Title: Wants and Needs
Pairing: 8059, slight 695980
Warnings: m/m, mild violence, language, alcohol use, slight dubcon
Summary: Hayato has needs, Mukuro has wants, and Takeshi gets caught in the middle.
AN: AU, set in college years and presuming Mukuro gets out of prison eventually. This is an old work previously posted on LJ
Hayato thinks it's something like a mental illness, but he has given up searching for a cure.
It takes him by surprise one day, sitting on a park bench and sucking on a green popsicle stick. He tastes wood and artificial lime when Yamamoto looks up from his sprawl on the grass and smiles just for him, like it's the most natural thing in the world. And suddenly Yamamoto takes up eighty percent of his attention and one hundred percent of his amorous thoughts.
He doesn't stop to think maybe it's not real when he casts someone new in his fantasies. He doesn't want to believe he needs something more because he doesn't have time for fantasies and attraction and fluttering.
But two years after that day in the park, when Mukuro joins their little sophomore ensemble at university, he has to think there might be something wrong here, because it almost seems like he knows. He watches Mukuro watching him watch Yamamoto and he feels sick but he can't stop. It's all he can do to keep his temper in check around either one of them, and the Boss is getting more anxious by the day.
His own need disgusts him, but there's nothing left to do.
Hayato wakes from his least favorite dream scenario with afterimages of Yamamoto—disdainful, angry, disgusted—swirling behind his eyes like sharp, black accusation. His breath comes quick and shallow for several long moments. When he regains his composure—his crumbling fortress of strength—his eyes adjust to the dark of his bedroom and Mukuro's red-and-black number one is a dull glow from his doorframe.
"How interesting. I thought you hated him," he murmurs, voice velveteen. "But that's the point, isn't it?"
His soft kufufu trails into the silence, and Hayato is too astonished to speak at first. Then he remembers what is at stake and fear bolsters his reply.
"What the fuck are you doing in my room!? Get out!"
Rather than follow orders like the good little soldier he never will be, Mukuro sashays further into the room and comes to sit on the empty bed beside Hayato's. He stares and smirks and Hayato seethes. His eyes adjusting, Hayato can see that Mukuro is wearing not pajamas but street clothes, even though it's the middle of the night and he stays in a room just down the hall. He wants to ask where he's been, or where he's going, but he doesn't, because he thinks that's what Mukuro wants him to do.
"I can help you, you know," he murmurs, smooth and low.
Hayato feels a tiny shiver and shakes it off. "I don't need help from someone like you," he growls. "I don't need help, period."
"No?" Mukuro's smile widens and he gazes out of the window through slatted blinds to the amber street lamps outside. "Well, I just thought that, since you couldn't confess on your own, maybe you could use a little interference?" He looks back at Hayato, sees him warring with conflicting desires. "It would be easy. Maybe a quick little visit into Yamamoto-kun's head and—"
Eyes widening, Hayato grits, "That's what you do, isn't it? Sneak into some poor sap's dreams and take what you want? You're despicable."
"Kufufu, perhaps. Still, the offer is there." Mukuro crosses his legs regally and leans back on one hand, looking right at home just to piss Hayato off. "If you change your mind."
"Yeah? And what do I have to give you in return for something like that, huh? My soul?"
"Please. What would I do with a soul like yours?" Hayato balls his fists, tensing to lunge. "No, what I want is something much rarer." Leaning forward, he whispers, "Just let me borrow you for a couple of hours. That's all."
"B-borrow me!? What the—" He remembers their first meeting, how Mukuro forced him to fight Tsuna, and suddenly his fingers are clamped around Mukuro's throat, but Mukuro is not even phased. He smiles again and says without difficulty, "I promise not to hurt him. I'll even guarantee your physical integrity. Think about it."
Hayato blinks and it's daytime. He sits up, frantically glancing around his room. "A dream?" he asks aloud, holding a hand to his pounding head. Like a faint echo, he hears Mukuro's voice, "Think about it, Gokudera Hayato."
Yamamoto sits reading a physics book, blithely staring at the same spot on the page for about five minutes now. Hayato knows this because he has been staring at Yamamoto for the past ten minutes. He's wearing a white v-neck shirt—stark against his tanned skin—and low-slung jeans. His blue Vongola ring hangs on its chain nestled in the hollow below his long neck. Hayato gulps his coffee and finally forces himself to look away.
