Within the Forest – They fight another type of battle. Hashirama/Madara.

"They will find out."

"I gave up on them long ago."

Hashirama lay on his back in the glade, looking up at the clear, cloudless sky and suffering through the sounds made by the songbirds. But the anxiety on his face was slashed through by open yearning and his hand was beside his head on the grass. It was clasped by another.

The hand in his twitched, and that small motion was as sound as the swift blows this person dealt so frequently in the heat of battle. He could feel the silent power in those long fingers, deceptively small where they rested in his own large hand.

Uchiha Madara. He was raw yet elegant yet brutal. He was unyieldingly traditional yet lying there beside him anyway. The bright sunlight filtered in to highlight their faces and the atmosphere felt so, so disproportionate. A question lingered on Hashirama's tongue. Not because he wanted an answer - Madara would not answer - but simply because he wanted to hear his voice.

"Why do we still do this?"

"Stop asking such ridiculous questions."

There was no answer. There was just the cruelty of the bright sunlight and the retribution of Madara's hand held in his own. There were the brilliant forests of Fire Country, spread out with life as if to mimic disorder. There was Konoha hours in the distance and shattering pleasure there in the glade.

Madara disliked the trees; he preferred the deep valleys. But even he relented that they were too open, too visible. Too perfect for one type of battle, yet imperfect for their other. The forest was trusted to hide their secrets while the valley would lay them bare. The sunlight dimmed for barely a second while a large bird crossed its path.

"I will be married tomorrow."

"Don't bring her near me."

Hashirama laughed and the sound echoed through the glade, mingling with the ever-present birdsong. He tilted his head to observe the side of Madara's face, to see the displeased look in his powerful eyes and the slight wrinkle of his brow. His pale features stood out in contrast to his dark, dark hair. Sometimes Tobirama would say with a carefree wave of hand that the Uchiha all looked the same.

But he couldn't mistake Uchiha Madara for anyone else if he tried. His silent presence would still be there, watching him with contemplating eyes and pulling him away to take him within the forest, far from the village they'd built together.

"Will Izuna not see when you return?"

"My brother knows. I don't care to hide it."

Hashirama pushed himself up on his elbows, letting the man lying on the grass beside him see the hint of apprehension in his eyes. Instead of delivering one of his usual cutting remarks, Madara tangled one pale hand in the front of his shirt and pulled him close, pressing their mouths together with staggering intensity. Warm breath darted by his cheek when he finally drew back.

"There is a benefit to how I rule. I command their loyalty."

His voice was harsh and raw, but the form molded against him was firm, yielding.

"Just as I do yours."

With that the tension of the forest broke in one great rush. It fled from between them and shook the songbirds from the trees, and the sensations of the hands under his clothes were far more powerful than those of the rough grass against his bare legs.

And Hashirama allowed himself to be pulled over because the man beside him embodied that power and was not easily contented. He allowed Madara to lead him in the dance that had become so familiar over the years, one that was danced to the music of silent whispers and broken tradition.

I'm not sure of their actual history, but I like this pairing for the imagery. Review, please.