A/N: Warnings do apply for this chapter! (falls off chair as lemon's suddenly pounce up on me) so if you don't like smut stuff, better not read the chapter ;) then we're all happy.
MY GOD, I can't stop writing angst! (Bundles it up and kicks it out of my window. Good Riddance XD.) It does get more sweet and lovely later on, but until then, I somehow found that it needed to stay like that. (As in, the tension decreased, but the angst between them just sort of had to stay there. Without friction, then the last chapters mightn't as well have happened)
Oh, and I think I might have been a bit of an idiot and confused you with the bits that Gokudera did and or didn't remember, so just to make sure everything's clear. At first, all Gokudera could remember were those men. Then he remembered fire (which was when he broke through his own mental barrier) and Leo came last. But just as another twist in the plot, Leo won't be gone for good :D *gets out pitchforks and chainsaws for you all :D I'll leave you to do a you will :)*
Reminder: You might need to be patient with Gokudera and Yamamoto in this chapter (and maybe the next). Even if I might have over killed his situation (hope not O_o) Hopefully this won't be too monstrous a chapter, but with the amount of work these two need to have done on each other… *gets out my tools to fix 'em up*
There should be more comfort / TLC next chapter too. (I can see my word scroll bar thingy getting shorter and shorter...EEP!) Remember, it's not just Gokudera here that's had a hard time – Yamamoto's got a whole lifetime's worth of burden's to shoulder and that can't be easy. However, I'll stop making poor Gokudera's life hell T.T he's been through enough. Let the TLC begin...slowly...XD(hands out tissues)
Chapter Seven – Last Night, Good Night
"Oh, I need the darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
Oh, I need this
I need a lullaby
A kiss good night
Angel sweet love of my life
Oh, I need this..."
-My Skin – Natalie Merchant
Yamamoto opened his eyes with a start, surprised by how quickly all that had happened. In truth, he didn't know what to feel about his situation. Should he be angry? But then, at who? Should he feel sad, relieved, or...the possibilities swirled around in his head and he sat up, bending over himself, bringing his knees up, rocking back and forth. He felt pathetic at his reaction. Shouldn't he be right by his lovers side, holding him until the sun rose? Why couldn't it be that simple?
Hayato, he thought, I just don't know what to do...he squeeze his eyes shut, wishing to banish those unwanted echoes of his lover's memories. He'd felt like he'd been raped – it'd just been so visual, so real. The memories hadn't faded at all over time, they'd only gotten stronger. The worst of it was that Gokudera hadn't even remembered all of it initially. He'd blindly stumbled on some pretty big land mines all to show Yamamoto what he'd experienced as a child. With unseen, forgotten memories, Yamamoto had felt the trauma attack his lover, the now exposed memories wounding him cruelly, the guilt and shame clawing its way through his insides. For Yamamoto, it had been excruciating – he'd almost forgotten how to breathe.
He opened his eyes again; afraid of what he'd see dare he keep the closed any longer, noticing a body sat beside his. He snapped his gaze up to see Gokudera knelt by the window, gazing out to the stars. His elbow was pressed against the glass, head balanced on his fist, head resting against the window softly. Though he hadn't moved, Yamamoto was sure he knew he'd woken up. It was a trait he'd learnt well.
Relief flooded through him – Gokudera was awake, having snapped out of that numb, catatonic phase. Thank God...
Yamamoto shifted, moving so he was knelt in front of the boy, sat in a strange sort of hunched crouch. His hands were placed in front of him, planted just between his knees. He cocked his head to the side and was startled to see Gokudera's pained expression.
"Hayato...?"
Gokudera sensed more than heard the boy and looked around to Yamamoto, his eyes tentative. It seemed he was calculating his lover's reaction just as much as Yamamoto was.
"Do you hate me yet?" He asked blankly. He eyes weren't glazed, but they seemed very matter-of-fact. However, that pained expression was still there, barely conceived.
He tensed, anticipating Yamamoto's response to be awful, and tried to stop himself from crying again. Just when he'd woken up, he'd only had to look down at Yamamoto's troubled sleeping face and had burst into tears. He'd really dragged his lover into a whole recreation of hell. How could he have done it? But then, look at how strong Yamamoto had been – a true boulder in a raging storm that he had desperately clung to, holding fast.
The thought, centred on his selfishness and weakness ate away at him, hot as a comet in his chest. It was bad enough to be feeling like a smacked child, let alone begin to sink back into that wallowing pit of misery. He'd broken into so many nearly irreparable pieces over something that had happened five years ago. Wounds were meant to heal and fade in that amount of time, both physical and mental. He shouldn't still be feeling the after-effects of the ordeal, even if he had only just come to remember the entire story.
