A/N: Another one of my short 8059 things. This one was just a mix of all the drabbles I had going on and I pushed them all together to make one thing. XD It's really not as bad as it could have been, so you can review or whatever. Make me happy. Another note, I obviously do not own the characters. Hence why I'm posting this on fanfiction.net. Have fun.!
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A careful caress and grope of a calloused hand, expert in this field of sensual battle, having fought many a-times. this attack was what brought about the first release, powerful, making white stars dance beneath closed lids. A piece of flesh was pulled between pearly white teeth, making sure to avoid making any embarrassing noises that he was sure to never forget. Even in these times, he had mind. He couldn't forget his place, where he was, who he was with. He wasn't used to this kind of affectionate foreplay; the other male was insistent on doing things the way he chose to.
And he had.
The Italian youth wasn't one for slow, sensual anything. It was here, rough, now for him. Always was. He figured it always would be, until the Japanese baseball player brought about new sorts of untested fields.
Really, Gokudera wanted anything Yamamoto didn't.
When Gokudera was cold, Yamamoto was warm. When he was black, the other male was white, so on and so forth. Gokudera hadn't wanted it any other way, but Yamamoto proposed this, this slow touching, gentle caresses, quiet murmurs of promised love even though neither of them really knew how much of this could be stated truthfully.
Yamamoto had, over the years, come to realize that he couldn't imagine this any other way, with any other person. The way Gokudera clenched at the sheets beneath the two of them, tugging them upward and such until his knuckles went white. Yamamoto, encased in such a pleasurable heat, something he hadn't experienced before, but knew he'd be wanting more and more of it since he had a simple taste of what Gokudera had to offer him what he was willing to take.
'Stupid, stupid, stupid.' He could hear the Italian's voice already, conveying their thoughts on their present actions. Delicious friction, growing need. It was all teenage wants and needs for them, desires to fill. Even at nineteen, these needs and desires were as strong as any other teenage boy. But that small voice of what he'd like to call reason slipped away when Gokudera murmured his name, like it was the most beautiful thing in the world, careful, like glass, timid, but not embarrassed. He was too gone for those kinds of emotions.
"Takeshi..." The 'i' in the name was dragged out, then cut off by a sudden sound of pleasure more immense than the first, never than the last. Finally, it came to an end. A big clash, a storm even. The second time for Gokudera, the first for Yamamoto. They rode out the wave of just everything for five minutes, at most, Yamamoto unable to resist the urge to lean his full weight against Gokudera, slumping against him. The latter allowed this, relishing in the delicious heat and body that Yamamoto could offer. And at once, he was convinced that taking away the 'no touch, no talk' rule was a good idea.