Title: Proving To Him
Author: Nagi Kokuyo
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Characters: Yamamoto, Gokudera (somewhere between present time and TYL)
Pairings: 8059
Rating: M (NC-17)
Warnings: Mild spoilers, homosexuality (meaning boy x boy love, people), language, lemon
Disclaimer: As much as I wish it was different, I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!, nor any of its characters, and I'm not making any profit out of this (Puh-leeze, I wish!)
Summary: Extra chapter to "Saving The Storm," can be read as standalone. Yamamoto will do anything to prove to Gokudera that he's serious about him, even taking him straight to heaven if Gokudera will let him. 8059 LEMON
A/N: Please review! Tell me what you think, and flames are welcome. This was originally written as the sex scene in my 8059 story "Saving The Storm" but can be read separately. This takes place after "Solace In His Arms" but before "Bright, Shiny Future."
Yamamoto ran his fingers through soft silver hair, cupping the back of Gokudera's neck and pulling him into a kiss. It was warm, soft, and timid, and his hand was gentle and loose; if Gokudera wanted to pull away, he could. Gokudera's eyes were still open, fighting the urge to close and give in to this foreign feeling, watching dark lashes flutter over the other's cheeks. Why wasn't he pulling away? This was Yamamoto, for Christ's sake, why was he letting him kiss him? So what if they'd become something resembling friends over the course of this nightmare? So what if Tsuna thought they would be good together?
So what if Gokudera felt the undeniable urge to let his guard down and let Yamamoto take control?
After several moments, Yamamoto pulled away and looked at Gokudera in what could have been disbelief. He grinned cheerfully. "I don't suppose I could steal another, huh?" he asked. Gokudera was shaking, but was it from suppressed fury or surprise? Really, he should have moved back so the baseball idiot couldn't kiss him again, but he couldn't. Instead, he shook his head and looked at Yamamoto with sad acid green eyes.
"No, no! You know why I don't date, yakubaka," he said, voice unsteady.
Yamamoto nodded and put his hand on Gokudera's; the bomber flinched but didn't pull away, which Yamamoto took as a good sign. "Yeah," he said softly, "the same reason I don't want anyone else touching you."
He flipped over Gokudera's hand and intertwined their fingers. He brought them up and kissed the back of the pianist's hand, letting his lips linger; Gokudera shuddered, eyes drifting closed. "D-don't fuck with me, bastard."
Yamamoto shook his head, staring deep into the jade eyes. "Never," he whispered against pale skin. "At least, not in the way you mean." Gokudera flushed, trying very hard to ignore the way his jeans were getting tighter and hoped Yamamoto didn't notice; he knew he'd failed when the baseball idiot smiled and nipped the back of his hand. Gokudera sucked in a breath, and he knew he was lost.
Yamamoto straightened, dropping Gokudera's hand, and his eyes flicked down to his mouth. When Gokudera didn't object, he closed the distance and pressed their lips together; Gokudera's were firm and warm, and chapped from biting. Yamamoto wrapped his arms around Gokudera's waist and hesitantly probed the silveret's lips with his tongue, asking silently for entrance. Gokudera growled low in his throat and his fingers gripped the other's shirt tighter, but after a moment's hesitation, he acquiesced and parted his lips.
Their tongues touched and then Gokudera's arms were around Yamamoto's neck and he was straddling the bomber. Gokudera fought through the kiss, just as he fought Yamamoto in everything, and his left hand fisted in his hair. After a few moments, however, they found what might have been balance, a dance of sorts, a rhythm. Hands roamed, hair was tugged, bodies were groped, and they were gasping into each other's mouths.
Yamamoto let his hand drift downwards to cup the bulge in Gokudera's jeans, and the silveret broke their kiss, throwing his head back and moaning, hips bucking up. Yamamoto grinned and rubbed Gokudera through the denim, leaning forward to kiss the column of his neck as he felt the bomber harden until his hand. "Oh Hayato," he murmured against the jumping pulse, "I will always be here for you, no matter what happens. I'll never leave you."
He slid off Gokudera's lap to kneel in front of him, grinning up at the bomber as he drew down the zipper and pulled Gokudera's jeans down past his knees.
He smiled and kissed the head of the leaking erection before taking it into his mouth, sucking and pulling with lips and tongue.