If he was still for too long, he felt the swarming heat of the fire curl around him, and shut his eyes momentarily. His own screams rattled back at him and with a gasp, he broke them open again. His breath was coming faster than before and he could feel himself begin to hyperventilate.
Yamamoto leant out to touch him, "Hayato..." he murmured adoringly, his eyes filled with nothing but concern.
Gokudera flinched, worried what his lovers touch would do to him, or rather, what kind of horrific damage he might do to Yamamoto.
"Please Yamamoto, just...leave...please," he begged angrily, feigning the latter emotion. Leo Grigori's existence was wedged in his psyche too deeply, a thorn that had lodged itself in his core. What had been so natural and some-what easy for them as a relationship was buckling under Grigori's indirect influence and Gokudera seethed from it. He shouldn't have this kind of power over him! Not anymore, not when he'd finally gotten away from him.
Yamamoto felt almost defeated by Gokudera's reaction and his hand dropped down. It had been a nearly impossible battle, but he had managed to get Gokudera to open up to him and accept him fully, both at the beginning of their relationship and it was even more now. But with a defiant glare, Yamamoto shook himself. He had not gone through all that effort and developed such an attachment to the boy to let it go to waste over that bastard Grigori. Gokudera meant more to him than just some experimental teenage fling. He'd outgrown that and understood that what he had with Gokudera was deeper and stronger than what either had initially imagined. He was tied to the boy inexplicably whether he wanted to be or not.
Just one glance at Gokudera's weary eyes and Yamamoto moved closer. His eyes widened and their frightened edge grew stronger, battling against his strong façade. He was acting like everything was all fine and dandy by being distant and forcing himself to sound matter of fact. Just like that question about whether Yamamoto hated him or not. He'd sounded entirely disinterested in his answer, but of course that wasn't the case. He could tell the boy was hanging on by a thread, with Yamamoto's relationship to him the only thing he could grip onto. Without it, he would lose it. Those tortured eyes told him it was painfully obvious he wasn't, even an idiot could tell.
It was definitely an infuriating trait the boy had picked up throughout his childhood. Ever the one to pretend it was all ok and dandy, Yamamoto could relate. It was his best feature, to act like the guy who smiled even through an earthquake. But this, the way Gokudera was retracting back into his shell and masking it with a calm, cold outer layer just irritated him. Did the guy have to be so damn proud?
Gokudera flinched at Yamamoto's piercing gaze. It was that one that could see through everything again, tearing down his strongest defences, asking no entrance and just barging in. It frightened him. He was afraid that the boy was misreading his intentions. Of course, if he voiced his concern and found that Yamamoto did actually hate him and was leaving him, contrary to what he'd promised, Gokudera wouldn't be able to stand it.
He was content with his illusions, even if that was all they were. If he had to imagine their bond then he would, as long as Yamamoto didn't look at him with those eyes. It seemed to the two that their eyes had become two maelstroms that either dragged you into Gokudera's thinly veiled despair and ever growing fear, or Yamamoto's blazing self-hatred and confusion. Neither world was particularly inviting, and both knew if they came too close, just like two identical poles of a magnet, then they would be thrown apart, back to the beginning. And then, without each others comfort to help them defeat the odds and crawl back together, would they be able to grapple with their own torments to overcome their demons?
Yamamoto felt distressed by Gokudera's dark, raw and frightened green eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight, round as orbs. Though the boy may be the best of actors with his reputation as an irascible, uncontrollable misfit who didn't know his place in society, when he himself was under the strain of life, he couldn't hide his looming despair.
Dejectedly, Gokudera threw down his walls shamefully, letting his eyes display all the overpowering fear and panic he felt knotting itself in his chest and ribs. It was a tight vine of thorns that encircled him, its thorns piercing him whenever he breathed. Only this boy could heal him, but it was his decision. Let the rose bush blossom under his touch or watch while it rotted without its nurturing master.
In that moment, the second Gokudera opened himself up fully for him again, Yamamoto was let into that spiralling madness in the boys eyes. That piercing spark of dangerous instability that insanity so happily danced to that Gokudera was trying so desperately hard to shield from him.
Madness was a tempting thought, whispering in our strangest of thoughts, lingering with us before we sleep, hovering above us when we wake from our nightmares. It encloses us in its impenetrable cage in our most vulnerable moments, springing from out darkest fears, our despair its favourite melody. It manipulated us, twisting our reality into whatever shaped it deemed fit to throw us off the edge. It was our reflection in the mirror, the face no-one but you saw, those eyes you knew so well that look back at you with that expression of onerous insanity. You know me. You know I'm there. I'm the face you look at; it's not something you can deny.
