A/N: Dun-dun-duuhh, let the past commence :D Prepare yourself because honestly, this one is an absolute MONSTER! It's so long...*keeps on scrolling...oh my god...* I'm wondering whether to leave the last half of Gokudera's past up for another chapter, to help it flow when it comes back to Yamamoto and everything, but I'll just have to wait and see what the two guys want :D (looks over to Gokudera and Yamamoto on my bed. Gokudera: You...*glare* Why was I the one that had to have the shit past? Yamamoto: Aww, but that just means I can love you all the more *hugs him rugby tackle-style* Gokudera: Shit! *falls down* Me: *drools and then gets back to writing while they mess around on my bed XD*) –shot– ok, I'll start now, I'm sorry but I just couldn't resist :D
Best song for this chapter : Entwine – Until the End and then I will Never be the Same – Cry Little Sister
By the way, I'm going based on the idea that Gokudera met Tsuna when he was fifteen, and so, coz of that, you can work out how old I've set the characters ;3 (or if you can't be bothered – Yamamoto and Gokudera are 17 now ;D *in the present*)
Warning: This chapter included non-con, severe yaoi, extreme lemons and rape. If you don't like this, then please don't read this chapter and wait for the next one. I don't want to offend or traumatise anyone O.o otherwise, enjoy(?) -Me: how can you enjoy rape? Muse: *shrugs* Me: aren't you a help...-
Chapter Six – Look Back, Don't Stare
"You need to watch the pain
burning in front of you
you need to stay away from all those things that you do
I might seem too soft but I can feel it all, the pain is real.
You need to look away
I know it's hard to do
you need to stay away from all those things that you do
I was there for you to burn me down again
my fire is in your eyes."
-I will never be the same - Burn
[Five years ago]
It hadn't been an especially outstanding day. The boy had gotten up, been dressed and sent down to the main quarter on the estate to attend his piano lesson.
Well, it hadn't really been a piano lesson. But the boy remembered a kind teacher he had once had, with long flowing silver hair like his own, and warm, familiar eyes.
He felt his fists in his pockets clench even tighter at the memory.
Mother...he thought the melancholic thought with great adoration for the woman - Every year he would come down here to feel as close to her as he dared without opening up the old wounds. He would sit at the grand black piano and look at it, reminiscing for those days when things had been so much simpler. Knowing he was the bastard child, it meant he would never inherit his father's title. It would all go to Bianchi. She was the rightful heir, amongst mafia, your gender meant nothing. As it should – a woman could be just as ruthless a leader as a man.
Happy twelfth birthday to me, a voice murmured almost silently in his thoughts, a small blessing. If only one thought his birthday wasn't something to be mourned, then maybe he would be able to smile without that shadowing sadness. But that would only disgrace his mother's memory. This was the only day when his father would even acknowledge her existence, and if he had to mope about like a sullen brat to make sure of that, then he would.
He took his usual seat down on the leather stool, lifting the lid of the piano softly. It was a beautiful instrument, one he'd learnt to play all by self-teaching. He was far from brilliant, but whenever there were important guests at the mansion, his father always made sure he played for them. The music was always chosen for him and when there weren't guests, the instrument was off-limits to the boy. Except for today though – even his father had enough of a heart to at let the boy have this much of his mother's past.
Slowly, closing his eyes and blocking out the world with well accustomed ease, the boy let his fingers channel his emotions into the keys. His style was raw, unrefined and unique to say the least. But still, it held a melody more sophisticated than even Beethoven's fifth. It was a woeful harmony of deep, nerve-shuddering chords with the partnering of soft soprano and alto octaves that flitted across his right hand. He would play this melody every year, and knew everyone in the mansion could hear it. In his head, he heard an orchestra of accompanying instruments and the soft wafting melody of a choir. It all melded into a gentle, melancholic performance and it wouldn't be long until the boy was lost in his own world.
He was so lost in his own world, lifting his fingers from the keys for a split moment, ready to continue when he felt a presence. He'd been so consumed by his own world that he didn't notice the presence of several men behind him, silent as air, but he was made very much aware of them when a black strip of fabric was wrapped tightly around his mouth, blocking off any scream he might have had the chance to make. Before he was able to spin around, the long black cloth was coiled around his eyes, having been wound around his head and then over his eyes twice before being tied off at the back of his head.
He struggled as he was thrown from the piano stool, the cold marble floor smacking into his cheek painfully. Somebody's body slammed into his jarringly, and he felt his hip protest from being pressed down at such a hard angle. Ropes bound his hands, and the knots were so intricate not even his skilled fingers could unravel them.
Shit, shit, shit! He cursed, rapaciously squirming with all his might. There was the soft pattering of shoes, far lighter than these thugs that had taken him down and that perfume, soft but entrancing.
Bianchi.
He made as loud a noise he could under the gag, thrashing around furiously, not wanting to drag his half-sister into whatever sick game this was, but to drive her away. If she had any sense, she would, but of course, this was Bianchi, the girl who thought she could take on the world. Though she may act as calm as a chilled cucumber around the adults, when alone with Gokudera, there was nothing too ridiculous for her. He sure hoped she grew out of it, but somehow doubted it.
She gasped, "Hayato-!" but before her voice could escalate to a scream, it was cut short by what Gokudera sensed was a heavy blow. There was a thud and he felt her body hit the floor clumsily, knocked out.
"bastards!" was what he wanted to roar, but it ended up as a muffled, contorted expletive.
There was a blunt blow to the back of his head, just at the nape of his neck and he was out before he could feel the pain.
Ever so slowly, consciousness crawled its way back to Gokudera. It came in fits and bursts, jolting him awake, then he would immediately sink back into its depths for however long it was. This time though, he was truly awake and what he felt and saw was more than a shock.
His ached for a start, if he dared twitch his neck his neck muscles spasmed. His arms felt weak and flimsy at his sides, but they weren't. He peered down and saw his arms were shackled, a chain no longer than a few inches chaining him to a...
A bedpost? What the fuck?
On closer inspection, his gut sank as he saw that he was entirely naked, laid down on a red quilted bed like some prize gift for someone to stumble on. No way was he some bouquet of roses spread randomly on a bedspread! What in the hell was going on? What kind of sick joke was this?
Great. Just fucking dandy. It was unsettling, but also irritating. More of Nasser's little mind games no doubt, showing his victim just how powerless and vulnerable he was.
He was old enough to imagine the worst but throttled the thought. He was the son of a prestigious mafia family, one that was known for being respected and consoled by the Vongola. No-one would dare kidnap him and attempt such foul an act.