Despite his deep and abiding loathing for Mukuro, the offer swirls tantalizingly throughout his thoughts all day. What would he give, to know once and for all, if this attraction to the baseball idiot could become physical or not? Two hours of his body under that demon's control is probably just way too much. Mukuro could make him do anything, could subject him to whatever evils he wished, and Hayato could do nothing to stop it. He suddenly pictured himself robbing hospitals, going on a murdering spree at a kindergarten, blowing up business buildings and all sorts of heinous acts that he could never redeem himself for. Then again, if Hayato started to do anything out of character or dangerous, there were people all around him that would notice and know how to safely stop him. Tsuna wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.
Maybe it could be worth it. Better than going on like this forever. It has been too long now, since he realized he actually wanted that moronic swordsman in almost all senses of the word. And he still can't figure out why. It isn't just his body, Hayato knows that much. He has seen many attractive people in his life, and none of them have a similar affect to his psyche. None of them devour his attention and his dreams quite like Yamamoto.
It has taken him a while to be able to admit, even to himself, that Yamamoto has some decent qualities. Loyalty, determination, devotion, strength, and skill. Nothing Hayato himself doesn't already have in spades, but still. He learned how to rely on Yamamoto, and on a good day, he can admit that they make a pretty dangerous pair when they work together. Still, none of these are reason enough to make him the object of desire he's taken on in Hayato's mind. Or so he believes.
Yet, the why of the matter makes no difference. The simple fact is that Hayato has gotten to the point that he can't even look at Yamamoto without being assaulted by a shocking rush of distracting feelings. Something has to be done, and the more he thinks about it, the more Mukuro's golden deal gleams in the forefront of his options.
One week later, pacing his room, he calls Mukuro. The man is stepping into his dorm room within thirty seconds.
"Gokudera-kun, how nice to see you again."
"Oh, shut up. It's not like you didn't see me in advanced calculus two days ago."
"True, but this is such a special occasion, I just can't help but feel anticipation." Mukuro's smile leaves none of his evil glee to the imagination.
"Yeah, well. I..." he swallows and then spits it out as fast as he can, "I have some conditions. One, you can't do anything violent with my body. Two, you can't hurt Yamamoto in any sense of the word. Three, the limit is 120 minutes precisely. Got it?"
Mukuro's trademark laugh causes a shiver to shoot down his spine. "It's a deal. Now lie down and close your eyes."
"What? Right now? I want my answer first!"
"And you'll have it," Mukuro says, and touches a finger to Gokudera's forehead. His eyes roll back and he crumples into Mukuro's waiting arms. Laying him on the bed, he brushes a wayward strand of hair back from Gokudera's closed eyes and smiles. "You'll have it all."
Then he pulls out a pistol and shoots himself in the temple.
Digging through Gokudera's closet and drawers, Mukuro picks out the best outfit he can find. He dresses in low, tight black pin-striped pants, two steel-studded belts, black tank top and white button-up, which he leaves open. Four ornately gothic silver rings, an array of black bracelets, and three chain necklaces of varying length complete the ensemble. He combs the fine, silver hair and pulls on dull red sneakers. Mukuro glances at the clock on his way out the door and takes a quick moment to throw up an illusion over his glowing eye, the only sign of current possession.
Yamamoto is wearing pajama pants and nothing else when he answers the door. Smirking inwardly, Mukuro puts on a scowl—his closest approximation to Gokudera's—and lowers his voice to an irritated growl when he says, "Get dressed. We're going out."
"Gokudera? What's up?"
"Is that Octopus-Head?" comes a loud voice from behind Yamamoto.
Quickly checking his mental repertoire for what name Gokudera uses to address Yamamoto's roommate, Sasagawa-kun, Mukuro retorts, "None of your damned business, Turf-head. Yamamoto, you coming or not?"
"Where are we going?" he innocently asks.
"Just come on," Mukuro demands, planting a hand to his hip and jerking a thumb towards the hall with the other. "I don't have all fucking night!"
"Okay, okay," he cheerfully placates, giving a quiet chuckle. "Hold on a second."
He closes the door and Mukuro allows himself a tiny victory smirk while he waits. Are you watching this, Gokudera-kun? he muses.