That was exactly what was happening to Gokudera. The sickening shadow was clinging to his memories, creeping closer with each step Yamamoto took away from him.
Screw you, Yamamoto shot towards the looming darkness that was beginning to drag him away. God, not again. It was beginning to piss him off, but of course, that was what Gokudera's memories fed off. They used people's hatred, whatever form they were, to fuel his doubt and ease his descent into that black pool of nothingness where the world dimmed like it had before, numbing him to the core.
Yamamoto moved closer, and he saw the madness reel in the boy's eyes. He was startled by Yamamoto's persistence, and watched while the boy tried to understand his intentions.
Whilst he mulled over absent-mindedly, Yamamoto locked his arms around the boy tightly, hugging him to him as strongly as he could without bruising him. No matter the consequence, he wouldn't see his lover go under. Just, no.
He held him close, pressing his face into the hollow of his neck and drank in his intoxicating scent. That overpowering smell of cigarettes and mint was something Yamamoto couldn't live without any longer and took in Gokudera's scent like it might be his last.
"T-Takeshi...!" Gokudera flailed, trying to pull away, "Don't, please...!" He was too vulnerable, to broken to understand that his lover's intentions were for his own good. He knew where the dynamite was in his drawers. If he could get away, he would be able to grab it and blow them both into the atmosphere. Whatever Yamamoto was trying to do, all he could see it as was a threat and he had had enough of being threatened.
Even as he struggled, Yamamoto stuck fast. He wondered if he was doing more damage than good, but threw the thought aside. Gokudera needed and wanted comfort now and he would gladly give him it. He could worry and freak out later. Right now was the time when he either lost this wonderful boy or saved him.
Gokudera stopped shortly, his punches seemingly getting him nowhere anytime soon. So, instead, he cried, clutching Yamamoto's shirt for all he was worth, his voice hoarse and dry from already shed tears while the sobs tore out of him.
All the while, Yamamoto did nothing – he didn't rock them back and forth, didn't usher calming nonsense but just knelt there, clutching the boy, resting his head peacefully on his shoulder. He sighed softly as he cradled Gokudera's sobbing form, his eyes closed in soft melancholy.
Whilst he cried, Gokudera listened to the soft sound of Yamamoto's calm breathing, the soft unobtrusive sound of rain pattering against the window softly, as if ushering him peace. Maybe Gokudera could stay like this for a while, holding onto his lover like this, as if his heart would forget to beat if he let go. In any case, he wasn't going anywhere, not in his state. The damn world could wait.
Much as he wanted to scream out in frustration and shake some damn sense into Gokudera's thick head until he understood just how much this wasn't his fault, he knew that wasn't going to help. Gokudera was worryingly traumatized and didn't seem to be exactly 'all there' upstairs. There were still a few flickering lights.
The need to have comfort, patience and the assurance of an understanding were painfully obvious and Yamamoto knew they would be the best medicines, not impatience and his uncharacteristic asperity.
The Italian strangely reminded him of a stray cat he had fed as a child on his way home from school. It had been terribly beaten, either by other children or by another animal. When he'd offered it food, it had hissed and bitten his hand while snatching the food. Even when he stayed crouched down, offering it more food; the animal seemed unable to understand that he was only looking out for its best interest. It seemed you could be hurt enough to forget who was your enemy. It was a matter of everyone becoming your own adversary. Nothing could come for free; even when from a good heart like Yamamoto's who had asked for nothing in return.
Even when the hand reaching to gently cup his head, wanting only to pet and love him, it was difficult for Gokudera to trust it, hard for him to resist that instinctual flinch. He shouldn't expect brutality stood hand-in-hand with abandonment from the swordsman, but memories and experience told him otherwise. He hoped unlike nearly every other man he'd met in his life, Yamamoto was one without another face, one he could hide behind and do whatever he pleased to anyone he fancied. The boy couldn't have such a degree of cruelty lurking in his heart – it was impossible; he knew the Japanese teen, all too well in fact.
The swordsman's eyes stung with astringent rejection. He really did think all he was doing was stumbling around in the dark without a clue how to proceed like a fool without a torch. It was so difficult to give Gokudera the space he needed when he had no idea how much should be given until it seemed like desertion.
Yet slowly, at an unbearable pace, his calm, harmless intentions made their way through to Gokudera, no doubt another bonus to the soothing effects of possessing the affinity for Rain. His sobs quietened and before long it became deep, shuddering breaths that soon turned into short, sharp, and very much uncertain chuckles with disjointed derision.
