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mooryomi_gaeru as a gift for her after all the wonderful inspiration she has provided over the years![Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen]
At Sixteen [Part Six]
When the boys made up the living room floor with placemats, cutlery and chopsticks, Sakura helped with setting out napkins and glasses Madara collected from the kitchen. Instead of rows, they sat in a circle—
“Like in the Robin Hood book!” said Tomo.
“You mean King Arthur,” corrected Shichi.
“Robin Hood could have done it, too!”
—talking animatedly about how excited they were about Sakura staying the night. When Tajima joined them they took their seats. Madara neatly found his way to Sakura’s left side, while Izuna planted himself at her right, so close their thighs pressed against each other.
“Izuna, give Haruno-dono more room, you’re crowding her,” chastised Tajima, though not severely.
“Yes, father,” replied Izuna, nodding and retreating just enough for Sakura to breathe without her chest constricting.
Madara pretended to ignore their father’s words, but his every movement during supper was controlled and deliberate: his distance from Sakura, the deference he paid her, the manner in which he offered her the foods he knew she preferred, it was the perfect act by the perfect son. He led by example, and his youngest brothers followed suit, addressing Sakura equally respectfully and offering her food the way their eldest brother did, their manners on full display. It left her smiling, and she treated them all with the same respect in return.
The way Tajima observed them, slightly amused and fond, brought home to Sakura how much the Uchiha patriarch truly loved his sons. He corrected his youngest sons’ grammar or intonation, but let them speak as they pleased, listening more than contributing. She wondered how often he was able to eat with them together as a family, and so casually.
When it came to Madara, Sakura was especially careful. She would nod at him, “Thank you, Uchiha-san,” each time he addressed her or offered her a platter. But it was difficult for her to hide the warmth that occurred so naturally between them. The urge to touch his hand or lean into him, to look directly at him and smile warmly instead of conservatively, were difficult to subdue. But feeling Tajima’s eyes on her, she reluctantly complied.
From Sakura’s right, Izuna spent the evening repeatedly drawing Sakura into conversation that only the two of them would understand; discussions of philosophical theory, English, American and French history, specific novels he had read that he knew his brothers had not. When it came down to the particulars of language learning, Tajima gave his son a look.
“Izuna, you must share our guest with everyone.”
“Yes, father,” repeated Izuna.
Madara said nothing, but Sakura noted the thinning of his lips, and the way his fingers tightened their grip on his chopsticks. Under the guise of adjusting herself more comfortably, Sakura ‘accidentally’ bumped his shoulder as she straightened her skirt, smiling at him apologetically.
“I’m so sorry, Uchiha-san.”
“Hn,” replied Madara briefly; though the taut line of his shoulders would have relaxed, and his voice gentled, when he did.
Tajima watched them like a hawk, not missing the interaction, of course. But to Sakura’s relief, he said nothing, merely regarded them thoughtfully for an extra heartbeat or two before turning his attention to another of his sons. Sakura’s heart rabbited in her chest, but when Tajima neither pursued nor commented on the subtle gesture, she relaxed.
Halfway through supper, the electricity went out.
Tomo whimpered, but Shichi and Koji moved closer to him.
“Madara, Izuna, go get more lanterns,” ordered Tajima, looking around the room.
The moment the older boys left the room, Tomo and Shichi scooted over to Sakura’s sides, bringing their plates with them.
Sakura reached out and wrapped her arms around the boys.
“Uchiha Koji-san, are you alright? There’s room for another,” offered Sakura as Tomo climbed into Sakura’s lap.
“Tomo, you’re not a baby—” began Tajima, but Sakura shook her head at him.
“It’s alright. The house shaking earlier startled me, too,” said Sakura. She glanced at Koji again in the semi-darkness, and with a quick look at his father, Koji nodded. Without a word he collected his plate and came to sit with Sakura, nestled into her other side.
“Thank you, I was getting chilly,” said Sakura. “Now I’m nice and warm.”
“We’re not crowding you?” asked Shichi.
Sakura shook her head. “Not at all. We can finish up and read one more story before bed, if we have time.”
“Can we, father?” asked Shichi.
