Okay guys so I've always wanted to write a ShooterxYammer piece they've been my OTP for years now. There are so many ideas for these two but for some reason I chose my first try to be smut because this one image has been in my head for so long- Well, hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy imagining it. And hopefully I put out some more tame pieces soon.
Yammer and Shooter belong to Square Enix. Happy reading! This chapter doesn't have anything bad, so if you want to read it for the story content, just read this one. I decided this [art was getting a bit lengthy, so the actually lemony stuff will be in the second chapter. Thank you!
Itaru Yokoyamada, AKA Yammer, the one who slams curry like he would a pin, the one who is embarrassed that he's still only made it to the second round of a slam competition even though he's an eighth grader now, the self-proclaimed genius mechanic who started as a pin modder, is best friend of Shuto Dan, AKA Shooter the greatest Tin Pin player in Tokyo.
It's been a long time since they were in fourth grade, wearing matching vests and pretending to be Slamurai, but they're still best friends, even now. Sure, Yammer may not be so interested in Tin Pin since he found his calling in machinery (though one may still call him an expert of all pins and their inner workings), and sure Shooter hasn't seemed to grow up much since elementary school, but they were made for each other, and really no one else would be able to put up with them. Shooter is a bit popular at school due to his infamy with Tin Pin, and Yammer found a few friends in his honors classes, but maturity and time had only strengthened their bond.
They would be friends forever. That much, Yammer knew, was fact.
Or at least, that's what he had always told himself. But their were plenty of other things he saw and felt inside. For example, a growing inferiority complex. Ever since forever, Shooter was the all-powerful leader, and Yammer was the mild-mannered side kick. Shooter was red. Yammer was blue. And even though Yammer was so much smarter, so much more mature, so much more knowledgeable, nothing changed. It didn't help that Shooter always ended up winning anyway.
Yammer knew he had a good head on his shoulders, and it wasn't hard to tell. His high marks n class and honors courses were evidence of it, and the teachers all praised him highly. He was gifted in machinery and small tools, everyone reminded him. He knew it. And while he tried to be humble, it sort of got at him that he was still playing second-fiddle to Shooter and his little pins.
But he was never too angry, never too bitter. If he tried to act jaded or jealous, Shooter would just laugh and give him that smile, filled to the brim with good childhood memories, and tell him they were going on an adventure. Or playing Tin Pin Slammer. Or trying to convince his grandpa to buy them that new video game.
So that wasn't too big of a deal, Yammer decided. Just something he would have to grow out of. But there were other things, too. Like his tendency to read adult literature when no one was there to see. Like that time he was looking at Slamurai fanfiction during seventh grade, and stumbled upon his first lemon. How he actually continued searching for it afterward. Or how a lot of the characters were men.
It was... He wasn't quite sure how that happened. He was probably too young to be reading that sort of stuff. He was probably the only boy in his class reading it. Most definitely the only boy in his class reading gay porn. He would never, ever tell Shooter about it. With how childish that guy was it wouldn't surprise him if he found out Shooter still believed he came from the stork.
Needless to say, Yammer learned a lot of termanology and information about skills that he would never, ever put to use, because as far as he was concerned he wasn't gay and junior high schoolers didn't get laid. And he didn't want to. It was just hormones anyway. Reading was exciting enough. And imagining. But enough of that.
Embarrassing introductions aside, Yammer and Shooter had been best friends for years. So it wasn't surprising that on any old weekend, Yammer could just step inside the Dan household, wave to Shooter's grandpa preparing coffee, maybe take some for himself (it made him feel adult, and he liked the bitter taste), and then walk into Shooter's room to wake him up, no questions asked. Yammer liked to get up early, and since Shooter only lived a short bike-trip away, Yammer liked to serve as Shooter's personal alarm clock whenever the morning seemed nice.
"Nn... Five more minutes."
"Get up, lazy. You have to get your cereal before Slamurai comes on."
The Slamurai TV show had reached it's conclusion about a year ago, but they still played reruns in the morning. Any children (or fanatic adults) up that early could enjoy their favorite episodes all over again, and it was a sort of routine that on weekends, this would always be the case.
"Fine, fine! But you just ruined a really good dream." Shooter, his hair a mess, rolled about until he was on the edge of his bed, his eyes still in a sleepy daze. He used to have a really cool race car bed, but his grandpa told him he was too old for it once he reached junior high. And honestly, Shooter had kind of grown really tall, so he needed a new one anyway.
That was another thing Yammer didn't like about Shooter. He made Yammer feel short.
"What were you dreaming about?" Yammer put his coffee cup under Shooter's nose, making his brow crinkle a bit in displeasure.
"I can't remember anymore, but it was really cool. By the way, coffee still stinks." Shooter clumsily got to his feet, shrugging the covers off the expose his plain white pjs (the slamurai ones didn't fit anymore). "Oh, I think it had something to do with octopuses that ate rabbits and then... I think I slammed with them? One me versus eight tentacles full of slamming power."
As Shooter got up to get his cereal, Yammer sat on the bed and looked around for the remote. Shooter was probably the only eighth grader that still had dreams of slamurai, he thought. Shooter was also probably the only eighth grader that thought 'octopuses' was a word, but he figured not to comment of his grammar so early in the morning.