When Yamamoto opens the door again, he's wearing a blue shirt, dark grey jeans, and a thin black jacket. His ever-present ring gleams on its simple chain as he pulls the jacket on. He closes the door and gives Gokudera a smile in greeting.
"We're taking your car," he tells Yamamoto, who nods as if this was expected.
Sliding into the black leather driver's seat, Yamamoto again asks, "Where to?"
"Just drive. I'll tell you when to turn."
"Sure," Yamamoto agrees with a grin, clearly amused by the mystery.
Mukuro glances out his window and bites his lip to keep from laughing. He can hear Gokudera now, like wind through dry grass, a wispy susurration against his consciousness. The volume will grow, he knows, as Gokudera wears away at the barrier, but for now he is easily ignored.
Parrying Yamamoto's attempts at idle conversation as he drives, Mukuro eventually declares that they have arrived and orders him out of the car.
"But Gokudera, this is a club," he cries, amused but baffled. "You've never gone to a club before."
"Yeah? And just how would you know that, Baseball Idiot? So, shut the hell up and let's go."
There's a long line to get in, but Mukuro knows something Yamamoto and Gokudera don't. Confidently, he stalks up to the bouncer and raises a fine eyebrow. The well-muscled man in a cheap suit jacket smirks at him and waves them in ahead of everyone else without hesitation.
Inside, Yamamoto leans in to ask above the music, "How did you do that? Does he know you?"
Gokudera gruffly shakes his head and motions for Yamamoto to look around the place. He does, and just when Mukuro thinks he's going to have to explain, Yamamoto's eyes widen and he ogles Gokudera like he's just transformed into a giant bunny rabbit. He hasn't. Mukuro did a mental check.
"This is a—a gay club!? Why would you…?"
Mukuro makes Gokudera's face pull into a tiny smirk. "Come on, I'm thirsty."
Yamamoto follows Mukuro to the bar like a stray dog: a little lost, a little hungry, and a lot wary. Ordering two drinks, Mukuro sits facing the dance floor and leans back with his arms resting on the bar. Yamamoto sits and tries not to stare at the people around him. Mukuro imagines he has probably never been in this kind of situation before. Innocent Rain Guardian, ever the follower, the content and happy, is now looking around with sharp curiosity and unease.
"Relax. No one's going to jump you," Mukuro grunts. The bartender brings their drinks and he pushes one into Yamamoto's unsure hands. "Drink that, you'll feel better." And Yamamoto does.
Twenty minutes later, Mukuro hands Yamamoto his third shot and smiles when he takes it without hesitation, a lazy smile on his flushed face. They knock their shots back in tandem and before Yamamoto has time to set his glass down, Mukuro grabs his wrist and yanks him out of the chair. The glass falls to the floor and shatters.
"Gokudera!" he laughs, "That was bad!"
Mukuro looks back and grins ferociously, "You think that's bad?"
Yamamoto gulps. "Hey, what's this all about anyway? I mean, it's pretty fun, but I didn't think you were the kind of guy to go drinking and dancing!"
Stopping when they reach the middle of the crowded dance floor, Mukuro pulls Yamamoto close and shouts in his ear over the pulsing music, "You'd be surprised what kind of guy I am."
And Yamamoto is surprised. Especially since Mukuro is gripping his belt loops and pulling Yamamoto's hips to sway in time with his. In his deeply buzzed state, all he can do is gaze open-mouthed down into deep green, heavy-lidded eyes and go along with it. Mukuro watches hazy brown eyes dart from his eyes to his mouth, and down. Almost there, he thinks. Just a little more.
Gokudera's outraged voice is a nagging chatter in the background. Words jump out, words like "don't touch him" and "knock it off," but Mukuro is listening to the music now, leaning his head back so Yamamoto gets a nice view of his pale, graceful neck.
They dance until Mukuro remembers the time limit and grabs a wrist to glance at Yamamoto's watch. He has a little less than half an hour left. Pulling him again, Mukuro leads Yamamoto towards the exit. Outside, the air is quiet, chill and refreshing. He demands Yamamoto's keys and unlocks the door with the handy button.
Before he can get in, Yamamoto takes a firm hold of his arm and says, "We can't drive, Gokudera. We've both had way too much to drink."