Gokudera was impressed—not even a hint of teeth—and he briefly wondered how the baseball idiot could possibly be this good at giving head before all thoughts are wiped from his mind in a wave of pleasure and ecstasy. He gasped and shivered as only Yamamoto's hands on his hips prevented him from bucking up and choking him. Moaning, he tangled one of his hands in the soft dark hair as Yamamoto bobbed his head to a tune only Gokudera could feel, the flat of his tongue pressing along the underside of his cock, a hand rough from training fondling the silveret's balls.
He felt the heat coiling in his stomach and his free hand clenched the arm of his wheelchair until his knuckles were white. "Y-Yamamoto, I'm gonna…I can't—"
He tried to warn the swordsman, to get him off before he came, but Yamamoto wouldn't have it. He hummed and squeezed Gokudera's balls, delving the tip of his tongue into the slit. Trembling and screaming, Gokudera arched up and came hard in his mouth. To give credit where credit was due, Yamamoto didn't even wince, managing to swallow all of it before releasing Gokudera with a pop. Smiling, he straightened and gave Gokudera a quick peck on the lips. "I promise you, 'Dera, I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to."
Gokudera was panting and shaking, face flushed and skin slick with sweat. He gaped at Yamamoto in amazement before gasping, "I can't believe you just did that. I can't even give as good as I get." He waved a hand at his legs. Yamamoto shook his head and cupped Gokudera's face, brushing his thumb over the sharp cheekbone. "I don't care," he said softly. "That wasn't about getting any back. That was about proving I'm serious."
He moved his hand to brush back a chunk of silver hair out of Gokudera's face, but was stopped when a slender, pale hand shot up and grabbed his wrist in a vice. Brown eyes met green, and Gokudera smirked.
"Then prove it, yakubaka. I seem to recall you making an offer to fuck me." It wasn't a question, it was a demand.
One Yamamoto was only too happy to comply with.
Before Gokudera could think twice about what he'd just said, Yamamoto had captured his mouth in another kiss, and they started their dance all over again. Gokudera's taste was not sweet or even that appealing, but as Yamamoto ran his tongue through the bomber's mouth, he found that the taste was growing on him. He tasted of the Mild Sevens he was so fond of and it should have been repulsive, but instead it drew Yamamoto like a moth to flame, just like his smell—a strange medley of cigarette smoke, gunpowder, and something that was indescribably Hayato.
He didn't break the liplock as he hooked one arm around the bomber's waist and slid the other under his weakened legs; he hated the way Hayato felt so light in his arms, but holding him felt so natural, so right, as if they were made to be. Gokudera's arms wrapped around his neck, one hand tangling itself in his hair, the other gripping the back of his shirt desperately; he was shaking in Takeshi's arms, and the baseball player would have liked to have thought that it was because of the blowjob instead of anxiety of what they were about to do.
How long had Yamamoto dreamed about this? How many times had he jerked off to the thought to Gokudera Hayato writing underneath him, crying his name? He didn't know. He'd been lusting after and loving the angel in his arms for so long, it was hard to believe he had him. It was even harder to believe that he'd managed to give him a blowjob and hadn't gotten socked in the face or blown up; he hoped that meant Gokudera had enjoyed it, and not that he was still stoned on drugs.
Somehow, he managed to get them to the bedroom without incident, a miracle in itself. As he lowered them to the bed and started on their clothes, he finally broke the kiss. Breathing heavily, he stared into acidic green eyes hazy with lust and asked, "You sure?"
He didn't know what he would do it Gokudera changed his mind now; his erection was throbbing painfully in his jeans, agonizingly constricted by the tight denim. This question earned him a scowl and a brutal tug of his hair. He laughed despite the stinging pain and set to work finishing the removal of Gokudera's jeans and boxers, pressing open-mouthed kisses to pale legs.
God, he was so thankful that Gokudera was still here with him. The warehouse incident had been bad enough, but when Yamamoto had come back to the apartment to find Hayato sprawled out on the floor…It was beyond words. It had been the most intense, painful fear he'd ever experienced, and he hoped to God he would never have to feel it again. It had shaken him to his very core, and he'd promised himself that he would treasure the silver beauty for as long as Gokudera wanted him.
He skimmed his hands up the insides of Gokudera's legs; the silveret was already growing hard again. He smirked. "Can you feel that, 'Dera?"