But he was the bastard son – he didn't have to do much to be reminded of that small factor.
With that infuriating thought, his awareness grew. The soft, slick sensation of the red cotton beneath him that felt cold though he was sure he had been there for quite some time considering how numb his arms felt. His surroundings held no familiarity with him at all and took him a round-about a few breaths to realise he was most certainly not in the mansion anymore. The windows had thick black curtains drawn across them, and the walls were painted nearly black in their intensity. The only light he could use to see anything with was the pitiful candle-light. The waxen accessories littered every table-top and surface.
The smell was strange – too clean and yet it stank of strange essences that were so oppressive it was a wonder he wasn't being forced into the mattress. It hung like a heavy curtain over him but he wrinkled his noise as he slowly desensitised himself from it. Now all he could smell was disinfectant and bleach. Honestly, what was with his sense of smell?
With a swift shake of his head and the sore reminder that such a movement was unadvisable with such a stiff neck, the near-teen was thrown awake, like when you broke the surface of water and met the cold hard rush of air that came with it.
Memories of events preceding his abduction returned in a flooded rush, each thought and recollection making him angrier by the second.
The piano...the men who'd blind-folded him from behind...Bianchi being attacked...the cold crack to the back of his neck, rending him unconscious – All those things had happened...they hadn't been some strange, very much ironic dream for the boy. He clenched his numb fists with fury.
The fucktards – whoever had done this would be getting a serious mouthful. He didn't care how high up they were status-wise with the Mafia. They could go shove it – he would not just lay around in a bed, naked and fricking handcuffed to the bed posts looking like some sort of sex-toy.
But whatever gusto he'd mentally conjured just blew away when he heard the door to the darkened room click open. A beam of light shot out towards the wall adjacent to him, and he shut his eyes, feigning unconsciousness. If they saw he was still out with the pixies, maybe then they'd leave him be. Surely whatever suffering they had planned for him was better served when he was awake.
His ears pricked at the sound of voices – lots of them, but less than a dozen. They all gathered in the room, but his ears were still too numb, too plugged for him to understand everything they were saying.
Someone's voice sounded familiar, and the boy was almost overcome by curiosity. Surely just one peek, a chance to understand the situation couldn't hurt him too badly.
No, his instincts warned and that shut him up almost immediately. Whatever these men wanted with him, it certainly wasn't going to legal or pleasant. Considering he hadn't been done away with was as good an indication of their motives and it sickened him, but he would endure it. He'd been raised to withstand torture – his body was trained.
These men though, mafia or no, most definitely would end up killing him. It was a saddening truth, but Gokudera would rather have his fingernails removed rather than admit he would just lay back and let them do with him as they pleased.
Even as dismally pitiful as his situation was, it seemed imminent that Gokudera would be damned if he didn't put up a fight. And he would make it one that would be engraved in their souls, child or no; he was strong and had a ferocious temper. Anyone with sense knew better than to let it rear its ugly, dangerous head. He'd give them a fight; he would struggle and do whatever he could. He wasn't easy prey – he never had been.
His throat felt dry and his mind was clouded with big tufts of cotton wool. They pressed down on his skull and he accidentally jerked his wrists. The chain clinked and within a moment, the voices were hushed. He didn't need to open his arms to see the sickening smirks that were flitting between the men.
He opened his eyes defiantly, glaring at the group of four men lividly. Had they been born with any sense, they might have actually run away, knowing that if they got too close he would resist then like a cornered animal.
A thick sweet smell hit his senses in a rush. The stench of rich alcohol and booze suddenly permeated the air, so heavy that he felt immediately weary and drugged by the odour. It threaded through his thoughts, slurring them but he clenched his fists tightly, nails biting into his palm. The pain zinged in his nerves, but he was grateful for it. He had to be alert.
Each of the men had their eyes covered by fiery masks. There eyes were all brown and cleverly non-suggestive in a way that he knew that if he were to try and indentify the men later on, it would be nearly impossible.
There was one man though, who stood out from the rest. With the wave of his hand, an obvious unspoken dismissal, the men all left soundlessly bowing to him before they left.
How...Japanese...it confused Gokudera. They were in Italy, not Japan for god's sake. What was with the strange manners the men had showed this man?
He shut the door softly, locking the door. Gokudera gulped audibly. This wasn't gonna be good, no matter what angle he looked at it from.
Please may I just pass out, he silently pleaded to any god that would listen, if there's any sort of mercy this world could be bothered to offer me, let me black out.
The man smiled, holding a glass of dark red liquid, most definitely red wine. He smiled, and Gokudera was shocked to notice his eyes weren't coloured brown like the three other men's had been. They were icy blue, and his hair was shockingly platinum white compared to the black hair the other men had.
He smiled at the naked child, setting the glass down after one last sip. He stopped just by the end of the enormous bed, savouring the liberating sensation of such a defiant child being put into such a vulnerable, yet tempting position for a bare moment before stepping around the bed to stand beside the boy.
That smirk on his captors face irked the twelve-year old and he had to resist spitting at the blue-eyed man. He felt disgusted by the thought but...he looked almost...handsome. His eyes seemed a little...trusting? No, they seemed honest. Of course, that could be both good and bad. He was about to look away from the handsome man with his fiery mask, when he took it off.
Dude, have you got anything between your ears? Gokudera mentally spluttered, shocked by the man's stupidity.
But then an icy trickle burnt his skin.
It was common knowledge. If kidnapped or held against your will, if you captor shows their face, it's a clear indication that you won't be going anywhere. Not if you can recognise their face. The certainty of being killed rises from 70% up to a full 100%.
Despite the staggering outcome that would surely follow whatever he was set up, Gokudera refused to indulge himself in the fear that pooling in his veins. He would resist until he was too drained to breathe. Then, he would pass out and hopefully, if whatever torture this blue-eyed man had in store for him would take away his life. Preferably in his sleep, but the child was in no position to be picky. All he could do was prepare for the worst.
"It seems you've finally graced me with your presence," the man's voice was low and silky, and if he had to imagine a fabric, it would be velvet. It wasn't slimy enough to be silky, but not coarse enough to be like...he didn't know what you related a coarse voice to...
The man killed his mental discussion, "If you're properly finished with your own assessment of your surroundings, feel free to ask as many questions as you please."
The boy knit his brows together, eyes narrowing suspiciously. This was just weird. Was this guy schizophrenic? He was sure he had felt some kind of killer intent from the man earlier, though it had been difficult to pin point with all the other men surrounding him, a coy tactic. But know they were alone, Gokudera just felt confused.