He looks upset, and though Mukuro wouldn't have given it a second thought, he realizes that forcing the issue could ruin everything. He forgets sometimes how noble all these Vongola brats can be. So he replies, "Who said anything about driving?" and slides into the backseat, yanking a confused Yamamoto in after him.
Gokudera is all but furious now, screaming at Mukuro like he's skinning his favorite pet or something. With a mental roll of his eyes, Mukuro does his best to tune out the amplifying siren of rage and pushes Yamamoto against the seat, straddling his lap and smirking into wide, amazed eyes.
"Gokudera, what…what are you doing?" he whispers into the near-silence, filled with the sounds of their labored breathing.
"What does it look like?" Mukuro asks. He slips ring-laden hands under Yamamoto's soft cotton shirt, hiding taut muscles under hot skin, and revels in the resulting shiver. Yamamoto's hands stop his progress and Mukuro looks up. Silently, he curses.
With a confused, almost hurt look, Yamamoto firmly repeats, "What are you doing?"
Mukuro had been afraid of this. He didn't actually think there was anything significant going on in that empty head of his, but apparently Yamamoto has feelings for Gokudera after all. This will put a kink in his plans, for sure. Still, he has to try.
"Just having a little fun, Baseball Freak. What's wrong with that?" he says, teasing fingers down Yamamoto's chest.
"Are you okay? You've been acting really weird all night," Yamamoto tells him with just a hint of a slur.
"Of course I'm fine. I just want you: that's all." Gokudera is an insistent pounding in his skull now, heavy as a migraine. Thoroughly annoyed and almost out of time, Mukuro throws caution to the wind. He grabs a fistful of spiky black hair and hungrily crushes their mouths together. He resists at first, but then quickly joins in and reciprocates, groaning when Mukuro thrusts his tongue against Yamamoto's.
Pleased with his obedience, Mukuro slips one hand back under the shirt and runs his nails over abs on the way up to rub at a nipple. Yamamoto jerks and moans again, shyly placing one hand on Gokudera's thigh and the other on his slim waist. Letting go his hold on thick hair, Mukuro guides Yamamoto's hand from Gokudera's side, back around and over his jeans to grab his ass. Breaking for air, Yamamoto goes for Gokudera's ear and Mukuro groans, storing the knowledge of a powerful erogenous zone for possible future extortion.
But the roar of Gokudera's fury is becoming a wave, and suddenly Mukuro's consciousness is washed out of the body and back into his own, sprawled across the cold floor of the Storm Guardian's bedroom. Blinking, he glances around to gain his bearings. Surely, he thinks, that should be enough to get them started.
Hayato jerks backwards, almost falling sideways into the floorboard. Yamamoto's hands on his back save him. Looking down at Yamamoto, flushed and sweaty and panting, Hayato is speechless. He's wanted to do this for what feels like decades and now that it's here, he doesn't know what to do with it. Blushing at his advanced state of arousal, he frantically tries to think of what he should do.
"Gokudera?" Yamamoto calls, expression curious but still lustful.
Glancing out the back window, at the seat beside them, at his own hands, propped against the backseat to hold him steady, anywhere but at Yamamoto, he is lost. The last thing he wants to do is explain that he let Mukuro borrow his body so that he could trick Yamamoto into telling him whether he liked Hayato or not. He can't tell him that he'd just essentially made out with Mukuro! But continuing like nothing happened seems wrong, too. However much he wants to pretend this never happened.
"What's wrong?"
"Sorry."
"What?"
"Sorry, for acting so weird. I was…nervous," he says, still not looking at Yamamoto. A hand comes up and forces him to look, though, and Yamamoto is gently smiling. Hayato's stomach simultaneously warms and clenches.
"It's okay," he holds Hayato's eyes until he can't take it anymore.
"Are you sure this is what you want? With me?"
"Pretty sure," Yamamoto laughs, glancing at his hard-on for emphasis. "You?"
"Hell yes," he blurts before thinking. "But I don't want to 'take advantage' of a drunken Baseball Idiot or anything like that."
"Really wouldn't mind if you did."
Slowly, he leans forward and presses a light kiss to Yamamoto's mouth. It is so much softer than what they'd just been doing that it almost seems silly to Hayato, but Yamamoto kisses back just as softly. Still scared, but spurred on by this show of emotion, Hayato decides to keep going. He will definitely have to figure out what Mukuro's ultimate agenda was and be sure to foil it, but for now he just wants to experience this.
