Title: To Those Who Wait
Characters: Hibari/Yamamoto
Summary: Delayed gratification has its good points.
Notes: Adult; smut! For Porn Battle IX, prompt: TYL!Hibari/TYL!Yamamoto, tea, impatience. 1341 words.

To Those Who Wait

Kyouya sits with his legs folded under him and a cup of tea in his hands, the very image of stillness and reflection. Only his eyes give him away; they glitter under the fall of his hair, dark and calculating.

Takeshi figures that he's got until Kyouya gets to the bottom of his cup to wait, and not a second longer than that, before Kyouya decides to set his stillness aside. Not that Takeshi's impatient or anything, except that he totally is. It's been a long day, but he can still feel the places where Kyouya landed hits on him during their morning sparring session, which had ended early when Tsuna'd called an emergency Family meeting. Takeshi's been restless all day because of that, twitchy with the frustration of not being able to follow through with the things promised in the strike of sword against tonfa, Kyouya's fangs matched against his edge. And now Kyouya is teasing him, being deliberately slow about drinking his evening tea as he sits lean and silent across from Takeshi.

There are times when Takeshi could almost regret finding out that Kyouya has a sense of humor--an evil one, at that--after all.

He sits, refusing to let himself fidget, and watches Kyouya narrowly as he lifts the cup to his lips and sips from it, inhaling the fragrance of his tea and sighing. Kyouya's dark against the backdrop of the screen behind him, wearing dark grey patterned with willow branches. One thing that Takeshi will never get tired of is Kyouya's impeccable good taste. When he lowers his tea again, Kyouya's mouth is curved just faintly, like he can tell what Takeshi is thinking. "The tea tastes good tonight," he notes. "Perhaps I'll have another cup."

Takeshi can't quite help the little whine of protest at that announcement, even though he knows--okay, is reasonably sure--that Kyouya is just toying with him now. "I can start the water," he says, heavily, and earns a smirk.

"Do," Kyouya says, the evil bastard.

Takeshi sighs, and does, though he isn't above giving Kyouya the most mournful look he can muster, or letting his yukata slip open a bit when he resettles himself, showing a bit of leg and some more of his chest. Kyouya's eyes are considering and heavy when they look at him; well, every little bit helps when Kyouya gets into moods like this.

Kyouya lifts his cup again and tilts his head back, the muscles in his throat moving slowly as he swallows the last mouthful. When he lowers the cup again and sets it down, his eyes glint at Takeshi, daring him to say something.

Takeshi doesn't; he just sighs again and reaches for the teapot, resigned to being teased a little longer.

Or maybe not: Kyouya's hand darts out, fast as a snake striking, and closes on his wrist as he does. "Leave it," he says, softly. "I've had enough tea after all."

Sheer perversity drives Takeshi to tip his head and ask, "Are you sure?"

Kyouya's eyes glint at that. "Quite sure," he says, and then his thumb rubs over Takeshi's inner wrist, slowly.

"Well, then," Takeshi says, the restless energy that's been dogging him all day coalescing in the curl of heat in the pit of his stomach. "What do you want to do now?"

Kyouya answers that by rising, swift and smooth. He draws Takeshi up with him and pulls him close to kiss him.

Takeshi sighs against his mouth, just a little relieved, and relaxes into it. It's easy to let go of some of his impatience now that he has the surety of Kyouya's mouth against his. Kyouya makes a sound, the ghost of a chuckle, and pulls away from him. "Come," he says, voice low, and leads Takeshi into the bedroom. He loosens his obi as he goes, letting it and the yukata slip off his shoulders to the floor.

He's not wearing anything beneath the yukata.

Takeshi isn't sure what the sound he makes is, but he knows one thing for damn sure--if he'd known that the only thing between Kyouya and the world had been a bit of thin cotton while they'd been drinking their tea, he wouldn't have been able to rein his eagerness after all.

Kyouya turns to him, eyebrows raised and a challenge in his eyes, and stands there, bare and beautiful, while Takeshi fumbles with his own yukata in his haste to disrobe. "Kyouya," he says, when he's finally untangled himself and can step across the distance between them to reach for him.

Kyouya makes a satisfied sound and pulls Takeshi close, hands running down Takeshi's back and fitting their bodies together as he catches Takeshi's mouth for another kiss, this one fierce and open. Takeshi has to admit, it's gratifying to taste the eagerness in Kyouya's mouth and to know that he's been as hungry for this as Takeshi has been. It's equally gratifying, in a different way, when Kyouya sweeps his feet out from under him and bears him down to the futon, settling over him, sleek and heavy.

Takeshi fills his hands with the texture of Kyouya's hair and the crispness of his hair, responding to the demand of Kyouya's mouth with his own urgent kisses as heat and need run through him, roused from the places where he'd kept them tucked away through a day of meetings and business. Delayed satisfaction might be even sweeter for the wait, and Kyouya's hands on his skin are all the better for how long he's anticipated feeling them. Still, he's glad not to have had to wait any longer, and he doesn't object to how quickly Kyouya's knees nudge his apart, or to the first stroke of long fingers against him. There will be other nights when they can take things slowly, drawing out their pleasure until they can't stand it any longer; for now it's good to arch into the weight of Kyouya against him and the swiftness of Kyouya's fingers moving inside him, opening him. "Yes," Takeshi says, and draws a knee up as he runs his hands over Kyouya's ass, coaxing, "now."

Kyouya hums against his ear, low and approving, and obliges him, driving into him quick and sure. Takeshi groans at the first hard, burning stretch of it, spreading his legs wider and gasping as heat climbs his spine. "Yes," he says, rocking up to meet the quick pace of Kyouya's cock pounding into him, hands tight on Kyouya's hips, urging him deeper. "Yes, this, Kyouya..."

This is what he's been missing all day, the rhythm of Kyouya's body moving with his, like the way they move against each other when sparring, need and power straining against each other and seeking out the edge together. Maybe this is a different register, but the way they urge each other on is the same thing in the end.

Takeshi cries out when Kyouya's hand closes around him, stroking him and driving Takeshi the rest of the way out of his head. Pleasure floods through him, sharp and relentless, and Takeshi gives himself to it, letting it sweep him down into the brightness of it while Kyouya's thrusts turn wild and hard as he seeks that place for himself.

Takeshi drifts, after, lax and feeling like he could very nearly purr with satisfaction. "Mmm," he says, when Kyouya finally stirs against him. He slides his fingers down Kyouya's back, slowly. "I needed that."

"Mm," Kyouya says, which is as good as an agreement, especially when he stretches himself and then rearranges himself at Takeshi's side, cheek resting against Takeshi's shoulder.

"Rematch tomorrow?" Takeshi suggests, after a moment.

He can't see Kyouya's face, but he can feel the movement of Kyouya's lips curving. "Of course," Kyouya says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Takeshi hums, satisfied, and promises himself that no one will interrupt them tomorrow, not if he has to shove a chair under the doorknob himself to make sure of it.

- end -

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