His eyes thoughtful as he studied Sakura, Tajima nodded. “If Haruno-dono agrees. There is plenty of firewood in the fireplace, and your brothers found the extra lanterns,” he added, as Madara and Izuna returned carrying several lanterns each.
Sakura nodded gratefully and gave Tajima a small smile of relief. The boys were young and it was a very dangerous storm. The wind howled outside, and every so often the lightning and thunder lit up the room with tremendous crashes. Of course they were nervous. If they wanted a cuddle, Sakura was more than happy to reassure them. Through the rest of the meal the boys behaved themselves, though Tomo’s eyes fell shut for longer and longer periods once full dark settled in around them for the night. While Shichi and Koji cleared everyone’s plates (Madara and Izuna took them to the kitchen), Tomo leaned against Sakura and curled up in her lap entirely.
“Which story would you like?” asked Sakura.
“Sherlock Holmes,” said Koji. “I’ll go get my copy!”
Sakura grinned at him. “Take a lantern. Uchiha Shichi-san, could you go with your brother, please?”
When the plates were cleared and the boys gathered near, Sakura read several chapters from Koji’s mystery novel. Her chest tightened when Tajima took up a seat nearby. While she read, the boys strategized aloud at who the culprit could be, and what was and wasn’t a clue, and Sakura refused to give them any hints beyond what was found in the text. Initially Sakura’s voice was strained while she read; it was rare for Tajima to join them when she visited, but that night he remained with them, listening with his boys, his shoulders relaxed as he leaned back in his chair, his hands folded over his lean stomach. She gradually settled as she focused on the story and the boys, and Izuna or Madara would interject if the younger ones started getting boisterous or argumentative. They would immediately calm at hearing Madara, and Sakura nodded at him over the cover of the book every so often in thanks. The subtle shift of his lips and softening of his eyes were all he allowed in return, but it was enough, between them.
They were careful, but no movement escaped the hawk-eyed gaze of Madara’s father, Tajima. His presence was a very specific reminder that they were under surveillance at all times, their every gesture and word up for assessment and his approval.
And yet, in spite of the blustery storm outside, it was cheery and warm in the sitting room with the boys piled around Sakura on the floor like puppies, Tajima sitting with them nearby, and the fire and lanterns burning into the night.
When the clock in the corner rang ten, Tajima looked down at Tomo, Shichi and Koji who had fallen asleep around Sakura. “Time for bed,” he announced. He stood and stretched, his joints popping as he groaned under his breath and yawned behind his hand. He nodded to Izuna and Madara. “Help me get your brothers to bed and you can stay up a bit later in your rooms.”
Emotion passed subtly across Madara’s expression, but he nodded and nudged Shichi and Koji’s shoulders, helping them up and walking them up the stairs after they bid Sakura good night. Izuna hurried Tomo who gave Sakura a sleepy hug before stumbling alongside Izuna up the main stairs to the wing with their bedrooms.
That left Sakura alone with Tajima.
Swallowing down the awkward lump in her throat, Sakura smiled and accepted the hand that Tajima offered her, helping her up.
“Thank you very much for your help this evening, Haruno-dono,” said Tajima.
“I only did what I always do,” explained Sakura, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she curtsy-bowed to him, her eyes averted at the ground in a soft gaze. It was nice to be able to be honest with him. “You raised wonderful children, they’re a pleasure to be with.”
“That isn’t what most of their old tutors used to say,” he said dryly.
Looking up, Sakura saw the hint of tired amusement curling the edge of his lips ruefully.
“They’re more intelligent than most would expect, I think. Especially when they team up together. They like to work together, though; we’re very lucky they’re so bonded. It will be nice for them as they grow up into adults, to be so close,” admitted Sakura, a little envious of them. “They reflect the great effort you put into them.”
A flicker passed behind Tajima’s dark, knowing eyes that Sakura wrote off immediately as reflection from the surrounding lamps and fire from the hearth.
“They reflect the effort that many put into them, including you, Haruno-dono,” he replied.
Sakura’s eyes widened and she blushed and nodded, looking down at her hands.
“I do my best for them,” she said.
“I know,” said Tajima, more softly than she had ever heard him speak. “I will fetch Keiko-san to help you prepare for bed.”