He looked away and the man chuckled, a deep, rumbling and fricking nice sound, "Please, go right ahead, don't hesitate. You might as well get it out of your system and have it all over with up front."
Alright then, Gokudera thought snidely and exploded, "Who the fuck do you think you are kidnapping me? Why the fucking hell am I fucking naked, and what exactly do you intend to do with me? Torture me? Rape me? Kill me? Why did you take off your mask? Are you retarded?"
But all of those demands wouldn't come out. They froze in his throat, his vocal chords drying up. His words died, morphing into a threatening growl. All his unspoken questions seemed to be obviously conveyed in his glare though.
The blue-eyed man just smiled, his eyes laughing silently like he'd understood. Gokudera's stomach churned and flipped and he had to bite down on his lip to make sure nothing decided to come up.
The blue eyed man just stood there silently, drinking in the boys dark glare coolly, that same knowing smirk painted across his face.
"Who are you." It was supposed to sound like a question but Gokudera's tone was flat and devoid of emotion.
The man answered simple, "Leo. I'm a part of the Grigori family."
Oh fucking crap almighty. Now Gokudera was certain fortune was spitting at him in the face. Only Grigori would show his face to his captors. He recognised his features as well – he'd seen some of them in the streets when out with Bianchi. Only Leo seemed to carry the blonde gene with those startling blue eyes.
The Grigori's' were a prestigious family on a par with his father's and had been competing for good favour with the Vongola for generations. To be kidnapped by them was definitely bad news, on any front.
Whilst the boy let his eyes fall in shock, he took in the rest of his lovely, developing body. Even at such a young age, he was already well developed with strong muscles and a supple, toned abdomen and legs looked incredibly inviting, let alone those long, muscled legs. His eyes though, were fascinating. They were a hypnotic shade of both silver and green, merging to form a thick rich startling green that could steal the heart of any woman once he was old enough to learn how to charm them.
The way the boy looked at him with horror and disgust was almost appealing towards a sadist like Leo. He enjoyed torturing people through the most lewd of methods. This boy wouldn't be the first. He was quite used to having unwanted staff or even illegitimate heirs like Hayato Gokudera. His father had known that he had his goals set on becoming the Tenth Vongola's right-hand man. If the child had been the rightful heir, then the matter would have been resolved fairly mundanely. But he hadn't been, and the father knew complications would have arisen once Bianchi was given the title. So, Grigori had stepped in and dealt with Gokudera.
It was a difficult but rewarding lifestyle. Once sold, the merchandise could be used in any way the owner desired, so long as it was eventually killed within a fortnight. That was the contract, and Leo Grigori abided by it.
Most his clients sold him unwanted daughters or simply wished for some family relatives to 'disappear' and often he would simply just murder them swiftly. The most gruelling assignment he had been given was to kill a three month year old boy. It had been demanded of by another family, and Grigori, ever the dirty-workers of the Mafia, had made sure Leo had done it. Since then, he had continuously murdered each of his bought merchandise quickly.
This boy though, unlike the others, had eyes that burnt like fire. They knew their fate, but wouldn't give up without some sort of resistance. This immediately caught his attention.
I'll take my time breaking this one, he thought, it'll be wonderful to watch his sense of right and wrong dissolve into one blissful mixture of both.
It was ideal for him to stain the pure. They had to understand the cruelty of life or else it wouldn't be long until they felt the harsh slap of reality. The world was twisted and blackened. Some chose to ride its current with ease, there were those that battled it and succeeded, but most drowned with their resistance. He wanted to see which one this boy was, for he certainly was not one of those that simply let the current take him.
Let's see Hayato Gokudera. Will you drown or will you break the surface and take to the sky?
Angrily, Gokudera gave the chains a few hard yanks, his wrists cramping as the metal bit into the skin and nerves repeatedly. Damn it. They didn't look like they'd be budging any time soon.
Leo had left a few minutes ago, saying he would return swiftly and Gokudera had seized the opportunity to attempt some sort of escape. Unless he wanted to be handless though, he wouldn't be going anywhere very quickly.
It was out rightly surprising. Considering this was Leo Grigori, who was in no way a fool, would have made sure the boy was thoroughly secured. And he had become painfully aware of his entrapment.
The door to the room softly opened once more and in stepped Grigori, dressed in a dark charcoal robe with a golden sash. Again, he seemed to be fond of Japanese clothing, or perhaps it was the culture entirely. His robe looked like...what had his father brought back once? A caftan was what he thought it had been called. It was different from kimonos and yukata's which Gokudera had made himself familiar with when researching Japan. He'd wanted to feel closer to his mother somehow, and had even started to learn the language. He'd picked it up fast and was near fluent in the language.
His stark blonde hair shone out like a beacon, all mussed up and untidy – but he'd always been like that, even before he'd left the room. God knew how old the guy was, but the hairstyle suited him, strangely enough.
Leo noticed Gokudera studying him like a student would a book and his near constant smirk widened slightly.
"Have you gathered the courage to finally ask me what I intend to do with you? Or maybe you've figured it out and will tell me that I won't get away with treating you like this," he eyed the boy up and down, eyes resting on his groin. Gokudera flushed and drew his legs up, but that was even more humiliating, so he just lay them back down.
"Don't look at me like I'm some prized meat you've just bought."
His tone was dark, voice filled with spite. His chest heaved as he took another try at the chains, but still they wouldn't budge.
Leo just moved closer to the bed, no longer to stand beside it and knelt one leg on the mattress, hovering above Gokudera's body.
"So, you've decided to be indignant. This just makes it all the more entertaining for me."
His purring tone was a nuisance to Gokudera's ears and swore at the man in Italian.
Without changing his expression, Leo slapped Gokudera straight across the face. He wore two rings on his middle finger, both of which scalded his skin when they hit his face.
His head snapped to the side and he felt his neck crick back into place. At least the abuse had helped him somewhat.
"I may tolerate that fire in your eyes, but not that kind of insult," he spoke smoothly, almost like he was unbothered, but Gokudera's stinging, raw cheek spoke otherwise.
Gokudera sneered, "Kidnapping me was probably the stupidest thing you've ever done Leo Grigori. My father will find you and skin you alive and feed your innards to our dogs."
Leo didn't slap Gokudera this time, but the look in his eyes hurt more than another slap. They laughed at him openly but with a string of cruelty attached. They knew something that Gokudera didn't but he didn't leave the boy in suspense for too long.
"Oh, your father won't come looking Gokudera. He knows exactly what I'm going to do with you. In fact, he sold me to you." He watched as the colour drained out of Gokudera's face. His body knew how to respond, but he knew the boy would be damned if he didn't try and deny it. His eyes flared.
