Was it really murder, their killing of one another? At what point did "murder" become "war", did it become some acceptable idea for the either of them? For society? It was such a harsh and chosen word that Tobirama used, and Izuna didn't think it belonged, not here.

Not like fucking, which felt chosen, a beautiful piece of language that fit with this situation. In Tobirama's memories, he wondered if they had ever done anything other than fuck; were their intimate sessions of lovemaking in the water? Quiet moments in fields under moonlight as they hissed out one another's names while carefully, slowly exploring one another's bodies? Or were they all quick, rapid flickers of shared seconds, hurried and barbed and rushed?

Lips parted as he started to argue, but it died on his tongue; the hand moved over around them, around what he couldn't reach, and dragged the breath from his lungs. The callouses were hard but the grip welcoming, and he shivered where he was on the other's lap. How ironic that they were using teamwork for once, and on this task of all things.

He flushed a little, under the touch, the gaze, the gaze meeting his own and breaking every Senju rule that was ever created. Why--why did he do that? Look? Stare? Meet his eyes and not flinch away? Why--Why would he--

"Idealistic fool," he murmured, and closed the distance again, kissing him, not letting it just be happenstance brushes but something intentional, deeper, promising. He started to move his hand, encouraging Tobirama's to follow suit, to move up, then down, starting up a rhythm that began slow but would build steam. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against the other man's, his breath hot pants over the feel of everything.

"Good," he murmured, shifting up just a little bit, enough to make his eyelashes (those damn long Uchiha eyelashes) flutter. "This...this feels..."