Dearest...
IF YOU DIED I WOULD PROBABLY GET A MANGEKYOU
~*~
MADARA liked to begin his days by wandering through Itachi's genjutsu and making the requisite revisions where he felt they could be improved. He swept through the landscape, casting a regal eye over some of Itachi's more creative touches such as dead, twisted trees and eerie rivers that flowed nowhere. Upon literal reflection he doubled back to the latter and added a near-defunct bridge spanning this river and cutting off in midair. He eyed the bridge appraisingly for a moment, then set it on fire, nodded absently, and continued on his way.
There was something about the tsukuyomi that seemed off, nothing quantifiable; the textbook manipulation and structure of chakra was flawless. He reasoned that he must be acquiring perfectionist tendencies in his old age and ignored it.
Then he came upon two of the many Itachis wandering around quickly hiding something away as he passed.
“Itachi-kun,” he called. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all,” replied Itachi's omnipresent voice. Strictly speaking, there was no reason why the myriad Itachis' mouths should move along with this; the boy simply had a precocious sense of style.
“In that case, would you care to inform me what exactly two of those doppelgangers are doing with a lute?”
There was the slightest blip in the tsukuyomi as Itachi struggled for control, which was to say that everything flickered to static and apologetic-looking kanji for a second before bleeding back out to the familiar red and black.
“Musical torture is the latest in prolonged misery,” said Itachi, somewhat unconvincingly. “I recently attended a shamisen concert.”
“And-what-“ Madara squinted at the nearest doppelganger. This should theoretically have been unnecessary; when making his metaphorical deal with the devil he had been sure the Eternal Mangekyou eyes would involve some kind of wide-lens zoom or at least astigmatism correction, but at their best they operated only at bifocal functionality. In the afterlife, assuming he ever encountered such a thing, he would have to have words with Izuna about this. Despite his visual difficulties, however, it was clear to him that there was something very, very wrong with the ANBU tattoo on the doppelganger's shoulder.
He paused as he realized what it was.
“Itachi-kun,” he said, voice completely flat, “is that ANBU tattoo shaped like a heart?”
The entire sky static-flickered to the kanji again, which he could now see read WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE LAPSE IN PICTURE QUALITY; A MEMBER OF OUR SUPPORT STAFF WILL BE BACK IN TOUCH WITH YOU SHORTLY.
It was at that point that Madara realized what the niggling problem was.
“Itachi-kun!” he snapped. “I expect this genjutsu dispelled within five seconds, after which you and I will sit down and have a very, very candid discussion about why exactly this entire tsukuyomi was composed in shades of pink.”
ONCE Madara actually learned what was preoccupying Itachi's subconscious, he was delighted. Valentine's Day was an an exquisite excuse to foster Mangekyou relationships; the early Uchiha had actually minted a fortune selling special poisoned Mangekyou chocolates and appetizers for the purposes of Valentine's Day trysts destined to end...productively. The issue in question, of course, was simply one of taste. If Itachi wished to seduce his charming friend, he would have to do it like a true Uchiha male.
“The commemoration of Valentine's Day,” he said, “is traditionally variant from clan to clan. The Yamanaka, of course, infest Konoha with floral garbage; in my day I had this outlawed among our clan.”
“Was it because you wished to cultivate an environment of steadfast discipline,” said Itachi, with the monotone inflection that Madara assumed passed for admiration. Admittedly, it could also pass for several other things, but Madara assumed that in this particular context it could be nothing but admiration, given that Itachi was in his sterling presence.
“No,” he said, giving the assumed admiration time to steep. “It was because Izuna was allergic to pollen. As you may know, I was committed to my brother's well-being.”
“Ah.”
“The Senju were tactless on the best of days and celebrated Valentine's Day with what they called a 'festival of life,' which is to say a bacchanal. Some tawdry excuse was made that the...emotions released by this event were necessary to catalyze Hashirama's sensitivity to plantlife. As it was, on my last Valentine's Day in Konoha he sent the future jinchuuriki, Uzumaki Mito, a missive that read 'I want to seal my raging beast inside you.'” Madara sniffed in a manner that indicated this was not in any way the reason this had happened to be his last Valentine's Day in Konoha.
“Please enlighten me regarding Uchiha observance of this tradition,” said Itachi tonelessly. “Shisui is very interested in clan traditions, and I should like to provide an authentic experience for him.”
“Itachi-kun, what is the specialty of the glorious Uchiha clan?”
“Genjutsu,” said Itachi.
“No,” said Madara, and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Setting things on fire and causing psychological harm.”
MADARA was hiding in a bush when Uchiha Shisui actually appeared within the tsukuyomi, looking traumatized. Apparently he had never seen a tsukuyomi before, which was understandable as it was something that could only be taught by its legendary creator, namely Madara himself.