Yamamoto's smile when he leans back is blinding. Suddenly filled with enthusiasm, he wraps his arms around Hayato and affectionately kisses his neck. Tentatively, Hayato returns the embrace and tilts his head to expose more of it. His eyes close and he sighs as gentle teeth and warm lips envelope an ear lobe, tongue teasing his earrings.
Slowly, his hips begin to rock, his hands to wander, and his apprehension to dissipate. Yamamoto is pliant and responsive, quivering subtly where his hands hold Hayato's thighs. His eyes are half-lidded and glossy black with enlarged pupil. Hayato grinds their erections together and Yamamoto's breath hisses out of him, slow and shaky.
"Gokudera, can I—I want to—"
"Do it."
Whatever Yamamoto wants to do, Hayato wants him to do it. So he takes his cue and allows himself to be eased backwards into the seat, Yamamoto shifting to his knees before him. Hayato pulls him close for a languorous kiss. Yamamoto's tongue twists as his hands go for Hayato's fly, pulling his jeans open and timidly palming the firm flesh he finds there. Hayato moans into the kiss and feels his hips twitch forward into his grip.
His cock is freed from his boxers and he finally breaks the kiss to pant against Yamamoto's hair as his head dips. The sound that is wrenched from him when Yamamoto swallows him down is something shocked and keening. Hayato's jaw goes slack for several seconds before he remembers how to move it again.
"Oh, god, Yamamoto," he groans, sliding shaking hands into smooth black hair as his whole body becomes liquid pleasure. "That feels…so fucking amazing—uhn!" He watches the hand Yamamoto isn't using to steady him drift out of view. Then he hears a quiet zip and Hayato gets it because now Yamamoto is groaning around the cock in his hot mouth. "Are you touching yourself!?"
"Should I stop?" Yamamoto takes a break to ask, sitting back and looking up into Hayato's incredulous face for guidance. And he has stopped, hand falling away from himself even as the other one continues to steadily stroke Hayato brainless. "Does it freak you out?"
"Fuck no," Hayato almost shouts. "It's the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen."
Yamamoto smiles in relief and Hayato crushes a fist into his shirt to yank him forward for a feral clash of tongues and teeth and breath. As much as he wants more of that amazing blowjob, he wants his hands on Yamamoto more. Wants to jerk the shirts from his torso, shove the jeans and boxers down his hips, and grip bruises into his taut skin. He receives the same treatment in turn. They push and pull at each other until they manage to peel most of the clothing away and fit themselves together—hard angles and sharp lines in a confined space—till there's almost nothing separating them anymore.
Sweat drips, sound echoes, and air evades but they fail to notice. Pleasure and need propagate inside them until all they can think, all they can feel, is burning blood and slick skin. Their hips pivot and slide, mouths mimicking sloppily. Hayato is reaching a crescendo, helpless moans slipping out with every exhale, and Yamamoto is close behind.
When the world becomes fuzzy-white and brilliant, Hayato's sharp canine nicks Yamamoto's lower lip as he breaks away to cry out. The quieter cadence of Yamamoto's low moan soon follows. Movements still in favor of regaining forgotten breath.
Senses return slowly, as the fever fades from their minds.
Hayato is boneless, uncaring of Yamamoto's anchoring weight above him. He has waited so long for this, and he is not disappointed. The only question: is Yamamoto? Before he can ask, however, his grip on reality is ceded to the powerful chemicals suffusing his bloodstream. Sleep hits him as quickly as one of Mukuro's magical bullets.
The next day's classes are far from average, seeing as Yamamoto isn't in any of them, as he should be. Tsuna expresses concern and Hayato mumbles some vague response while trying not to spontaneously combust in his seat.
The first thing he did, after waking alone in the backseat of Yamamoto's car with one of his shirts draped over him, was get dressed, drive back to campus, and track Mukuro down to have it out. Of course the freak would be impossible to find the one time he really needed a good old-fashioned Storm Guardian beat-down. He eventually gave up in favor of finding Yamamoto, but that endeavor also failed.