"Don't mock me! My father may be an ass at the best of times, but he wouldn't sell his son to the likes of you!"
Another slap to the face and Gokudera was still, blood trickling down his chin. It stung more than the last one, but where that had been a punishment for insulting the man, this one seemed to be just out of pure pleasure – the sickening delight in striking someone below you.
"Have you any idea on what I'm going to do to you Hayato Gokudera?" Leo's lips were by his ear and slowly, his hand softly made its way across his chest, teasing his nipples until they were stiff, sensitive nubs. His soft long fingers then slid down his toned chest, relishing in the feel of the supple, developing muscles under his fingertips. His hand stroked the sensitive area between his hips, a sensation Gokudera had never imagined could be possible seizing up his muscles while loosening them all at the same time.
Like hell I'll be some sex-pet for you, you fucking asshole. I won't show you any kind of satisfaction. Yeah, kill me, that's fine you son of a bitch, but you'll have to wait for hell to freeze over before I beg and squirm under your touch.
Leo's smile widened slightly, his teeth flashing with a carnivorous edge. He hooked his other leg over Gokudera's body and with on fluid movement from the man, he was straddling the boy.
Holy shit...fuck, fuck, no!
With lithe movements, he pulled his long dark robe off over his head. He wore a part of grey shorts underneath, but his chest was bare and it looked so damn, attractive...
Gokudera's stomach flipped. This was beyond unnatural. He should not be getting turned on and all heart-throbbing over this...this absolute asshole.
"You seem to have led a well protected and sheltered life dear Hayato," he purred erotically on his neck. Gokudera flinched, "I would have thought you would have been far more experienced at this age with those looks of yours. I'm..." he smiled into his neck, the words rumbling against his skin, "disappointed."
In response, Gokudera's muscles tightened angrily, and Leo noticed this in how taut his neck muscles were. "It doesn't matter to me either way. This just makes it all the more enjoyable."
Slowly, he began to move his hand down further and with strange tenderness, groped Gokudera's manhood. He hissed, wanting to pull away, but Leo's hand came down hard on his shoulder, pinning him there with ease. He writhed furiously under the man's skilful hand, focusing on the sickness of what was happening so his body wouldn't give in to the pleasure that was pooling in his groin. It was becoming very difficult to ignore, especially when the rest of his body was beginning to respond in the same way.
The overwhelming stench of alcohol was of no help either. It suppressed whatever common sense the boy might have been able to claw at, and dulled his senses, letting his body slowly give way under the ministrations.
Whilst being pumped in such a vigorous manner, Leo slowly bent down and brushed his lips across Gokudera's body, chest, shoulder, collar-bone and then up to his neck. He used his tongue on his neck, sucking on it like he wanted to bite him. The thought nearly made the boy laugh. How ironic would it be if Grigori was a vampire? It would suit his personality pretty well.
Even under the man's hypnotic spell, Gokudera still managed to keep some of his sense. Though his eyes were a little occupied with gawking at the man's perfect, powerful physique, a body which would have made any athlete weep at the sight of it with crippling envy; he jolted at the feeling of something very prominent and slowly becoming increasing hard rubbing against the boy's inner thigh. He would have looked down if he could, but had no need to. Leo was very obviously aroused, in a way that rotten Gokudera's bones and made his muscles shiver. As it rubbed suggestively against his thigh, Gokudera went by his sense of touch and felt his stomach just disappear at how prominent and impressive his arousal was. Panic skewered his heart, pinning him to the bedspread.
Leo could feel his ministrations weren't having the right kind of effect on the boy and quickly claimed his mouth possessively. Once he was done, he would let his men do what they wished with him, but until then, this boy was his and he was going to make sure he broke him into obedience.
Gokudera's face burned with intense embarrassment as the man pumped and thrust his arousal in his fist harder, his grip tightening. He fingered the tip of the weeping length teasingly and the sensitive spot made a hot bolt of white searing pleasure shoot through his groin right up to his heart. His back arched, mouth opening to groan, and Leo seized the opportunity to claim the boy's entire mouth, his tongue darting away.
The way he skilfully navigated Gokudera's mouth made it seem like it was a dance, one which Gokudera's own tongue couldn't keep up with. He felt ready to gag and instead, bit down on Leo's tongue angrily.
Leo jerked, surprised by Gokudera's forwardness but was well prepared. He gripped his groin tightly, too tightly this time and Gokudera let go of his tongue with a gasp of pain.
"It looks like I'd better move faster then, considering you seem so keen," he goaded, moving his hand down to between his legs, starting to pull down his shorts.
Holy shit...fuck, no, fuck, fuck!
Leo laughed darkly, his blue eyes as intimidating as when your stood at the highest diving board, looking down to the threatening water below. It was an unpredictable colour and it unsettled Gokudera enormously.
"I'll be honest with you, being the first does give me the chills. It's very thrilling," Leo commented with a smirk. He'd moved so he could begin to pull down his shorts, leaving his semi-aroused hot length alone. His other hand was still pressing down on his shoulder, but Leo had moved back a little, freeing up Gokudera's legs.
Grabbing a hold of the opportunity, Gokudera brought up his legs at lightning speed, both feet together, and tensed his leg muscles for a brief second before kicking the man squarely in the chest and face as hard as he could. He felt the hard muscle tense under him, and swore some bones broke under his heels from the impact. Good, you shit head.
Leo was thrown back into the bed-post, clutching his chest. It took him barely a moment to regain his breath though and infuriatingly, Gokudera hadn't broken his nose or knocked the jackass out.
"I'll admit, maybe I deserved that Gokudera. Touché." He laughed at the fiery expression on the teen and felt his body heat from it pleasurably. Oh god, this was going to be so good.
He straddled the boy again and took off his shorts within a flash and before Gokudera could cry out, had forced two of his fingers into the boy's tight entrance. He reeled at the boy's reaction, marvelling at the attractive way his chest heaved, back arching off the mattress. His knees spread themselves automatically, trying to ease the initial pain from the intruding entrance.
He felt his spine cringe and tense, like the bones were actually grinding against each other. It really hurt that much – it wasn't a numbing pain or a type of pain that faded. It came in rippling waves, the degree of how much it hurt depending on how deep Leo pushed his fingers.
Ever the unpredictable asshole though, he took his fingers out and ran his tongue over his top lip sensually.
He winced when Leo took the boy's face in his hands, pressing his face close to him. He rubbed their arousals together in an intoxicating manner, sending shivers down his thighs and up into his gut. It repulsed him and mentally, Gokudera was being repeatedly sick, feeling humiliated in the worst of ways.