Gokudera sucked in a breath, hands digging into his shoulders. "Y-yeah," he gasped, jerking when Takeshi placed a kiss on the insides of his thighs, dangerously close to the Promised Land but not quite. He straightened up and kissed Gokudera from his neck to chest, licking off beads of perspiration and leaving dark hickeys in his wake. He slowly licked Gokudera's jawline, up to his ear and nipping the lobe, tugging gently on Gokudera's earrings. Gokudera arched against him, moaning and grasping at the young man above him.
"Off," he managed to gasp, not even capable of full sentences. Yamamoto happily complied, ridding them both of whatever clothing they still had.
He let his eyes and hands roam Hayato's body, taking in every detail of this beautiful creature: everything was sharp angles and lanky limbs, yellow and green bruises marring his skin, sacred scars telling the ongoing story of their fight for their lives. His body was a codex of his history: his aristocratic upbringing, his childhood on the streets of Italy, his time with Shamal, and the past four years with the Vongola. It was all there, written in scars, bruises, and memories.
Yamamoto documented every reaction, every sound, every twitch, as he ghosted his hands over Hayato's body. The way Gokudera's muscles flexed and rippled under his hands, goosebumps rising on milk white skin; the way he arched up into the touches, gasping and moaning, swollen cock twitching and begging to be touched—all of it was remarkable and tantalizing, and Yamamoto didn't know how much longer he could restrain himself.
Giving Gokudera a wicked grin, he tentatively licked a nipple, eliciting a choked gasp. "Like that, huh?" he whispered, not waiting for an answer before swirling his tongue around the pink bud, taking it into his mouth and sucking as his other hand teased and tweaked the other, drawing it to hardness.
Gokudera moaned something that might have been the other's name, and Takeshi grinned, nipping the bud. He switched to the other, taking it into his warm mouth and flicking his tongue over it. He ghosted his hands over Gokudera's sides, running his fingers over the ribs and resting them on his sharp hipbones.
He'd screwed around with guys in the locker room before, but this wasn't screwing around; this wasn't just fucking with some other lonely guy. This was having sex with a man he'd adored for as long as he could remember. This was making love with someone he truly loved, and he wanted to make their first time together something they would never, ever forget.
He pulled back and looked Hayato in the eyes. "Last chance to back out." He didn't know why he was asking twice, because he would not be able to handle if Gokudera decided he didn't want to have him. But if Gokudera changed his mind and didn't want this, and if he didn't tell Yamamoto and they went through with this, he would never forgive himself.
As an answer, Gokudera pulled their hips together and ground against him; sparks erupted behind their eyes as skin met skin. Yamamoto threw back his head, vision going white for a moment at the sweet, sweet friction, and any doubts he had went out the window. Blindly, he reached for something on the nightstand, pressing wet kisses against Gokudera's jaw, cheeks, and mouth.
Preoccupied with the kisses, Gokudera didn't take any notice when the swordsman nudged open his legs, and he didn't even notice Yamamoto's hand until he felt something circle his entrance, and he froze, eyes going wide and body still. Yamamoto sucked on Gokudera's pulse point, leaving a dark hickey to make his territory, and said softly, "Relax, 'Dera, or it'll hurt a lot more."
He kissed Gokudera slow and deep, hoping to distract him from the intrusion as he pushed the slickened finger inside. It didn't work; Gokudera cried out, clutching desperately to Yamamoto, his walls clamping down on the foreign digit. Rubbing circles between the bomber's shoulder blades, Takeshi slowly pulled his hand back before pushing back in, building up a rhythm as he moved it in and out, pressing in further as the puckered flesh around him eased. He added a second and then a third finger, stretching and scissoring the silveret's hole, trying different angles until he brushed against the spot that changed Gokudera's cries of pain into ones of pleasure.
"OH!" Gokudera screamed, eyes flying open. "Oh, God, yesss." His head tilted back against the pillow, wiggling back against Yamamoto's hand. "Again." It was a demand, emphasized by blunt nails digging into his back.
Yamamoto grinned and complied, pulling out to his fingertips and shoving back in, hitting that magic bundle of nerves again. Gokudera yowled, reduced to crying out in ecstasy and leaking pre-cum on their stomachs. Yamamoto repeated the action before withdrawing his hand and shifted, lifting Gokudera's legs and kissed him lightly on the thighs. He wrapped them around his waist and lined up with Gokudera's entrance; Gokudera watched him in dumbstruck amazement.
Yamamoto met Hayato's eyes, and took in the sight below him—smooth silver hair glistening in the dim sunlight coming through the blinds, lust-filled jade eyes at half mast, soft pink lips swollen and bruised, flushed pale skin slick with sweat. God, he's beautiful, so beautiful, and he's all mine.