Barring those tasks, all Hayato had left were the usual ones: go to class, support the Tenth, and stay vigilant. So that's exactly what he's doing. Even if he's also running a stream of anxious monologue regarding Yamamoto mixed with profusions of hateful profanity towards Mukuro instead of listening to his professors. It takes him the better part of the day to stop torturing himself about his recent decisions and start figuring out what he's going to do about them. He will run into both of them eventually, so having a plan is a good idea.
Mukuro is easy: he'll kill him. Tsuna will be upset but he'll understand once Hayato explains the situation. They can always find another Mist guardian.
Yamamoto is another story. Hayato can't kill him—even if he wanted to—and they can't avoid each other and what happened last night forever. Sure, they could probably agree to forget about it and move on, but Hayato would always feel weird about it. Always wonder what could be.
Either way, one thing is obvious: Yamamoto regrets the whole fiasco and doesn't know how to face Hayato now. He's probably locked up in his dorm room, pondering what to say and how to act now that he has to tell Hayato he's not actually into him enough to fuck him regularly after all. Last night was an impulse; sorry for the confusion. Or some stupid shit like that.
"Gokudera-kun?"
"Yes, Tenth?" he shouts, jolting out of his reverie.
"Class is over," he says, regarding him uncertainly. "Are you heading back home now?"
"Ah, yes, probably."
"Okay. Well, if you see Yamamoto, could you tell him he can copy my notes from today?"
"Yes, Tenth. I will tell him that."
"Are you okay?" Tsuna asks, turning to look at him fully. "You two have been acting so strange lately."
"Yes, I am fi—did you say the two of us? As in that Baseball Idiot, too?"
"Yeah. Yamamoto has been really quiet and thoughtful for a few weeks now." Tsuna's eyes lose focus as he recalls the man's errant behavior. "At first I thought it was just exams but we've already taken most of them. Maybe he's found a girl he likes? I know he's been talking more with a few of his fans lately."
"Y-yeah," Hayato chokes. Dies. "Maybe. I'm gonna go now, Tenth. See you later!"
"See you."
"I'm gonna kill him," he mutters out of ear shot.
Petite and curvy, the bitch is cuter than Haru and twice as annoying. She runs a hand through her long black hair to straighten the wind-blown kinks as she speaks. Yamamoto nods at whatever she's saying and smiles when she touches his shoulder. Then he leans in to give her a hug before saying goodbye.
Hayato is seeing red.
He doesn't even think to be grateful there are no other stragglers on the baseball field to witness the atrocities he plans to commit. All he can think is die, Baseball Idiot, die. Stalking up to the smiling moron as the woman turns a corner out of sight, Hayato barely gives him a chance for recognition before he pounces.
Yamamoto goes down with an aborted question and a satisfying whump into the hard-packed dirt. Growling bloody murder, Hayato doesn't give any warning before he takes a swing, but the bastard is too quick and catches both wrists before any damage is done.
They fight for the upper hand, rolling in the dirt and kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. Fury fuels Hayato's struggles and he comes out on top but his opponent plays dirty and cants his hips up, accidentally distracting with pleasant sensation. Hayato hadn't even realized he was getting hard from their little wrestling match. Who knew there was actually something to that 'angry sex' thing anyway?
"Gokudera, what are you doing?" he wheezes once he regains his breath. Hayato is pinned with his arms bent beside his chest and his thighs beneath Yamamoto's ass. He can't get enough torque to throw the asshole off. "Why are you attacking me?"
"Because you're a fucking low-life piece of shit!"
"Wha—"
"Messing around with me last night and then chatting up some vapid girl the next day," Hayato hisses. "Like I'm just something to do when you get bored."
"What are you talking about?" Yamamoto demands, huffing out an exasperated breath. "I wouldn't call what we did 'messing around' and she—"
"Oh, I guess in your world I don't even rank as sexually viable," he scowls. All of the hope he felt slip into him with every kiss, every reverent glance from Yamamoto as they brought each other pure joy withers inside him. Instead, the space is filled with all the nights he has lain awake thinking of the Rain Guardian's loyalty, strength, and goodness. Wanting and knowing he could never have. Despair, longing, resignation. "I don't know why I thought it would mean anything. You can't take anything seriously anyway. Hell, sometimes I wonder if you still think we're playing 'Mafia games'. Like what we do is so transient it doesn't even rank as reality. Like all we are to you are toys. Well fuck you, Yamamoto! Fuck you and your little slut!"