Her brows drawn together at his uncharacteristic tone, Sakura nodded. He left her at the foot of the stairs as he went to find Keiko, and Sakura mulled over his words.
###
Upstairs meanwhile, having tucked in his younger brothers for the night, Madara debated with himself whether to get ready for bed or to ask a favour of his father. The doorknob of his room pressing into his palm, he squeezed it and made his decision.
###
At the polite, precise knock on his door, Tajima’s brow rose and he hid a small smile that threatened his cool composure. He’d been sitting by his window smoking, waiting for this particular visit since he left Sakura in Keiko’s capable care.
“Ah,” he called.
“May I come in?”
“Of course,” replied Tajima, his suspicions proving correct as his eldest son entered the room. He closed the door behind himself. “Yes?”
“I would like to ask your permission to sit with Sakura for a time this evening,” asked Madara.
“It’s bedtime,” said Tajima, exhaling out the open window. The storm still raged outdoors, but this particular window was sheltered, preventing the ingress of water for the time being.
“I respectfully request your permission to enjoy her company in the living room, without being crowded by others, so we can have a conversation without being surrounded by constant interruptions,” repeated Madara patiently. “We will keep the doors open and you may check on us at any time, or send Keiko-san as a chaperone.”
“I ‘may’, may I?”
A muscle flinched in Madara’s cheek, but Tajima couldn’t resist teasing his son. Already acting the master of the manor, was he? Well, he supposed it wasn’t long off, the way his son excelled…
But could he trust Madara that night? Could he trust his son not to take advantage of the young woman Tajima already considered the daughter he and his wife had always wished for?
Tajima would not kid himself. He knew engagement and marriage between the pair at this point was more a matter of administration than intention, as they bided their time waiting for the right moment in their young lives to formally declare their obvious bond. Madara had never shown so much as an iota of interest in any of his business partners’ children, schoolmates or family friends; no one but Sakura, who had been front and center in his heart since he was at least thirteen. Since Madara’s friendship with Sakura bloomed, Tajima had witnessed his stubborn, selfish eldest son become a proud, determined, compassionate young man. And, in being honest with himself, Tajima couldn’t take credit for the latter.
But that didn’t mean he could ignore the physical aspect, and potential consequences, of their relationship, either. He never heard from Kizashi regarding the incident in his office and admitted to himself that he was more than a bit uncertain about bringing it up to gauge his oldest friend’s reaction to it. He suspected that Sakura had not spoken to her parents about what happened, else they would surely have sought him out (Mebuki likely with a pitchfork in hand). Internally he shivered; Kizashi was the bravest man he knew based on his choice of mate alone.
Before him, Madara awaited his answer.
“You will not take advantage of her in this house,” said Tajima clearly, an edge to his voice.
Madara scowled and looked away. “I would ne…” His words trailed off, and his eyes narrowed before he turned back to his father. “I promise.”
His steady gaze heavy on his son, Tajima studied Madara for a long moment. His heart clenched in his chest and his stomach soured with suspicion. So, something had happened in the past. He searched his memory for any hint of what or when. Not recently... Of course Sakura had taken breaks from her ‘tutoring’ on occasion, due to work, but the chaperone had supervised theme ever since The Incident, so when…
That night, as Tajima strode through his home, he made out whispers. Pretending to ignore them, he tried to listen for what they said, but every time he approached they hushed.
Such things were common in wealthy households, of course, but to have the entire staff abuzz was rare. Something had happened.
Something that no one wanted to speak of.
For the hundred thousandth time, he longed to have his wife still by his side. She knew how to ferret these things out, no matter how trivial. He did not have her delicate, sensitive touch, however. So the next time he heard whispers, he whirled on his heel and chased down the gossip. He caught two of the maids cleaning the library.
“—never seen her run through the house before, like there was a devil on her heels. And with her beautiful shirt tor—”
“What is going on,” demanded Tajima, bursting into the room.
He hadn’t thought he sounded that angry, but the way the pair of women jumped one would have thought he was about to assault them.
“Nothing, my Lord,” gasped the first maid quickly.
The second one trembled in the other’s arms, regarding him fearfully.
“What’s got into you? What’s everyone talking about?”