He leaned down and captured Hayato's mouth in a long, deep, loving kiss, hoping to distract the silveret as he pushed in to the hilt. Gokudera groaned into the kiss, his nails digging into broad shoulders in discomfort at the sudden intrusion; it felt like he was being split in two, an agonizing, searing pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears pricking; Takeshi kissed them away, murmuring apologies and promises. He waited for Gokudera to adjust, staying perfectly still until the bomber nodded and hissed, "Move."
Yamamoto pulled out halfway and slowly pushed back in, building up a steady, mild rhythm while Gokudera got used to it; gradually, the silver-haired bomber started moving with him, pushing down as Yamamoto thrust up. Yamamoto reached between them to wrap his hand around Gokudera's neglected member, pumping in time to their dance; Gokudera trailed kisses down the swordsman's throat, nipping and sucking. A hand tugged viciously on his hair and Gokudera growled, "Faster, harder."
The last shreds of Takeshi's self-control slipped through his fingers and he pulled out to the tip, thrusting back in hard, hands on Gokudera's hips. Hayato cried out and bit down on Yamamoto's shoulder, drawing blood. They were moving together, burning up from the inside out; flames flickered around them, red and blue, hot and cold.
When it was over, they were the picture of spent debauchery, sweat gleaming on their skin and bodies tangled in a mess. Yamamoto murmured quiet, tender things, and Gokudera closed his eyes and let himself relax, content for the moment.
They lay together afterwards basking in the warm afterglow of sex, after they had both ridden out their highs, legs and bodies intertwined. Yamamoto kissed the top of Gokudera's head and nuzzled his mussed hair; they would both need showers later, but for now, he was content to simply make this moment last for as long as possible. Because as soon as it was over, he didn't know if he would ever get this chance again.
"…Hayato?" Yamamoto asked softly, letting his fingers settle on the healing wound on Gokudera's lower back. Gokudera groaned and mumbled his acknowledgement into the dark-haired man's shoulder—apparently, he'd just been drifting to sleep. Yamamoto brushed sweaty bangs out of Hayato's face and smiled.
"I love you, Hayato," he whispered. He felt Gokudera shaking next to him, felt a rumble go through his ribs, and heard a choking sound, and it took him a few moments to realize that Gokudera was laughing.
"What's so funny?" he asked indignantly. He'd just bared his soul to this silver angel, confessed what he felt in his heart of hearts, and Gokudera was laughing.
Snorting, Gokudera rolled over in his arms and looked up at him, shoulders still shaking. "S-sorry," he snickered, "it's just…I'm pretty sure you're supposed to stay that before you fuck me into the mattress."
Soon they were both laughing, and for the first time in months, they felt something like peace. When they could breathe without snickering, Yamamoto pressed a kiss to Gokudera's forehead and squeezed his waist.
"What happens now, 'Dera?" he asked, sounding wistful. "What do we do now?"
Gokudera hummed deep in his throat. "That depends. What did you have in mind?" The question was innocent enough; the gleam in his eyes was anything but.
"I was serious when I said I love you, Hayato," Yamamoto said. "If it was my choice, I would prove that to you every day as long as you let me. But it's your choice, so it's your call."
Gokudera brushed graceful pianist's fingers over the mark he'd left on Yamamoto's shoulder when the older teen had taken him to the heights of pleasure and dragged him over; he'd bitten hard enough to draw blood, and it would probably scar.
"If I say this was a mistake…?" He didn't look at Yamamoto, not when the yakubaka said, "If you want that, then okay; we pretend this never happened and we go back to the way it was before. If you want that, then I'll respect your wishes."
That didn't mean he'd like it, but if Gokudera wanted to pretend that they never slept together, then Yamamoto would accept it and go back to admiring from afar. But he hoped to God that didn't happen; he'd had a taste of the forbidden fruit, he didn't know if he could go back to the way it was before.
Gokudera nodded and rolled his shoulders. "And if I say I want this to continue…?"
Yamamoto grinned and let his fingers drift southward, brushing over Hayato's hips and the backs of his thighs. "In that case, my plan consisted of kissing you senseless, making breakfast in bed for you, and trying my best at wooing you," he said.
Gokudera propped himself up on his elbows and smirked, eyes dancing.
"Then what's stopping you, yakubaka?"