"Gokudera, enough!" It comes out strained and hoarse, but no less loud and jarring. Yamamoto is trembling, features marred by anger and indignation. His eyes are closed tightly enough to look painful. "Just shut up, would you?"
"Why should I?"
"Because for once, you're the idiot!" he yells, snapping his eyes open to glare down at his captive. "You've got it all completely wrong. I should've known you would do this…"
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I know how your brain works. You convinced yourself I'm seeing Ami—the girl who just left—didn't you? You thought I ditched class because I didn't want to face you, didn't want to be with you. Didn't you?" Hayato doesn't answer, but Yamamoto continues without confirmation. His expression turns pleading, fleetingly, then resolved. "Ami is just a friend. She's the only person I've told that I'm gay. I was asking her for advice because I was confused."
"You're—" Hayato's brain gets caught up on the gay part for some reason. As if that wasn't obvious, after getting off with a guy. Shaking his head, he says, "What are you confused about?"
Sighing, Yamamoto releases him and stands, facing away. Hayato gets up and doesn't bother brushing at the dust coating his clothes. Uncharacteristically, he waits patiently for Yamamoto to compose his thoughts and speak in his own time.
"Of course I'm confused," he finally says, running a hand through his hair. "I've been confused for months now. Longer." Stepping closer, Hayato stops when Yamamoto turns around and looks at him with wide, intense eyes. "You are so confusing! Love is confusing!"
"What."
"Gokudera, I—" Yamamoto interrupts himself to step close, grabbing his shoulders and staring right at him as he says, "Hayato, I'm in love with you."
Hayato's jaw falls open as his eyebrows shoot up and suddenly his knees feel like noodles. He starts to shake his head and retreat but Yamamoto won't let him.
"But y-you can't! I mean…" His eyes fall shut and his heart pounds in his ears. He is angry, sad, baffled, speechless, so happy. "How…?"
"I don't know. How does anyone fall in love with someone?"
"I don't know," he whispers, shaking his head like he can clear a bad dream upon waking. Hayato's hands come up to rub over his face and Yamamoto's steadying hands disappear. It takes him a few moments to realize Yamamoto is walking away, leaving him where he stands. "Where are you going?" Rather than answer, he keeps walking. Hayato jogs to catch up and yanks at his arm to get him to stop. "Hey. Yamamoto, wait."
"Why?" His voice is as blank as his face. "I've already received your answer."
"My answer?"
"You don't care about me, right?" The emotionless façade is flawless and it's giving Hayato terrified chills. "So what's left to talk about? I'm going home."
Something about the way he says home sets off alarm bells and Hayato flings himself in Yamamoto's path, bracing hands against the man's chest and letting his panic show.
"No. You're not going anywhere. Just because I'm emotionally constipated to the point of inveterate apathy doesn't mean I don't care about you."
"…What?"
"I might…l-love you, too."
They stare at each other, waiting. Letting it all sink in and sort itself out. Yamamoto shakes his head.
"You might love me?"
"I don't know, okay!" Hayato yells, frustrated. He flings his arms up and feels tension shake loose from them both. "I think about you too much and I worry almost as much as for the Tenth. I like seeing you, despite bitching about it, and miss you when I haven't seen you for a while. I want you. I dream about you. But I don't know. I've never loved anyone like that before."
For a second, he is sure his pitiful attempt at expressing his mixed-up feelings will fail. Yamamoto is going to walk off, right out of his life for good. The thought makes his chest hurt and his eyes sting. He wishes he could start over and act like a normal human being. Avoid asking Mukuro for help and face up to his weird desires on his own. Then maybe he wouldn't have Yamamoto staring at him like he's just taken everything he's ever wanted away forever. Making him feel like he needs to apologize.
"What do you want, Hayato?"
"I want," he starts, choosing his words carefully. "I want to touch you. Spend more time with you. Trust in you. Talk to you." Hayato's gaze falls to the ground between them. He can't believe he's saying all of this, sounding like some sappy soap opera. "I want to be with you."
"Do you mean that?"
Raising his eyes to meet fragile brown, "Yeah. I mean it."
Then Yamamoto kisses him and Hayato falls into it like a warm bed at the end of the coldest, longest day.