He wouldn't squirm though – no matter what Leo didn't. The resolute thought held less strength than it had initially and he felt like he truly would gag when Leo forced his lips to part with the two fingers he'd entered his body with.
He smiled sadistically, "I won't be able to have my fun unless you're properly prepped," and with that, he pushed his fingers in, running them under, around and over his tongue and around his mouth. The taste was putrid and just the invasion of his mouth made Gokudera think he might just die from shame.
After molesting the boys mouth, he drove the fingers back into his tight heat, scissoring his fingers. Gokudera couldn't help it – he arched his back and cried out hoarsely in agony, the cry turning swiftly into a scream as Leo drove his own arousal straight in to Gokudera's tight entrance.
Whatever game this man was playing had rules he couldn't follow. Whatever he did to defend himself was immediately converted into his own sort personal of attack. He couldn't protect himself in any way. This had turned from a game of torturous stress to an all out dance that only Leo knew the steps to. Gokudera had just been the partner dragged with him for the ride.
Leo thrust into him roughly without mercy, his sharp hip bones smacking into Gokudera's thighs. He caught his quivering thighs and pushed them up, bending his legs, giving him more leverage. It was strange – Leo seemed distant, retracted from the act, except for those eyes of his that seemed to be watching and calculating every single one of Gokudera's reactions.
Fuck my life, seriously, Gokudera thought in despair, tears shamelessly rolling down from the corner's of his eyes. He felt so raw and exposed and used. He felt like he was worth less than a shovel of dirt. His own worthlessness and ability to be controlled so easily burned in his veins, and he felt like he was on show for everyone. There was only Leo in the room, but Gokudera couldn't shake that clinging paranoia that pricked at his senses, reminding him of how exposed he was, how vulnerable, and especially how no-one would accept him. It wasn't that he would tell anyone, just that if he had that one in a million chance that he could get away from here and make his way back home without being slaughtered, his father wouldn't welcome him. Bianchi, always the obedient daughter would grudgingly pretend he was dead and soon, everyone in the surrounding area would treat him like a pariah. As he weren't excluded enough.
A sob tore itself from his ribs, his mouth opening for a heart-quaking scream of agony, both from the pain, the torture of having been a pariah his entire life, never understanding the soft warm caress of love, the death of his mother, her only memory residing in a dusty, neglected grand piano. The sob shook his entire frame, his tear soaked eyes squeezing shut as the misery engulfed him slowly, eroding his innards slowly, painfully, washing away the physical pain, replacing it with soul deep, emotional agony. His face felt hot, his body aching and quivering under the possessive, rough thrusts of the man above him. He felt limp and lost, lost to the disgusting pleasure and to the choking pain that bound itself around his entire skeleton, a matrix of thorns.
Leo's hand slid down between their bodies, gripping Gokudera's softened flesh that had gone limp from the pain and fear. He urged him back into hardness with his pumping hand, his strokes harder, pushing him back into that haze of arousal with his skilled hand and his own thrusts. Slowly the boy was plunged back into that hot bath of pleasure but he did resist it as much as was physically possible. Having almost gnawed through his bottom lip entirely, Gokudera gripped his fists, nails digging into his skin brutally.
His body was all over the place. There were areas that sang to him in pain and then there were parts that hummed with deep shuddering desire. He was responding to Leo far too easily, and soon, when Leo began to retract his hand from his throbbing arousal, Gokudera's body betrayed him by bucking his hips into the man's grip, so close to the edge he knew would throw him into an ocean of bliss. Desire was stronger than temptation, pleasure outlasted pain, and darkness stained and poisoned light. There was never a balance, no yin and yang that kept everything in order. Unexplored sensations would always be found to dominate those that you had grown up with. Gokudera understood this while Leo continued to thrust into his body, but with more care now that Gokudera's body was beginning to surrender to his touch.
He was disappointed though. He had expected the boy to resist a little more readily, to fight against him until the very end...No, Gokudera; you could do better than this. Those intoxicating eyes that had held his gaze with such openly displayed hatred had dulled, accepting the inevitable. He knew any sort of reason had slowly deserted the child as he had submitted to Leo's persuasive touch, but even so, he'd expected more resistance and that angered the blonde.
I wanted despair in those eyes when I finally kill you. I don't want defeat! He thought it angrily, pumping the boy roughly, his heated, wet skin moving in his fist with ease. He was an unemotional man on the surface, but underneath, even he could feel the current of desire and aching need to release rising up on him, growing stronger with each thrust.
Gokudera's body responded immediately towards Leo's movements, his lower back seizing in agony, but it was washed away by his skilled fingers that were still threaded around his heat, stroking, teasing, caressing it beyond madness until Gokudera felt a warm curtain begin to descend on him like sun rays on a cool day. The feeling was almost welcomed, he wanted to be lost in it, lose himself, tear away from the world and be thrown into this blissful space with no understanding of time or memories. It was just a feeling, something that could claim you fully and make you forget whatever you should be doing, why you should be crying, the anger in your life fades, your own will bends to its strength.
The need Leo was kindling in his blood burned so brightly, scalding his body, making him groan and then with a swift thrust, the boy had to bite down on the urge to moan, pressing against his tormenter, wishing for more than he was being given.
Give me more, he thought helplessly, disgusted with himself. But, if he was already to be damned, did it matter? He'd been reduced to a petty sex toy, so did it hold any worth to whether he could redeem himself? Give me everything, just make sure you kill me soon after. I won't live through this.
Yamamoto thought his body was going to collapse with the misery of his lover's situation. He knew that back in his physical form, he was crying, tears welling up and spilling over onto his face. His body felt cold and empty with Gokudera's shame. He was lost in the whirlwind of memories, so much so that he was almost forgetting to breathe. He anticipated everything that was to come, but his expectations were thrown back in his face with a cold slap. He had never expected this. He was so enraged with this Grigori bastard that if he saw him, even at a glance, he would strangle the fucking life out of him – he'd enjoy it too. He would gladly become a murderer to avenge Gokudera. Suddenly, his mind seized with Gokudera's agony, choking him.
He felt Gokudera's consciousness retreating, reacting towards Yamamoto's hostility. He thought the swordsman was angry at him. Yamamoto ground his teeth together angrily, infuriated by his stupid emotions. Gokudera's misery was enough for him to handle without the shock of Yamamoto's anger.
