Prompt: 805927; [well, this tornado loves you.]
In the morning they wake up, and they're still in love.
It has Gokudera grimacing, Tsuna looking pale and determined, and Yamamoto smiling in a way that makes the other two avoid looking at him. They troop downstairs, a little crowd breaking up behind Lambo. When he hammered at the bedroom door to call them to breakfast, it was the first intrusion on a private space of confession. It was one thing to admit in the dark, pillowed and blanketed on separate futons, what you wanted to want - maybe - kind of - please, okay? - and it's another thing to have the household noise and morning sunshine filling the spaces they have to leave between themselves.
Avoiding the confessions had taken up long and messy months, and saying them had taken an even longer and messier night. And now today, the longest of all at twenty minutes in, where you have to convince yourself that you were serious and convince them too, both of them.
They don't even sit next to each other at the table.
"Will you boys do the dishes?" Nana says after breakfast. The kids jump up from their chairs and race out of the kitchen before the chore reverts to them, and Nana smiles indulgently as she follows them.
Tsuna and Yamamoto begin to clear the table and do intuitive negotiations around personal space that has doubled in size. It looks like Gokudera's going to keep sitting at the table, frowning grimly, and they triple his personal space. The atmosphere starts feeling difficult to breathe.
So Yamamoto takes a deep breath. Things are going to turn out fine, and if not, he'll make them turn out fine - so it's best to act normal. "Hey. You okay?"
"I'm preparing."
Yamamoto laughs. "Maybe you should sit this out! We know what you're like with dishes. You don't want to break Tsuna's mother's stuff."
"Dishes?" Gokudera jumps to his feet. "Dishes!"
Incredible stupidity can be soothing when you need to psyche yourself up and will grab at any shred of familiarity and/or superiority. "Who gives a shit about dishes at a time like this?" He yells right into Yamamoto's face, aware that it's the kind of stupid reaction that could make him honestly angry, and thinking for once—he kisses Yamamoto—it won't matter.
None of them had so much as shaken hands the night before.
Now Gokudera balls fists in Yamamoto's shirt, hauls the broad-shouldered body close and stuns Yamamoto with sharp sensory shocks: the heat of half-glaring eyes, the way his mouth and tongue move, and above all the taste of cigarette hell. (The previous night Gokudera had lit 19 cigarettes at once from sheer nerves and accidentally set Tsuna's wastepaper bin on fire.)
Gokudera tries to let go without making it overly obvious that he'd been holding him at all. Yamamoto forgets to do anything but stare at him with enormous eyes. "Hiieeee!" Tsuna squeaks.
"What? What?" Gokudera doesn't dare look to the boy behind him, but finds he can keep looking Yamamoto in the eye - that's the damned thing about the guy, the way thing are really easy with him, maybe, if you could let it be. "Like you didn't want to!"
"Thought I'd..." Yamamoto says, "wait ... couple of days..." He looks tremendously surprised and pleased and interested, face going sharp with it, and Gokudera shoves off him to turn on his heel.
He marches across the kitchen to Tsuna like he's heading for a firing squad. Tsuna bends backwards from him, trying hard not to actually run away. "My entire family," he says, glancing frantically to the kitchen door, "right out there!"
"I know," says Gokudera, "quickly—" His hands cup Tsuna's face, he bends to brush his lips over the dry softness of Tsuna's. Then he presses his face against Tsuna's neck - equally as telling as a kiss, but so warm and intimate and finally that it can't be helped. He steps back breathing like a marathon-runner, all triumph and hammering heart; a long moment to savour it, and then he repeats, "Quickly."
"Wha—" No-Good Tsuna huffs, and is well aware that he's Even-Worse Tsuna when he says "No. No way!" But at the moment Gokudera can forgive anything.
"Come on, Tenth!" He looks to the door with a grin gone outrageous, making sure no one's coming, and pounces. He grabs Tsuna, hoists him up, and staggers five steps across the floor to spare him the embarrassment of having to stretch up to reach Yamamoto's mouth; Tsuna knows this even as he is overcome with enough embarrassment to nearly pass out. His feet aren't touching the ground. He is pressed between Yamamoto and Gokudera and can't BREATHE without making it worse, feeling the roundness of a button on Yamamoto's shirt against his chest.
"I give up," he says, and wraps his arms around Yamamoto's neck: "Return the favour!" Gokudera hisses instantly. "That's what I'm doing!" Yamamoto says, mouth already halfway on Tsuna's and arms indeed going around his waist. Maybe his heart explodes a little as Tsuna makes an indignant, frantic noise of protest. "Sorry, sorry, here." It's not like Yamamoto's kissed a lot of people but he makes it up as best he knows how, and Tsuna calms, gets into it, and forces himself self-consciously to stop shifting a leg around Yamamoto's hip.
"There," says Gokudera.
Relieved warmth is breathed against Tsuna's cheek as Yamamoto lets him down.
"Done."
The three of them step apart. It's not as noisy and the sunlight isn't so sharp anymore; they can stay close.
"Could've waited," Tsuna mutters, though he's leaning against Yamamoto and has grabbed one of Gokudera's hands. "A couple of days."
"Nah," says Yamamoto, pulling him closer and then looking up to brush hair behind Gokudera's ear. He's pretty sure he's going to set a world record for smiling. "There's a lot to recommend Gokudera's way!"
"I'll keep it in mind, Tenth," Gokudera says softly, one hand curving over Tsuna's shoulder, and Yamamoto realises he has tough competition for that world record. "For when we take the next step..."
The other two freeze.
"What?" Gokudera says. He feels like he's saying that too much. He's only doing what makes sense.
They stare.
"It is important to think about! Especially since we have to work out the logistics of how -" (he conscientiously lowers his voice) "- it works with three people! A plan of action can only help!"
It occurs to Tsuna, in a part of his mind that isn't whimpering, that Gokudera's gone about as red as his dying will flame - they all have, probably - and Yamamoto seems to be thinking the same thing. "The relentless storm," Yamamoto murmurs with a dry mouth.
"That never stops," Tsuna finishes. It's like last night again, everything dark and quiet, the three of them alone and only wanting to be close.
Then everybody's personal space gets so big and awkward-shaped that Gokudera and Yamamoto have to go home, and Tsuna to his room to bury his face in a pillow and pretend he has no imagination.
But they know when the day's over, all the revelations will stay true, the personal revolutions will be theirs to make, and they'll still be all right.
Epilogue
baseballer [at] promail. co. jp: did gokudera mail you too? learning cybersex first is not how you take things slow! lololol
sawada. tsuna [at] vweb. it: DIAGRAMS HE ATACHED DI8AGRAM,S