Light shone through the windows of Gokudera's apartment, spilling over the living room carpet and illuminating the kitchen. The dim sunlight was muted by the heavy, thick layer of clouds outside, leaving it just bright enough to tell the people of Namimori that it was morning.

Yamamoto Takeshi hummed off-key as he put the finishing touches on the breakfast he'd prepared in Gokudera's kitchen. While most of his culinary skills involved sushi, he'd managed to whip together something he hoped would persuade Gokudera to hold off on attacking him. He'd made scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and cinnamon buns he'd gotten at the convenience store on the corner, and he'd even figured out how Gokudera's coffee maker worked (it had been a life-or-death battle for awhile, but Takeshi finally triumphed in the third inning). He heard Gokudera leave his bedroom and then another door closed, followed by the sound of retching.

Emotion welled up inside Takeshi, a tidal wave of shame, guilt, regret, and love, and he forced himself to refrain from rushing to Gokudera's side. He didn't regret what had happened; what he regretted was sleeping with Gokudera when he was drunk. Yamamoto had known that Gokudera had had several drinks of the champagne Dino had brought, but he hadn't realized just how drunk Gokudera was until the silveret called out Yamamoto's first name during sex. Never—not even during sex—would Gokudera ever call him Takeshi; that was when Yamamoto realized that the alcohol had affected Gokudera more than he'd thought.

That realization also brought about the unwelcome but undeniable fact that Yamamoto had taken advantage of Gokudera when his decision-making abilities were seriously impaired. Yamamoto had ignored the signs of the other boy's inebriation—the slurred speech, the impaired balance, the blood-shot eyes and flushed face—and let himself fall prey to his own desire for the pale pianist's flesh. They hadn't even made it halfway to Gokudera's apartment when they started kissing and groping; by the time they managed to get through his door, they both had raging erections and couldn't keep their hands off each other.

If Yamamoto had known that Gokudera was drunk out of his mind, he wouldn't have taken advantage of the situation. They were walking home together and Gokudera tripped, and Yamamoto automatically caught him. Then with Gokudera pressed up against him, his face only inches away and his breath hot against Yamamoto's neck…Takeshi had been defenseless against those beautiful jade green eyes and porcelain pale skin and soft-looking, plump, delicious lips.

So he'd closed the distance between them and kissed Gokudera, claiming those tempting lips with his own, and Gokudera had kissed back. Takeshi had dared to hope that maybe Gokudera—that maybe Hayato—felt the same way.

But now…now that he knew Gokudera was drunk and not in control, he didn't know how he could face the silveret again in good conscious. Last night had been his first time, and if his reactions were any indicator, it had been Gokudera's first time as well. It wasn't enough that he'd taken advantage of Gokudera, but he'd taken his innocence too. Now he would have to face Gokudera, who may or may not remember exactly what happened but would certainly be able to piece together that he'd been the bottom in a round of passionate, clumsy sex. Could he live with that guilt?

Then there was the dilemma of the Gokudera. How would he react when he discovered that he'd slept with Yamamoto, even if he had been drunk? Gokudera hated him—he called him yakubaka, "baseball idiot," and he never meant it as a compliment—and would be absolutely furious when he learned that Yamamoto had taken advantage of him.

Maybe Takeshi could pretend that he had been just as intoxicated as Gokudera, then they could pass it off as just a drunken night of debauchery. They wouldn't be the first friends to get drunk out of their minds and sleep together. But then that would be just one more thing for Yamamoto to feel guilty over.

Yamamoto knew that there was no way Gokudera would love him—he hated him—, but sometimes…sometimes he let himself pretend that his beloved silveret was his; sometimes he let himself pretend that he could love him back.

When they were walking home from school—alone because Hibari had "kidnapped" Tsuna again—Yamamoto pretended that Gokudera was walking with him because he wanted to spend time with him, not because he had nothing better to do. Yamamoto pretended that when Gokudera smiled at Tsuna, that beautiful, stunning smile, was meant for him. When they were hanging out at Tsuna's and the brunet went to get them drinks, Takeshi pretended that there was more in the silence than just tension and disgust from the other boy's end, and unrequited love from his own.

It only hurt when he remembered that he was only pretending.

He stood back and admired his work; he could hear the water shut off, and a door close moments after that. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Gokudera would be out in a few minutes, then everything would go to hell in a handbasket. He smiled sadly at the memory of holding Gokudera in his arms, the pale Italian curled up against him, head resting on his shoulder and an arm around his waist.

It hadn't been easy to tame that wild cat, but he'd done it. He was the soothing rain, after all, and didn't rain and storms go together? He chuckled to himself sardonically; when Gokudera killed him, he would die with the satisfying knowledge that he'd been the one to tame Smokin' Bomb Hayato, to bring him screaming to orgasm for the first time.

He had the satisfaction of knowing that no matter who came next, he would always be the first.

By the time Gokudera appeared in the doorway, face still flushed from the shower and beautiful silver hair dark with water, Takeshi had schooled his face into his usual cheerful grin, hoping it reached his eyes. Judging from the look on Gokudera's face, it didn't.

