Disclaimer: I do not own the characters mentioned nor the anime they are from.
Count it Off
Whenever he looked at one of his classmates, for some unknown reason, he always felt as though he was captivated and he couldn't utter anything else except, "Interesting." In fact, he believed that not only his demeanor was interesting; he felt the whole of him—this half-Japanese, this Bomber, this Mafioso—is interesting and well worth exploring.
"Na, Gokudera, I have a question." The baseball freak asked suddenly as they cleaned the room. After class duties suck big time, really.
"Make sure it's worth something if you don't want me to blow your brains out." The silver-head answered crisply. He had his back on the other as he merely sat on top of the table, chilling out and leaving all the cleaning activity out of his hands.
"Well, it's been bothering me.. but, how many piercings do you have?"
This time, all composure gone, he whirred around and faced the one who threw the stupid query. Looking at that innocent look, pure inquisitiveness of utterly clueless kid made him sigh in exasperation. Apparently, he does not notice small things that much, he thought to himself.
"If you wanna know, why don't you count it? Damn baseball nut." Gokudera muttered under his breath.
Yamamoto hesitated for a bit. "You're not gonna punch me for asking a stupid question?" His expression this time was a bit serious.
Seeing him look like he was greatly offended made Gokudera stare at him in disbelief which eventually turned to that of skepticism. "It's not like you to ask me something like that." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, rings and bracelets glinting in the golden afternoon light pouring through the window glass. "Usually you just go and do what you want. Without a care in other people's feelings. Yeah." He nodded.
"Oh, I'm just surprised you noticed that." Yamamoto's face lit up despite the apparent sarcasm the other Guardian told him flat out. "May I see them, then?"
"Do what you want." Gokudera repeated. His cold eyes stared into the Guardian's orbs and he positively felt that there is something off with this baseball nut. He could feel something inside him screaming, warning him of the danger or some sort, but couldn't quite put his finger on. But he shrugged it off. It might just be his imagination. There must really be kinks in this man's brain.
The taller one laid the chalkboard eraser he was holding and walked, from the other end of the room, towards the other. As Yamamoto approached Gokudera, the latter eyed him strangely, calculating his actions to the smallest detail. They were the usual cold stare the baseball player would get whenever they're near each other—threatening, challenging, yet clear and kind at the same time. But right now, Yamamoto could not miss the tinge of fear in them, a single glint of suspicion that held imminent danger to destroy his casual action.
When he finally reached his place at the teacher's table, Yamamoto held up his hand and gently touched the silver strands covering his ear. It was then when he felt how silky soft they were; slipping through the gaps of his fingers, sliding back unto the bomber's cheek. He brushed them away again and this time revealed the number of accessories that lined the cartilage.
"Interesting," he breathed.
"O-Oi, Yamamoto! What the hell are you doing?" Gokudera glanced sideways and caught the man staring intently back at him.
"Nothing. Can I touch them?" He asked yet again.
The Storm Guardian kept silent. Inside his brain, thoughts were chasing one after the other, stepping one after another, giving up on some malicious thoughts and eventually agreeing on one. What the hell was he supposed to think about right now? He frantically asked himself silently. Just stop already—there must be some way to cut this meaningless action right away, before they both do something they will regret later on!
But his body betrayed him. Instead of pulling away, he merely stayed on his ground, let himself be swayed towards the direction of the inevitable as Yamamoto started caressing his ear. He could feel the unmistakable gush of blood unto it and he swore that it must already be red to the tip, to the most hidden part.
He felt dizzy; the thumps of his heart against his ribcage were maddening, and he felt angry at himself—It was just a touch!
Yamamoto, on the other hand, felt as if he crossed the line. He better stop this instant unless he wanted to spend the day (or weeks, even) in the hospital, covered in bandages, suffering from burns. But it was utterly impossible for his instincts were ruling his thoughts—he couldn't think straight. They were so close, so close that he could smell the other Guardian's perfume—bittersweet, spicy, just like a real Mafioso.
He leaned closer and observed the silver-head's reaction—the signs he was showing, the flushed skin, the closed eyes, and slightly parted lips only egged him on. Yamamoto half-hoped he would push him away, throw a punch or two and tell him to stop this utterly embarrassing, disgusting, unacceptable act, but he got a different kind of response.
"This is more interesting," he whispered, this time closer to Gokudera's ear, his voice lower, more seductive.
"N-No, stop it.. What the blazes of hell are you doing, you baseball nut?!" He tried to push him away with all his might, but it was as if all his strength left him. He grew weak at every slight touch Yamamoto now bombarded him with; the rough fingertips which, at one moment laid on top of his other hand, now slowly slid up his arm. It felt as if they left the trail burning with unmistakable strong desires. And it burned him on the inside, too.
How did this all happen? What had gone wrong? Should he have merely kept his mouth shut and kept him from trying and looking at his earrings? Or should he have just went ahead with that aggressive attitude of his and gave him a smack in the head?
'Or maybe, you should just give in,' a voice inside his head told him. It was purely suggestive of something else. Of course, where else could their actions lead them? His other self, his conscience, must be right. Instantly, though still half-heartedly, he threw away the reservations he had and took the chance to assert himself.
"This is all your fault," came his firm statement. Hands on either side of Yamamoto's face, he forcefully pressed his lips against the other's, receiving a response of sudden shock which instantly changed into a rougher manner until the motion grew deeper, longer, stronger, faster.
He wound his arms about the player's neck and let his body move on its own accord. A strange sound erupted from his throat as the slick organ pushed inside his mouth, battled with his, fooled around and lingered about. Gokudera moaned louder as his logic faded away and he lost track of what was happening. The sensations were overwhelming him as he never felt this before—not with anybody else. If he could only put a stop on this before everything whirred out of hand—
But who was he kidding? Why would he stop? No use on that now, that's for sure.
Finally gasping for air, they broke contact; heavily panting over the slight battle, eyeing each others' kiss-murdered lips and flushed skin. Gokudera wiped his lips with the back of his hand and looked away. "Were you able to count how many they were?"
Instead of feeling disappointed, Yamamoto smiled his usual timid one and answered, "About that one, no, I wasn't able to," then laughed heartily.
"You baseball freak. All you ever spout is 'interesting' but what you found interesting, you weren't able to count at all!" He glared at him and pouted.
Hoping against hope, Yamamoto voiced his thoughts. That was one chance he was waiting for, but braced himself for the other Guardian's response. "Can I count them off at your place?" He grinned. He might be pushing his luck, but who in the world cares?
Gokudera kept silent for a while and considered what the other asked. He was almost sure that won't just be what this idiot intends to do. Of course. After what happened…
"…Sure." Of course, he'd always contradict it afterwards. "But don't get used to this, you moron." That's just him.
After class duties suck big time, really. But if this were to happen at the spark of curiosity, he won't mind doing it every now and then.
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A/N: Yeah, I can't believe I made Yamamoto look like an idiot here. It was as if he grew incapable of saying anything other than "Interesting". BAH. I'm so sorry Yamamoto! ;A; I felt like you were really captivated by Gokudera and you were feeling really hot at that time so you weren't able to say anything else!