Work Text:
It was an alien experience to see his signature written in blood and chakra right beside Senju Butsuma’s and to know that there would be peace between their clans for good. With the Senju’s second heir becoming an officially recognised ward of the Uchiha main line—and all but set to become the next clan head’s spouse—their clans’ futures would be joined rather than stay opposed, and Tajima couldn’t wait to see them flourish. An excitement that was visibly shared in the flushed faces around him, there even was talk about a shared village!
Gazing upon his wife’s radiant face, Tajima had to wonder if he would be entering this joint future alone, though.
For reasons that were their own, they had arranged their marriage based on mutual respect and shared goals, a means to an end on various levels. And for all that they’ve cultivated a deep love for each other—one that Tajima was convinced would outlast the mountains they’ve named their children after—shared intimacy had always been more for the sake of skinship rather than desire.
Tajima had assumed Konohana simply wasn’t inclined to carnal desires, but seeing her now, blushing like a maiden whenever her eyes met those of the openly leering Senju matriarch, he had to wonder if he hadn’t been mistaken about her interests since the beginning. Then again, even a rock would melt into a puddle under the force of the blatant hunger in Rhiannon’s eyes.
Beside him, Butsuma let out a deep sigh that couldn’t be described as anything other than long-suffering, brown eyes rolling skywards in a silent plea for patience. That was as good as an opening for a distraction than anything else.
“Should we interfere, or…?”
As much as he itched to entertain himself with something other than the display their wives made, Tajima could admit that Butsuma’s disbelieving side-eye was more than deserved. Neither Rhiannon nor his Konohana were women to be crossed lightly, and as long as both so obviously enjoyed themselves, it might end in gracefully assisted suicide to disturb their… chat.
Admittedly, though, it intrigued him that Butsuma seemed as lenient with his wife’s antics as Tajima was ready to be since, by all accounts, the Senju marriage was much more passionate than his own. He knew better than to outright ask, though. But what he could safely ask-
“What made you choose her?”
If he’d predicted Butsuma’s reaction, he might have waited until the man had finished drinking. If he’d asked at all. As it was, Tajima could only try to get rid of the sake on his hand by shaking it, while Butsuma hacked his chest in an attempt to clear the pathways for some much-needed air.
The sudden spectacle made some of the elders side-eye them with contempt, and Tajima figured it might be better to avoid any accidental deaths this early in their new peace. He patted Butsuma’s hunched back in an open show of assistance until the elders went back to their scheming. Old farts.
When, a few moments later, their wives simultaneously raised their eyebrows at him, Tajima realised that his helpful gesture had turned into an absentminded caress of the strong muscles while his thoughts lingered on the imminent future of their clans. And while his first impulse was to snatch his hand back, that would be an admittance of something rather than proof his innocence. Instead, Tajima allowed his touch to settle more firmly and slowly blinked at them with the casual arrogance that Uchiha were known for. Konohana rolled his eyes at him with a fond little smile, but, thankfully, turned back to Rhiannon. Who winked at him—winked—before she returned Konohana’s attention in full.
“Bold of you to assume I was the one choosing,” Butsuma suddenly declared with a choked voice. “We clashed, I won—mostly by luck—she decided I was going to father her children, and that was that. The only saving grace for my clan was that Hashirama is too defanged to really register to her beyond general maternal instincts, so we still have an heir that is allowed to be raised Senju rather than Hatake.”
Defanged, not like little Tobi who spent his time yet again chewing on Tajima’s shoulder as he hung off his back and followed Madara with his eyes as his son made the rounds expected of an heir.
Sometimes, Tajima wondered how it might feel to be the uncontested centre of someone else’s focus like this. Then again, considering Butsuma’s suddenly thoughtful gaze, maybe he’d find out someday soon.
Rhiannon: You smell like a bitch in heat.
Butsuma: BLUSH.
Rhiannon: Never mind. Score me the acceptance for a similar agreement with his wife, and you can let him have you.