"Good morning!" he sang, wondering for the first time how he looked to Gokudera—wearing the wrinkled clothes from the day before, standing in his kitchen with food spread out on the counter, grinning like they hadn't just slept with each other.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He mentally shrugged. Too late to turn back now.

He laughed as he motioned to the kitchen counter, and the spread of food. "I made breakfast. I didn't know what you'd like, so I guess I kinda went nuts," he said, grinning and rubbing the back of his head.

Gokudera stared at him, wary. The bomber obviously remembered what had happened between them; they'd slept together in a drunken and ardent frenzy (well, Gokudera was drunk, that must count for something). What would happen next? Where would they go from there? Would they pretend it had never happened—could they pretend it never happened?

And why was he so scared of that prospect?

He stood back as Gokudera hesitantly grabbed a plate and shoveled portions of food onto it with a plastic fork, then filled a mug with coffee—black, Yamamoto made a mental note. As Gokudera retreated to the table, Yamamoto filled his own plate and poured himself a cup of orange juice, then joined the silveret.

They ate in silence for several minutes, a time that was filled with the sounds of eating, silverware clinking together, and the occasional slush of a drink. Finally, Yamamoto broke the uncomfortable silence.

"We have to talk about it, you know."

Gokudera stabbed a pile of eggs and growled, avoiding the other boy's eyes. Evidently, he was looking forward to this talk just as much as Yamamoto. Still, they had to clear the air before they did anything else, so he pressed on.

"How much of last night do you remember?"

Gokudera glared at him across the table and Yamamoto winced. He remembered enough to be pissed as all get out, apparently.

"Right," Takeshi said, sighing. This was going to be a little harder than he thought. Maybe it was like going swimming in a really cold pool. You just had to take the plunge and hope it didn't shock the pee out of you.

"Look, I'm sorry." He held up his hand to stop Gokudera from interrupting. "I'm not sorry about what happened between us. I'm sorry that it happened under those circumstances. I didn't know that you were drunk when I kissed you, and I didn't realize just how many drinks you'd had until after we'd slept together. If I'd known earlier that you were drunk, I never would have kissed you and this wouldn't have happened, and if I could go back and change last night, I would. But, I can't, and we'll both have to accept that what happened last night happened."

He paused for a moment, letting it sink in, before he added softly, "But I don't regret making love to you."

He watched Gokudera levelly, waiting for his response. While Gokudera processed what he'd said, Yamamoto surveyed his love. His sterling silver hair was slipping out of the short ponytail Gokudera had anchored in it; Takeshi knew that Gokudera had been taunted as a little kid for his strange hair, but Yamamoto loved it. It was unique and beautiful, and he adored the way it sparkled when the sunlight hit it just the right way, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his nose in it. His disarming jade green eyes were narrowed, their stunning green dark with fatigue and fury. His shirt was slipping off his shoulder, revealing pale skin marred by hickies; a swell of pride filled Yamamoto, knowing that he had given them to the Italian.

Finally, just when Yamamoto was convinced he would go insane if he had to wait much longer, Gokudera stood up and walked around the table to stand in front of Yamamoto, who jumped to his feet to keep eye contact. Please, oh please, don't be too angry with me, he prayed silently.

CRACK!

His eyes widened, and he unconsciously stepped back as his hand went to his stinging cheek. Gokudera glared at him, his hand still lifted, as if he was debating whether to slap the baseball idiot again. Yamamoto stared at him, almost unbelieving that Gokudera had actually struck him. He closed his eyes, scolding himself for hoping for more. Of course this striking (no pun intended) angel of music wouldn't love him back; how could he have gotten his hopes up?

Then, inexplicably, the beautiful angel standing in front of him stepped forward and closed the distance between them, smashing their lips together. His hands knotted in Yamamoto's rumpled T-shirt, pulling him closer. Yamamoto grinned into the kiss, and paid for it when Gokudera bit his bottom lip savagely. Yamamoto wrapped his arms around the pianist's waist and tilted his head, trying to find a good angle.

Their lips moved together; Yamamoto felt Gokudera asking for entrance—no, demanding for entrance—and happily granted it. Unlike the night before, when Yamamoto had led the kisses, Gokudera wasn't making it easy for the baseball player. Their tongues fought for dominance, a passionate dance that Gokudera had no intention of losing. Yamamoto humored the other and relinquished control, letting Gokudera take the lead. He didn't know what was happening, but he was sure as hell not complaining. Gokudera's taste was not sweet, not all that appealing, but as Yamamoto ran his tongue through Gokudera's cigarette-smoke flavored mouth, he found that the taste was growing on him.

Before the kiss turned into something more, something he suspected Gokudera wasn't ready for, Yamamoto pulled back, grinning stupidly down at the beautiful creature in his arms.

"So you're not gonna hit me again?" he asked. It was the first thing that had come to mind, and probably not the most romantic thing to say, but it made Gokudera chuckle.

"We'll see," Gokudera said smirking. "Just keep your hands out of my pants." He paused, looking thoughtful. "For now," he amended.

Yamamoto laughed and kissed Gokudera's nose. "Gotcha."

Ta-da! The second part to Eye of the Storm! I was so happy to see all the support this story was getting, so I hope you guys like it! Let me know if you spot any errors, I kinda rushed through the editing so I could have it posted.

~Nagi