The women looked at each other.
“H-Haruno-dono left quite abruptly this afternoon. She said she was feeling unwell. That’s all, sir,” said the first maid, glancing at her partner.
Tajima’s brow furrowed.
“Yes. Why is there so much talk of it?”
The maids paled and looked at each other again. Neither answered.
Tajima glared at them. “I asked you a question.”
“Y-young Master also… was unwell,” said the first maid with a slight hitch.
“Which one?”
“The eldest,” said the first maid.
Tajima crossed his arms. Well, Madara had imbibed a fair bit that afternoon. His scion hadn’t drunk that much alcohol since their stay in England, now that Tajima thought about it. When Madara had wandered off, Tajima hadn’t worried. It wasn’t as if Madara could get into trouble on the grounds, and the guards would have prevented him from passing through the gates.
“Did he hurt himself?”
The second maid looked meaningfully at the first, but the first shook her head.
“No,” said the first maid softly. “There was no evidence of that, my Lord.”
“So Madara pulled a drunken stunt, is that what this is about?”
“Stunt?!” exclaimed the second maid angrily before her friend could shush her.
“Yes, a drunken stunt, my Lord. We didn’t want the young master to get in trouble. He was a bit tipsy, that was all,” assured the first maid. “He wasn’t hurt. When he came inside, he bathed and went to lie down.” She tightened her grip on her colleague’s arm.
The look that passed between the women was loaded.
“And that was it?” asked Tajima, studying their expressions.
“Yes, my Lord,” said the first maid.
Tajima shook his head. The whole staff gossipped because his son got a bit drunk? He had five sons! Two of them were teenagers! They had to learn to drink sometime. This was ridiculous. Obviously everyone had too much time on their hands.
“Then let there be no more talk of it. I’ve heard nothing but whispering since I came in for supper,” said Tajima. “If no one was hurt, I want an end to his juvenile nonsense. Is that clear?”
The first maid nodded dutifully.
The second maid, with her neatly pinned blond hair, had fire in her blue eyes and a clenched jaw.
It hit him all at once. The time, a year before, when the staff had all begun avoiding, fearing, his eldest son. When Sakura had stayed away for weeks.
It must have shown on his face because Madara’s stance shifted, his back straightening, his eyes widening, his breathing quickening. But he stood his ground, facing his father.
Tajima’s jaw clenched.
Gods, how had Kizashi and Mebuki allowed Sakura back after… If they’d had any clue, Tajima would never be able to face them with his head up… He thought of his best friend and the trust they put in him when he asked for their daughter to come visit with his sons to teach them English, all those years ago. He had failed, repeatedly he realized, in his efforts to protect their precious treasure. Failed to protect her from his own son.
And yet, Sakura had returned. She kept returning, week after week. She had rushed to Madara’s protection before, he remembered, too. She had braved a typhoon to see them; no, to see Madara. The pretty young woman was stronger than he gave her credit for.
Perhaps… perhaps it was time to view their personal lives no longer like children, but like young adults. Within measured reach.
Yet the memory of the cigarette smoke, of Madara’s insolence in his office, flared hotly in his memory. They had been extremely fortunate that there had been no further consequences. He had to prevent any further stains that may mar Sakura’s reputation.
“If there is any hint of misbehaviour, you will never see her again,” said Tajima finally.
Madara’s lips pressed together, but he took a deep breath and exhaled calmly.
“Understood.”
Still standing a few feet away, Madara’s self-control shocked Tajima. This was definitely not the hot-headed son he had raised. His son’s feelings were far more profound than Tajima knew.
“You must ensure she is in her own room by midnight, and you will be in your own bed by one minute past, is that clear?” he added.
“Yes, father.”
Tajima exhaled heavily, the smoke clouding his gaze as Madara waited to be dismissed.
“I mean it, Madara. Any hint at all, and I’ll follow through.”
“Yes, father.”
The cigarette in his hands had burned down to his fingertips, and Tajima stamped it out in the ashtray on the windowsill.
“You may go.”
Madara nodded to his father and walked to the door. Tajima’s eyebrow rose as he heard his footsteps gradually quickening until there was a soft knock down the hall, hushed whispering, then two pairs of sock feet tiptoeing past again and down the stairs.