While Yamamoto reached out to Gokudera, he felt the boy's misery ache in his chest, burning a hole in his chest that burnt like a meteorite. Gokudera hid away in the darkest corner of his mind, away from the crippling hatred. He couldn't bear it if Yamamoto hated him that strongly. If he wanted to keep his lover alive, he had to stay strong and make sure he didn't mentally collapse before his lover had gotten back into his own body.
He did want to blot out his existence though. He was being strong mentally, imagining any kind of building structure or foundation to hold up his otherwise crumbling psyche.
Please, Yamamoto, hate me, but don't...not when you're so vulnerable...please...Gokudera knew he was in no position to be asking anything of the Japanese teen, but if he had a shred of honour left in him, it was to make sure no-one else fell down with him in his descent to hell.
He cringed at the swordsman anger though, entirely misreading its cause, feeling hopeless and more alone than the last star at the end of the universe.
Yamamoto refused to allow Gokudera to shrink and hide away though. He looked away from the dimming memories and cradled the Italian in a trembling embrace, tight and secure. He held him as close as he dared without spooking the boy, wishing for the sake of this wonderful, tortured boy, that his reactions would be less throttling and extreme.
No, don't leave me Hayato...I'm sorry. I'm not angry at you though, I'm enraged by that fucking bastard. He should be slaughtered, killed, he reined in his emotions, not liking how Gokudera was shuddering now from the intense anger, I love you, you idiot! I love you Gokudera, and if that means I've got to walk through darkness with you before you can see the light of life then I'll do it. If I have to fall to my knees to beg you not to give up on me, I will. Please Hayato...I don't want you to have to suffer under this load. Show me it all...let me see it all...please...
Gokudera crushed the half-sob in his chest. He hadn't known, hadn't remembered Leo Grigori, but what Yamamoto was about to see, he did remember that. It had haunted him like a second shadow for years, following him in the night, calling out to him in silence. But, he knew there was something else, something that happened later...afterwards...he wouldn't think about it...
He winced as Yamamoto gripped him harder, trembling.
Alright...He murmured, allowing Yamamoto to sink back into his memories. He could only hope to god that it didn't break Yamamoto apart like it had him.
Leo had finally finished with him, now dressed back in his robe, leaving Gokudera laid on the bed, uncovered. He felt a repulsive warm substance trickling down his inner thigh. He ached and burned, emotionally and physically, especially down in a certain area where he could smell a coppery substance merging with what he'd rather not think about.
Whore.
The word was cruel, was ugly and crude but suited him entirely. He'd eaten out of the palm of Leo's hand and enjoyed it. He would have tried to kick himself, but he was too sore and too tired to care. He just wanted to die. Shameful tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes trailed down well worn paths along the sides of his face to the mattress. He couldn't tell which emotion was winning – pain or despair. Leo hadn't taken him too roughly, it had hurt, but Gokudera knew it could have been excruciating. He didn't understand it. He'd definitely noticed that killer intent in the man earlier. He'd been prepared to be utterly pounded by the man, but by the end, he had nearly been gentle. Was it the calm before the storm?
He felt revolting. He wished for that feeling again – that overwhelmingly heavy pleasure that crushed him unbearably but was still delicious to endure even while it crushed him.
"Aren't you going to ask what I'll be doing with you next, puttana," Leo added the word 'whore' in with a sneer, sipping from his wine glass once more. This time it was white wine, sloshing around in his glass, its odour softer and less compelling than the red wine had been.
Gokudera tried a glare, but it just ended up as a prolonged, spiteful stare. He didn't have any mental strength to keep it up though. You only glared at someone if you had a solid reason for it, if you believed that person deserved to be glared at. He'd been raped, very blatantly too, but Gokudera couldn't fix him with a murderous look because he had wanted more. It was addictive, and the pleasure far out won the pain.
He really had become a puttana.
"It seems my methods were unsuccessful, so," he glanced up from his glass with a sharp edge to his icy blue eyes, "My men will ensure the job is done successfully. I look forward to seeing you again soon Hayato."
Gokudera wanted to snarl the words, "Don't you say my name so freely you mother fucker," but they froze in his throat, wilting. He couldn't say what wasn't entirely true.
As soon as Leo left, the three men from before walked into the room silently. This time, they didn't remove their masks, and the fact they all had around about the same physique didn't help either. They were all tall, muscular and had around-about the same features – brown eyes and black hair under those fiery masks. However, they looked absolutely wasted. The scent of booze hung lazily amongst them and Gokudera knew that they wouldn't have been able to do what they were going to if they were sober. Looks like these guys had a conscience, even if it could be subdued by booze.
One of them held a whip, and cracked it against his chest. Gokudera flinched, the stinging slash leaving a red line across his skin.
He couldn't really understand how it happened, but the reasonably well groomed men were suddenly out of their clothes in an instant, one of them having pulled up his legs, pressing them against his chest as he was brutally entered once again.
The man's pounding roughness was excruciating, and he felt his body tear and bleed under him. He screamed, back arching, his body tossing. This only earned him another cold slap from the whip. He crushed another sob in his chest, only just beginning to understand the hell he was in for. Despair opened its jaws under him.
Gokudera winced, the man taking him again, having almost pulled out entirely. He thrust in harder, groaning at the sweet bliss of being taken by such a tight heat. The boy's screams even added to the pleasure.
Swiftly, another man made Gokudera take his own throbbing length in his mouth whilst straddling his chest. Gokudera cried while his mouth was invaded, wanting to sink his teeth into the man's disgusting large length but knew it would only earn him another brutal whip.
The man who had claimed him first withdrew, having finished, only to have the last man take his place. Gokudera screamed around the other man's enormous length as this man claimed him right to the hilt. His throat rumbled with the depth of the scream. There was no pleasure in this, none at all. Leo had been sure to make sure he understood how quickly the pendulum could swing from the two spectrums. This was pure, agonising rape that gouged deep wounds into his psyche with each painful thrust.
He was abused rhythmically with fists, various men's large weeping lengths, and the harsh slap of the whip if ever they weren't satisfied.
The man taking him from his lower terminal cupped his hips, pressing himself in deeper, making Gokudera's back arch helplessly as his nerves betrayed him. Through all the pain, pleasure still managed to crawl its way through, lacing through his senses. He moaned into the thick length of the man that was being taken by Gokudera's mouth. He groaned at the thrumming sound of Gokudera's voice on his heated throbbing length and felt himself fall over the edge.
"Puttana," they would say every time Gokudera bucked into their pumping grips or when their thrusts hit the right bundle of nerves inside him. He felt sick, wishing this would be over and done with faster. He wanted to throw himself from the window to the right, feel the pain of the glass shards tear into his skin. That kind of pain he recognised, he understood it.
