AN: So this is some kind of record - I don't think I've ever written something quite so embarassingly 'shippy in my life, and especially not this shortly after getting myself up-to-date on a series. Hullo, new fandom!
Warning for implied porn and slash and fluff. Yamamoto/Gokudera, because it's awesome. Set sometime later - probably shortly after graduating high school or something. No real spoilers.
Yamamoto wakes up with the sun in his eyes, automatically fumbling after the alarm clock on the bedside table - he always wakes up thirty seconds before it goes off.
It takes him a moment to realize that there isn't a bedside table and that the sun really shouldn't be shining into his room this early. He blinks at the desk where a blank wall should be and hears muffled swearing from the next room over, accompanied by the distinctive aroma of burned eggs.
It's Saturday, he remembers.
It's Saturday, and he just slept with Gokudera Hayato.
He's already smiling - a default sort of expression when faced with a situation out of the ordinary - but he feels it widen and go a little lopsided at the memory.
It's a minute or two's work to roll out of the bed - narrow for two, he remembers, and Gokudera has sharp elbows - and find his pants - crumpled on the carpet. He's not sure where his shirt ended up, though he does remember setting his katana aside before things started getting tossed around.
So, essentials taken care of, he wanders into Gokudera's cramped kitchen to find the Storm Guardian wrestling with a pan of slightly-burned eggs, apparently attempting to beat them into submission with a spatula.
"Morning," Yamamoto says, smiling.
Gokudera looks up - there's a flash of something like surprise and then he scowls. There are two plates on the narrow countertop, and two mugs, and a pot of that nasty coffee Gokudera likes, and it's all so domestic, Yamamoto wants to laugh.
But he doesn't, because he's not sure Gokudera would get the joke. "I didn't know you could cook," he says instead, shuffling closer and leaning against the counter, and it's silly because Gokudera's been living on his own for far longer than Yamamoto and it's only sensible to assume he can take care of himself.
Gokudera shifts away slightly, looking mulish and cornered. He jabs Yamamoto in the nose with the spatula. "That didn't change anything," he begins aggressively, and Yamamoto knows they're not talking about the cooking anymore.
"Good," he says, gently but firmly redirecting the spatula. And he means it - whatever they are, it means a lot to him and he doesn't want to overcomplicate things. But he likes this new idea, too, so he leans over and kisses Gokudera good morning - nothing involved, just a light press of lips, but enough to remind them both.
And when Gokudera doesn't punch him in the face even a little bit, he smiles a little wider and leans his forehead against Gokudera's. "Good," he says again, and "I like you," just in case he'd managed to miss that part.
"Che," is all Gokudera says, turning back to his cooking, but his ears are pink as he shovels equal portions of scrambled eggs onto both plates.
Yamamoto leans around him to pour the coffee - it wasn't really so bad, he thinks, remembering how the taste had lingered in Gokudera's mouth, coffee and cigarettes and the beer they'd been drinking and something else that was Gokudera himself -
And the eggs might be singed around the edges and a little sloshy in the middle, but they're filling and they taste like something new.
Endnotes: Okay, new fandom, new characters, new OTP, concrit please?