If he’d bothered to get out of his seat, he knew he would have seen Madara eagerly tugging Sakura after him through the house so they could finally enjoy some private time together.
It lifted the corner of his lips.
Well, at least they hadn’t headed straight for a bedroom… That was promising.
***
Madara lit few lamps in the living room where he and his family had spent their afternoon and evening with Sakura. Instead, he left the room dim and hurried to a large cabinet along the wall along the far side of the room.
“Uchiha-san…?”
He huffed at her and gave her a look, a gleam of irritated amusement shining in his dark eyes. Then he went back to the cabinet, opening its doors and moving something around inside it before he cranked a lever. A faint winding noise reached her ears and she cocked her head. It was familiar, but where had she heard it before?... Not since her childhood in France…
Sakura bit her lip, her cheeks warming as she said, very softly, “... Madara?”
“That’s better,” he praised.
“What are you up to?” she asked, stepping closer.
And then she heard it.
The soft crackling, the turntable, then, the music. Madara pulled the doors nearly closed, muffling it so it wouldn’t carry upstairs.
“Surely you’ve heard a Victrola before?” teased Madara, coming to join her. He took her hand in his. As they had cleared all the furniture to the sides of the room earlier that day, the full living room floor was open to them.
“That cabinet has had a record player in it all this time?” gaped Sakura, shaking her head.
“Hn.”
He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her closer to him, already swaying with the music.
“You know how to dance? Father made Izuna and I take lessons.”
“I can waltz. A bit.” Sakura’s cheeks warmed. “I kept taking the lead, so no one would dance with me at socials.”
While still an inch shorter than her, Madara smirked. “That won’t be a problem with me.”
Sakura laughed with him, keeping her voice down as Madara began to lead her around the room, humming along with the playful tune.
“Come, Josephine, in My Flying Machine”, he sang, smiling at her.
And to Sakura, it felt like they were in a dream. Dancing in his family’s living room together, the storm outside throwing rain and leaves at the windows, but their shared warmth and the soft lighting lifting her heart. All the while, Madara’s eyes never left hers.
Occasionally he changed the record disc, and several other songs played. Nothing too loud or wild, no ragdoll or folk music, however that suited them just fine. “Oft in the Stilly Night”, “Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming”, “Cuddle Up a Little Closer, Lovey Mine (Hoschna)”, during which Sakura blushed as Madara pulled her in even closer, until they no longer waltzed, but swayed.
Then, still holding Sakura close to his chest, he changed the disc again, and classical music flowed through the cabinet doors.
Their arms around each other, their foreheads touching, Sakura smiled and shut her eyes. Their feet barely moved as they held each other, and then Madara’s cheek slipped past hers to rest against her neck and shoulder. His lips moved softly against the sensitive skin of her throat and Sakura’s breath shuddered out of her as he stroked her back through her borrowed nightgown.
“W-what’s this one called,” whispered Sakura.
“Berceuse from Jocelyn,” murmured Madara.
“A lullabye?”
“Hnnnn.”
Giving in to her desire, just a bit, Sakura relaxed and rested her head on Madara’s shoulder as they swayed.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered sadly, her arms tightening around him.
“I’m… I want you to stay here, forever,” said Madara. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”
“You don’t need to do anything to impress me, Madara,” said Sakura gently.
“I don’t want anyone or anything to be able to come between us,” he countered. “I must become the best so no one dares try.”
He moaned into her skin when she lifted her hand to run through his hair, stroking him lovingly.
“Gods, I’ve missed your touch,” he breathed with longing, his fingers clenching in her nightgown.
Sakura’s body moved instinctively closer, her warm breath cascading down Madara’s neck.
“I.” Sakura swallowed and tried again. “I’ve missed you… touching me… and kissing me… being…” She swallowed again, her voice husky. “... being inside… me… Madara.”
“Fuck,” he gasped into her mouth, before capturing her lips with his, his hands in her hair. Yet he was gentle, his touch trembling with the strain of his self-control.
“I know we can’t… but… I want to,” breathed Sakura between his kisses, her fingers tight in his nightshirt. “So much.”