The man thrust into him again, taunting in Italian, "Do I feel that good inside your body? Do I?" He asked both questions with a sharp thrust attached, "Never would have imagined he'd be such a good little whore."
The men laughed at his observation and the one that had been swallowed by Gokudera's mouth came unexpectedly. Gokudera choked on the disgusting man's girth, spitting out whatever he could when his mouth was freed.
Gokudera's face contorted and flushed in a fresh display of shame and self-hatred, turning his head to the side to spit out as much of the creamy substance as he could, feeling revolting. His body twisted in a weak, ineffectual attempt to escape from another man's arousal. It was such a pitiful attempt of escape that it didn't even earn him a slash from the whip.
"Awh, fuck, this body of his..." The man straddling him groaned, bucking into the boy urgently.
One man, holding the whip while jerking himself off groaned along with him, "Just watching is enough..."
"I'll take him from here," said the man who had just freed Gokudera's mouth. He suddenly shoved his two fingers into his mouth, forcing him to lick and wet them before taking them out, and though Gokudera tried to anticipate whatever the guy was going to do, he felt his body jolt from the way his own length was taken, arousal pumped back into it. Gokudera's chest shudder, he was just trying so hard not to move and thrust and beg.
Gokudera knew that any sort of opposition on his part was futile and just went limp, closing his eyes and letting the men do as they wished. They pounded both pleasure and pain through him in unbelievable quantities, making his body seize and relax simultaneously. They played him wildly, ferociously, skilfully and even passionately with complete control. They forced him to accept their brutal rhythms, teaching him through force about how to desire the pain through such a tempting method. It was masochistic, but addictive and Gokudera felt his body latch onto it, wanting more.
He had been a blank canvas with the world to paint its colours on. Now he was torn and stained an ugly shade of red and black. His life had become an assortment of various degrees of pain and outstandingly excruciating pleasure. Such polar opposites were whipping the boy over the head at an alarming rate and it wasn't too long before he collapsed entirely, passing out.
He didn't know how long he'd been there - Couldn't care less in fact. He didn't find it humiliating when the Grigori servants came in to tend to his wounds, even when they had to clean places that should have made him squirm and flush. They changed the sheets and dressed him a single pair of grey cargo pants, the rest of his clothes left neatly folded on the side, a letter from Leo sat on top.
He should have read it. He knew that. But he was too sore, too broken. He thought that if he moved he would shatter into thousands of pieces and fall into the chasm that was hovering beneath him.
Slowly, hours later, he managed to sit himself up. He clutched his chest painfully, his back and stomach decorated with long red welts criss-crossing his skin. He felt used, well and truly, and then left for the next customer.
He was so incredibly, unbearably filthy. He felt rotten to the core of his existence, like even his own soul had been blackened. No amount of soap and water could wash his sins away, not even if he bathed in a lake of scalding bleach.
He wasn't chained any more and that confused him. Was Grigori playing with him? He tentatively took up the letter and opened it, his eyes widening in horror.
It seems your father has withdrawn from the contract within the two week limit, thus relinquishing my ownership of you. You may leave as you please, but if you choose not to within twenty-four hours, you will become my property again. The choice is yours. I do hope I see you again soon Hayato and hope you enjoyed your time here.
L.G
Gokudera snarled, scrunching up the thick paper before tearing it into shreds of confetti.
He dressed himself, put his shoes on and made his way to the door to find it locked. The bastard – but it figured. He may have relinquished whatever absurd possession he had of Gokudera but wouldn't let him escape so easily. He wanted him to stay, to be locked in so that he would become his again within twenty four hours.
He looked to the blacked out curtains that were drawn away now from the windows. He looked out and saw that he was three floors up. It would be ludicrous to jump from this height. He'd be lucky not to break every bone in his body. Then again, if that were the case, maybe he should. That's all he wanted to do right now. Just wipe out his existence from this world. Maybe he'd be reborn as someone without these chains binding him to misfortune.
But he wouldn't, not yet. He'd been raised as a bastard son yes, but he still had dreams. He would redeem himself however he could. He would pull himself out of this dark hell for one person's sake. Not his own, but his mothers. If not for him and his cursed birth, she wouldn't have died that day. She wouldn't have become sick at all. He had to live when she couldn't. He would go to Japan and find that boy – Tsuna Sawada. No matter what he had to do, he would become the right-hand man. Then he could go back to his father and spit in his face without having to watch his back for the consequences.
He turned and strode back to the door and with a high roundhouse kick that made his muscles scream, he kicked it open. The lock broke easily under his heel, and the door swung open.
He charged out into the hallway, unsurprised that the entire estate was empty. They would have made certain he couldn't attack or identify anyone when he left.
He bounded around corners, passing by beautiful tapestries and extravagant dining rooms and rooms that led on to more corridors. The place seemed endless and Gokudera wondered if the window might have been the better option.
Except that once he managed to reach a landing with an enormous marble staircase that led down to the main foyer, he was shocked to see his sister stood right in the middle, barking orders to men that were scouring the downstairs quarter.
"Look everywhere! Open every door and search every room!" She ordered, then moved her eyes up to the top of the stairwell, eyes widening in relief, "Hayato!"
Bianchi...he thought. He was supposed to be relieved and thankful, to drop to his knees and cry from how much he missed her.
But instead he lost it. His mind was drenched in red and paranoia bucked itself into gear alongside rage. Her eyes looked at him in pity, he knew they did. She knew what had been done to him; saw the pain and the still healing wounds on his arms. No doubt their father had ordered a search party to look for and find him before the twenty-four hour deadline was reached. Good to know he was so easy to buy.
"Don't look at me like that!" He roared at her, glad to see her flinch, "Don't look at me with so much fucking pity!" His face contorted into a terrifying expression that Bianchi understood. Gokudera had only gotten like this once and it had been disastrous. Hurriedly, she yelled for the men to retreat, to leave the house.
She turned back to her brother, pleading, "I-I'm sorry...Hayato." She stuttered and winced as the air pressure in the mansion plummeted glaringly in response to Gokudera's dark, alarmed, furious mood. Bianchi tried to explain, "I told father you were the right successor for the Tenth Vongola's right hand man. When I refused, he beat me senseless before ordering me to find you! Be grateful you leech!"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Gokudera roared the command, and even Bianchi's stubbornness seemed to cower at the force of the bellow.