“Itachi?” he called, voice nervous. “Hey, you around? What are we doing, exactly? I thought we were going to go lipstick Uchiha Madara's Valley of the End statue, you know, like we do every V-Day-“
Madara nearly dispelled the tsukuyomi right there and let Uchiha Shisui fall on his unattractive, police-vest-clad ass in the middle of the Uchiha compound, screaming about lipstick pranks, but he decided against this. This was all being done for the sake of the Mangekyou bond, he reminded himself. It was in his best interests to facilitate Itachi's little seduction.
“I thought we might experiment this year,” said Itachi, and Madara with his omniscience and general skill saw an ancient Uchiha legacy ease into Uchiha Shisui's posture, namely the certainty that he was getting laid. This was not happening and in fact rarely did happen in the Uchiha clan, who predicated their entire sexual appeal upon the art of the tease, but Uchiha Shisui didn't need to know this. He looked thrilled, but controlled it well, because this was what young boys did. Madara knew these things. He was once a young boy. Once. He'd made his brother wear a chastity belt.
Itachi came gliding out of the shadows of the dead tree, for the occasion festooned with streamers and charming twinkling lanterns in the shape of Mangekyou eyes. He was wearing a silk kimono, the design of which he had copied from Madara's days in the so-called Senju treaty negotiations. At the sight Madara could vicariously feel Uchiha Shisui's throat go dry. Various facial expressions flitted across his face in panicked body language; Madara, being fluent in body language, read them as SHIT, UNDERAGE and SHIT, I'M UNDERAGE TOO and most prominently SHIT, THAT IS REALLY HOT.
“Wow, you look absolutely-” said Shisui, and then appeared to quickly remember that he was supposed to be a swaggering, heartbreaking Uchiha male. “...adequate,” he finished lamely.
“Thank you,” said Itachi. “You also look very...adequate.”
“I'm in my police vest.”
“I have always admired the pleasing composition of your disheveled curls in contrast with the severe lines of the vest, with its military cut and fabric,” said Itachi in that same monotone, and Shisui's face went absolutely white. Madara smirked. It was always very easy for Uchiha to cause psychological trauma, because all they really had to do was be rude and apathetic for years upon end and then suddenly reveal hitherto unsuspected bouts of affection and/or admiration. It worked wonders. But the real test of the night was approaching: Itachi's Valentine speech.
“Shisui,” said Itachi, stalking over to his cousin without blinking and snatching his hand out of the air. Madara made a couple of the eye-shaped lanterns hover romantically in the air around them to remind him to gaze into Shisui's eyes. He did so. “I simply want you to know that if you died...I would get a Mangekyou. Particularly if you drowned in a river. It would be an exceedingly strong Mangekyou, enabling me to develop legendary techniques, inflict unheard-of psychological trauma on arbitrary victims, and, should the need ever arise, commit deplorable acts. And I hope you understand that this would all be because of you. I see no other way to express the extent of my undying devotion.”
Shisui looked like he wanted to initiate this chain of events effective immediately.
Madara bashed two of the lanterns together to indicate what was supposed to happen next.
Itachi blinked. Then, with infinite caution, one of the doppelgangers skulked over to Shisui to press his arms to his sides. Another one ran helpfully up with an illustrative diagram and yet another provided some sweet fennel to chew. Itachi checked the stronghold, perused the diagram, and chewed the fennel. Then he rose to tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Shisui's mouth.
Immediately Shisui's stammering and horrified expression turned ecstatic.
“Say,” he said, as soon as Itachi had let him up. “That was sort of...amazing. Do that again? Without the-actually no, leave them there, that's sort of...kinky.” He offered a rakish smile at one of the doppelgangers, who swooned, which was to say that in Itachi-language he stared at Shisui as if he'd been bludgeoned with a tailed beast.
“I am happy to oblige,” said Itachi. This time Shisui leaned down, wrapped his arms around Itachi's waist, and kissed him so hard his feet were lifted over the dry, barren tsukuyomi-ground. They went at this for a while and Madara was certain the last part of the Uchiha Valentine's Day tradition was going to be sidelined, but presently they disengaged, looking endearingly flushed and sweaty (well, Shisui did, since it was Itachi's illusion he looked exactly the same as he always did) and set away for a romantic walk down the eerie, burbling river. Madara observed with approval as Itachi produced two marshmallows and sticks. Leaning into one another, they dangled the marshmallows into the serenely burning decrepit bridge.
Madara smiled. His work here was done. For years, he had been ensuring the continuation (or eradication) of the Uchiha line with the aid of this excellently bohemian tradition. He strolled away through the pink tsukuyomi, dangling one of the eye lanterns and trying to appear suitably menacing as from the distance, he heard a plaintive, “That doesn't give you any right to take my marshmallows!”
~*~
THE END