“Stupid. Fucking. Rules,” grit out Madara between increasingly desperate kisses. “Once I’m sixteen, I’m going straight to your father’s door with three cups of saké, a Shinto priest and a vicar, and then I’m taking you on a honeymoon that won’t end until you can neither walk nor stand—and I’m not bringing pants, I won’t need them—you won’t wear anything but me—”
He punctuated each statement with a kiss, walking Sakura backwards until her shoulders pressed into the wall beside the Victrola, his hips pressing into hers. He let go of her with one hand and clumsily opened the doors of the Victrola cabinet wider, the music providing them some cover for the noise they were making, with Sakura gasping into Madara’s lips and kissing him back just as intensely.
“And you’ll wear the hairpins I gave you, and you’ll wear my ring, and you’ll be mine in front of everyone,” he swore, his fingers threading in her hair before he kissed her deeply. “My Sakura.”
Her knees wobbled at hearing him say her name so lovingly, so possessively, so cherished.
“I am already yours. I will be yours. I am yours always,” said Sakura when they parted for air, panting, resting their foreheads on each others’ shoulder. “My Madara.”
“Always,” repeated Madara. A moment passed. He swallowed. “I love you.”
“I love you,” whispered Sakura, hugging him close.
Madara exhaled long and hard, closing his eyes as he embraced Sakura. His heart pounded in his chest, strong enough to resonate through them both.
At midnight, Madara returned Sakura to her room, his eyes bright with promise, her cheeks warm with anticipation. Then he turned around and walked to his own room, closing the door behind him. 12:01 on the nose. And he hadn’t broken any of his father’s rules. Mostly.
He thought of his confessions to Sakura, how his birthday was but a season away, how it would feel to have her in his arms again, to feel her loving words against his skin. He bit down on his fist to keep from gasping her name, his chest exploding as he spent himself in his bed. His gaze was starstruck as his release burst all over his abdomen and chest. He heaved for several minutes, grateful and excited and determined to grow another two inches, at least, before he married Sakura.
He was going to marry her.
After cleaning himself up with a washcloth and water, Madara collapsed into bed, nearly giddy for the morning to come.
He was going to marry her.
He would talk with his father in the morning. They had to make preparations. He had to speak with her father. He had to…
He was going to marry Sakura.
His thoughts a mad circus of wedding plans and, more importantly, honeymoon preparations, Madara fell asleep smiling more happily than he had felt in years.
Meanwhile, down the corridor, a third door closed, very gently, very softly, very angrily.
***
The servants’ passages were generally narrow and clean, dotted with doors to every room in the house. There was a time when every Uchiha had known these passageways as well as the main thoroughfares in their home, but it had been several years since they had been allowed to use them. After complaints from the staff following a rather serious game of “hide and go seek” gone wrong, they were no longer allowed to enter them. While some passages were frequently used by the staff, from the kitchens to the laundry for the most part, in this section dust had collected on the doorknob he sought.
He opened the door slowly, mindful of any squeaking or grating, relieved when it made no sound. From there he could hear her deep, even breaths.
He had waited. He had waited for hours. Then he had gone looking for her, and found his brother pinning her against a wall like he owned her.
He didn’t.
His fists at his side, Izuna approached the large bed covered in silk blankets where Sakura was sound asleep. His eyes were red, his jaw tight, his cheeks wet.
“I’ll save you,” he whispered fiercely.
He swallowed when she made a small, soft sound in her sleep. Her cheeks were still rosy.
His gaze softened as he watched her fingers moving vaguely in her sleep, the blanket slipping from her shoulder.
He pulled it up, ever so gently, and she settled when she was warm again. Her hair brushed against his wrist as he pulled away, tickling and thrilling him in equal measure.
A small smile soothed his frown as he watched her peaceful slumber.
“I’ll protect you,” he promised, drawing away from her after a time to watch her. He had no idea how much time had passed, but a soft glow limned the curtains’ edges.
He swallowed and turned away.
“I… love you, Sakura-san,” he breathed self-consciously as he closed the servants’ passage door behind himself. He wasn’t a thief in the night. He was a gentleman. Her protector. Her knight.
And when the time was right, his love for her would no longer be his secret.
TBC
