That mark? That mark was from another enemy, another Senju warrior, a shuriken that had hit true. Of all the scars Izuna had, it was the one he liked the least, a reminder of how some nameless fool had gotten the better of him for a single moment, how they had etched their legacy into his flesh when he had nothing else to go on. This mark would be carried forever...and it wasn't even worth it.

Izuna had killed him a second later, angry, growling.

The fact that Tobirama touched it made him frown. Why couldn't he touch one of his own marks? The line across his back? The one at his hip?

But there were those lips, speaking against his skin, and Izuna thought that this, that these illusionary moments with the lips against his skin, were more intimate than anything he had with anyone else. Soft and alluring and quiet, he appreciated the subtlety of the movement on someone who in no way should be doing it. It felt so out of place against the morose topic of conversation.

But I want to kill you. I have to kill you. That is what war is: death.

"Mm." But now they were facing one another, and Izuna was staring up into red eyes as those hands settled around him. They looked through him, and Izuna hated it, hated how much they knew when it should be nothing, nothing at all.

At least he relaxed into the kiss a little. There was that.

"I know," he hissed, rolling his eyes as if it was a well-worn path they had traveled before. "I'm just tired and it slipped out before I could stop myself." Fingers trailed up the other's back, wondering how he could smooth over the situation. How much time did he have any more? It couldn't be much.

"Are we going to fight about this when we have so little time between us?"