In his clothes, Gokudera had found three sticks of his own dynamite and even a bottle of oil he hadn't remembered putting in there. With his batch of cigarettes and a lighter, he had drained the bottle dry when looking for the staircase. Now, he threw his dynamite back onto the oil, the fuse lit and let the explosion throw him from the top of the stairs.
Bianchi made to catch him, but he kicked her out of the way, finding another bottle of oil in his pocket. He smashed it against the walls, taking out another and another until he'd covered the entire place with the substance before setting alight. Bianchi was screaming, caught in the flames and with a shout, Gokudera threw her out of the door, shutting it behind him. He sank to the floor, leant against the oak door, holding his face in his hands while the fire spread.
The flames were hungry, dancing golden tongues that looked eager to lick at his skin. They looked ready to destroy and devour as they slowly caressed his skin, burning it, just like everyone did. The heat and pain was more intense than even what he had experienced with those sleaze balls. It didn't matter, no...It mattered to him in some strange way only he understood. He wanted the flames to purify him, wanted the agonising pain. It hurt but it was a pain that didn't feel good when it hurt. It hurt like pain itself should hurt. It made sense, it was familiar. The flames were hypnotic in their duty towards the earth – so straightforward yet beautiful in how they cleansed while destroying, purifying the dirtied while devouring life.
He huddled by the door, wanting to spread his arms wide and run into the tempting flames, but was too frightened. He was just a kid, a scared child that had been kidnapped, abused and raped repeatedly on his own birthday. This was yet another crime that was stamped on his birth, a slowly but gradually lengthening list - First his mother's death and now this. He doubted he would ever find a reason to celebrate his life again without these reminders.
He wished he had the courage to embrace the destruction, go numb with the glorious, triumphant victory that was his. To feel that he had chosen this fate because it had been his to make.
So instead, he begged, like a child crying for his mother in the night, a silent prayer amongst the crackling flames, Burn, burn...smother me with the heat and reduce me to nothing but fine ash. Let my skin match the colour of my heart and soul that no-one bothers to see.
He screamed in agony, that same cry when he had cried for all the brutality in his life. He'd cried for fortunes betrayal and now he wept and wailed for how his life had become so confusing and blurred that this was the only way out.
The door behind him was kicked open with surprising force, pushing Gokudera into the flames. He screamed as the dancing, hypnotic white-orange flames swirled around him, glad to finally eat away at him. It was a strangely beautiful element. He wished it would consume him, strip him of this skin that had been touched and molested and scarred by those men. He didn't want an inch of it, not anymore.
Finally, he found the courage to spread his arms wide and cry out to have the flames take him. Tears of resolute joy sprung to his eyes, drying as soon as they ran down his face from the heat.
Someone tackled him from the side, dragging him down onto the floor. Someone called his name as well and hands gripped his limbs strongly. Would he not even find peace in his own dying moments? Would he have to relive his own torture even in death? Surely there wasn't a god so pitiless.
His lungs were blasted with air as he was hauled away from the burning mansion. He collapsed onto the gravel, coughing the smoke out of his lungs.
Someone was crying beside him, and when he managed to open his bleary eyes, he realised it was Bianchi. He struggled against her, not wanting to ruin her like he did everyone else. Surely if she kept herself so close he would poison her – that was what he'd become, a poisonous disgusting thing.
But she held face, accepting the frantic kicks and frightened punches. She held her brother tenderly, wishing she could warm his icy heart with her skin.
Soon, Gokudera relaxed stiffly, understanding his sister's intentions. She was forgiving him, accepting him and still loving him. Tears welled up and he gripped onto her tightly. He thought he would cry like a child, but the flood gates stood tall and strong. All he could do was hold on to her like a parasite, clinging to life even when he'd been prepared to die.
There was a calming atmosphere around him and Gokudera realised he wasn't in his memories anymore. He'd experienced them along with Yamamoto and still felt the throbbing pain in his heart where agony had clawed him. He stood, disengaging himself from the scene. He felt like ghost, near transparent. He looked down to his hunched form being held by his sister outside the burning mansion.
Looking around he tried to find the source of the calm, sympathetic atmosphere and found him.
Yamamoto – with fresh tears running down his face, eyes clear and welcoming but filled with sadness. He held out his hand, a light glowing behind him, no doubt the way out from this hell.
Come here, he spoke with his tear filled eyes, their warm amber hue so forgiving and loving.
I love you Hayato, Yamamoto thought as he held his hand out to the Italian that was stood just on the cusp of his memories; I love you so, so much it hurts me. Please, you've seen it all...come back to me...leave this as what it is...a memory. Please, come back with me.
When framed by the light, Yamamoto really looked like a fiery sun. But his rays were soft, slowly warming the icy chains around his heart.
Tentatively, Gokudera outstretched his hand, but retracted it.
Could he really go back and have everyone treat him the same way? Was it possible?
It is, because you're forgiven Hayato, was what Yamamoto's eyes spoke to him lovingly.
Gokudera's face felt wet with tears of relief and grasped his lovers hand firmly, looking at him earnestly. If he could trust anything in this world anymore, it would have to be this man. Maybe he could show him the beauty of acceptance and love again.
To the Italian's screwed up heart, that seemed vitally important somehow. He was really handing the swordsman his heart with a dagger. The trust he was showing him was substantial and without this man, he was all too aware of what kind of darkness would await him.
You won't have to worry about that though, Yamamoto smiled, I won't leave. I won't abandon you.
And with those heart warming words, words that Gokudera knew the swordsman wouldn't have been able to say before, couldn't have conveyed with anything else but his eyes, he was pulled into the tunnel of light. He flew past the dark shadows of his thoughts that had receded enormously from before, and felt his own state of mind stabilising slowly.
There really is nowhere to go but up when you're at the rock bottom. If I have to be the hands that get you there, I'll do it Hayato. Mark my words Hayato – I'll make sure you can see the beauty of life again.
And with that, the two of them separated, falling back into the comfort of their own consciousnesses. And this time, Gokudera wasn't afraid of what he would see.
A/N: Yikes, that was definitely a massive chapter O.O sorry everyone! I think I might have made the end rush a little but...oh well...that's life XD and next up is the good ol' comfort scene ;D *Yamamoto: (rubs hands together) brilliant Gokudera: Oi, I was just traumatised! Don't go all 'goody goody' and rub your hands together! Me: (shrugs)…) The next one shouldn't be so monstrous, I promise :D And again, forgive me for any grammatical mistakes . (I don't have a beta tester and all I've got is my eyes, brain and spell check on Word which keeps thinking 'teh' is a word O_o) The next chapter should be up by the end of next week! (maybe saturday?) It'll be taking a little longer for them to come out now because of school and such T_T