's friendship bullshit and go get dinner together." He flinches. "Ditch him for as long as we're able, that is."

Madara blinks. "Dinner?"

"At your place," Tobirama suggests, dipping his voice lower, "if you'd like more privacy?"

Considering his embarrassing reaction to Madara's earlier display, it's viscerally pleasing for Tobirama to see the man blush, dark eyes glazing over prettily.

"Oh." Madara's lips curl in a grin. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

"Perfect." Tobirama barely reining in his own giddy smile. He motions to the thankfully small piles of paperwork they've left to get through. "Let's take care of these quick then, before Anija has the chance to sabotage us."

Madara huffs out a laugh. "Please. He'll be stuck with those missives until midnight, and that's if he's lucky."

"Do you remember that time when Anija had work to do and then didn't do it?" Tobirama muses.

"Hm. You mean every single time?"

"Exactly."

It's a bit of a surreal pattern that follows, both of them falling back on their usual banter, only with the added weight of their revealed feelings hanging over them. It's a comforting weight, for Tobirama at least, and for once, it doesn't feel wrong to let his gaze linger on Madara's lips, focus on the way his tongue darts out to wet them, stoking Tobirama's fantasies about how they'd feel against his own. His staring must give him away, though, and it's a few minutes later that Madara falls into abrupt silence, his eyes suddenly widening as he proceeds to stare at Tobirama like he's grown another head.

"Wait a second. Did you happen to have that nosebleed because—"

"Because you're an idiot," Tobirama interrupts him, his insides growing cold with renewed embarrassment, "and that raises my blood pressure."

Madara's mouth shuts, curving in a devious smirk. The bastard. Of course he wouldn't be fooled.

Tobirama clears his throat. "Listen, the sooner we finish work, the sooner we can leave and go on that fucking date," he says with a pointed glare. "So concentrate."

"As you wish, Tobirama," Madara drawls, a teasing glint in his eyes, "wouldn't dare to disobey."

Somehow, even without outright taunts, Tobirama feels like he's been defeated. It doesn't matter, though; what he may lose in dignity, he’ll make up for by preserving his outward composure.

Besides, the next hours give him the added pleasure of seeing how the mere promise of a romantic outing ramps up Madara's usually sluggish productivity to an astonishing degree.

It's a good day after all, he decides, and about to get much better.