"Yammer, I think I left the remote on the side table!" Shooter called from the kitchen, waking up quickly. Yammer looked, and there it was. Picking it up, he turned on the little TV in Shooter's room; a lucky treat, and they often wondered why his strict grandfather would even allow him to have it. Probably to keep him quiet and out of his hair.
"Did you get it to the right channel?" Shooter came in, bowl of cereal in hand.
"That would be implying you ever change it." Yammer laughed. "Yeah, it's starting soon. Sit."
And so they started the morning out like they always did on weekends, watching Red and his crew go through steps necessary to vanquish Black, cheering for their favorites, agonizing over every move, and freaking out when something super cool happened. By the time the two episodes provided were finished, Shooter and Yammer were usually wide awake, acting like children, usually rough-housing if not reciting lines of dialouge like total dorks.
This morning, it started with gentle teasing, and ended with a pillow fight.
"You can't stop me!"
"Evil will never prevail!"
"What, now I'm evil? Okay, we'll see who's evil!"
Much rolling and grunting and pillow-smacking ensued, until the victor rose above his captive prey, as usual.
"The hero always triumphs, Yammer, don't you forget it!"
Yammer just smirked from under him, again reminded of their difference in size. "I'll get you next time." He gave Shooter one last deft smack with his pillow, making Shooter fall over onto the floor.
"Crap, was that the coffee cup? Grandpa would never forgive me if I broke it!" Shooter looked about, and Yammer hurriedly peeked over the edge of the bed.
"Doesn't look broken. I think it's fine."
"You could have gotten me grounded!" Shooter grabbed a nearby pillow and whacked Yammer. He held back his grin and grabbed the coffee cup, putting it on the table.
"There. Cups shouldn't be on the floor, anyway."
"You were the one who put it there."
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Well, only because you started hitting me with a pillow!"
"What, you mean like this?"
And so the process continued.
It would only stop after a good hour or so. "Hey, Yammer, stop, I'm hungry, get off, you're heavy."
Yammer, who was finally winning, didn't want to stop right at his moment of glory. This was not the time to notice he was straddling his best friend's torso. This was the time for victory. "You're just saying that because you're losing." Shooter tried to wriggle out from beneath him, but Yammer held firm. "No, you're not going anywhere until you admit I won." Yammer shifted his sitting position, hoping it would keep him anchored down.
"Y-Yammer, watch where you put your leg." Shooter shifted a bit, trying not to look.
"What, you enjoy being sat on?" Yammer sat harder upon him, making Shooter squirm.
"Nn... Yammer, stop that."
"Stop what?" Yammer finally decided to look down to see where he was sitting, and realizing his mistake, he felt his face go hot. Quickly scrambling off of him, he sat beside him on the bed, eyes downcast. Oh, the things going through his mind. He had read scenes like that way too many times. "Sorry about that..."
Shooter, only a bit red, nodded. "It's fine. Want me to ask grandpa for some grub?"
"Sure." Yammer felt more than a bit embarrassed. That was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was more stupid was how he reacted to it. Excitement, Curiosity... And suddenly remembering many different moments of numerous fanfictions he read.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He told himself not to think about it, he didn't want to get a hard on at Shooter's place. He tried thinking of the recent Slamurai episode, or Tin Pin, or Shooter-damnit. He would think about machinery, but even Yammer wasn't that much of a dork. Or at least, he didn't think he was that much of a dork. Then he remembered that idea he had to try some robotics, make a walking thing that could carry small objects using magnets. But he didn't want the magnets to harm the robot...
He was able to get his mind focused. Shooter soon came in with some food. Of course, it was all nutritious and healthy and full of herbs, but Yammer had grown to like the natural taste. Shooter still insisted he hated the stuff and liked Mexican Dog better, but Yammer could tell he was starting to grow fond of it as well.
They ate an early lunch on his bed, too lazy to really get out of Shooter's room. Between the sound of chewing and silence that wasn't uncomfortable after so many days of repetition, Yammer's mind started to wander again. He noticed how Shooter's legs looked in the shorts he slept in, and the bit of skin peeking out where his shirt lifted to expose his torso. Curiously, he even studied his lips a bit as he chewed.
"What?" Yammer was shaken out of his exploring, and finally noticed the all important fact that Shooter was looking at him funny. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"What? No, I was..." Yammer felt his face heat up again, and hoped Shooter couldn't tell. "I zoned out."
"You were looking at me."
"I was thinking about robots."
Shooter looked at him, a flicker of a face he usually made when Yammer started to act oddly or coldly, before quickly busting out a smile. "Yammer, are you going to turn me into a robot? I like my legs the way they are, thank you."
Yammer felt himself get even hotter. "I-I wasn't-"
"Yammer, no cutting off my legs."
"I wasn't looking at your legs!"
"No cutting off my legs and making them all robot-y."
"I won't cut off your legs!"
"Good!" And then Shooter laughed. Yammer started to smile, and felt ease take the place of embarrassment. This is why they were friends. Just best friends, nothing more. And that was okay. That was perfectly okay.