"You absolute..." he breathed raggedly, "ritardare. Onestamente!" He chuckled at how he was the only one who understood the insult.
Yamamoto laughed, a shaky, dry sound, "Don't insult me in a language I don't get. That's just..." He searched for a way to make his retort sound witty and grasped only at short straws. Damn, he really hadn't been blessed with the best of brains had he?
Gokudera loosened his grip on the boy but stayed close. He drew back only so he could look at Yamamoto, his normally drawn eyes wide open with their graciousness. The guy had just done something not even he had thought he could do. It had been risky but well worth the consequences. Finally, he saw the last of the lights flicker on in the upstairs department and the swordsman almost cried with joyful relief as it pounded in time to his heart.
Gokudera was torn between annoyance and pride for Yamamoto and his apparent lack of self-preservation and his unbending will. It reminded him of himself, but with a softer, less sharp edge to it. While Gokudera was all blazing and brilliant in his own self-righteousness, with prickly barbs and sharp edges with only a few well hidden routes in under his guard through the maze of thorns that covered his body, Yamamoto was far gentler and trusting.
He didn't judge until he found a reason to. With that thought, he settled with a sort of strange of adoration and respect towards the swordsman. The guy had proved his reputation for unpredictability and blatant yet precise stupidity by throwing himself at Gokudera when he had been fully aware of what he might have done. His insolence was almost endearing. Almost.
His straightforward way of doing things was such a contrast to how analytical Gokudera was, except, in contrast to his intellectual way of looking at things, Gokudera was also a risk taker by nature – he liked to shake the tree and see what fell out - Then came the analytical thinking. It was the same for when voicing their opinions. Yamamoto, ever the diplomat, would keep his true opinion to himself and say what benefitted each side while Gokudera blundered in, bulldozing everyone else's opinion with his own. If he had a point to make, he'd make sure everyone heard it.
He stared into those deep brown eyes and it really just had to be admitted that there was something innately captivating and attractive about a will that would not bow, even when obedience was the better option – the smarter option. But then, if Yamamoto wasn't so black and white about things, would Gokudera still feel strangely attracted to him?
There was one thing the Italian couldn't stop himself from saying – he had to, there was no discussion on the matter, it had to be said. Well, it seemed to be necessary now, but once said, he was fairly certain he'd be dancing to another tune.
"I wish you hadn't seen all that," Gokudera blurted the thought in a whisper before he realized that he was actually speaking aloud. He immediately wished he could call the words back. Once said, words were unable to be taken back, but then again, he would rather have said them than be haunted by what might've happened had he spoken.
His cheeks flushed hotly, pink with shame. He ducked his head, eyes focused on the wall studiously "its n-not that you didn't deserve to know, but, just not like...ugh...damnit!" Forcibly, he took a deep breath, not sure what to say and wishing he had kept his mouth shut. Common sense or no, he had to learn how to his own trap closed.
He had the sense and bleating intelligence to know that he wouldn't have been able to evade the truth from his lover for too long, not once he had remembered it all. It was foolish to be that idealistic in a world like today'. Still, he felt incredibly ashamed about how Yamamoto had come to understand his situation. Vaguely, he remembered being crouched in the shower, wishing for it all to end, to have the cold water wash him away - Warm, strong arms encircling him, a frantic voice and hot breaths - Had that all been Yamamoto? He barely remembered it. His vision had been so patchy and blurred by his past, he'd just switched himself off entirely.
Still, his weakness felt somehow humiliating – he should have had the strength to at least tell Yamamoto instead of stooping to the level of a jittering wreck. He had been going to, he'd had enough resolve to share his past with his lover, but not all the moments – like the cold slash of the whip on his skin, and how he'd begun to buck feverishly against Leo's seductive hands. But he'd fallen, and Yamamoto had fallen with him, shining a blazing beacon across every moment, a sharp spotlight that left no corner untouched. Not exactly the way he'd wanted it to play out but no matter. Shit happened and he just had to deal with it.
"So..." Gokudera asked again, but with real strength supporting him now. His voice wasn't half there anymore. It held its own and he felt more whole than he had in years, "Still hate me? Maybe? Not so much?" He cocked his eyebrow, snuffing out the candle of fear that threatened to flicker brightly in his stomach. If Yamamoto wanted to reject him, then that was his decision. It wasn't Gokudera's place to force the boy to admit to something that wasn't true – it would only fuel his illusions and they were something he wanted to banish as quickly as possible. He was in reality, and he would stay there.
Both mental and physical pain swum through the swordsman - dizziness accompanying it as his muscles tensed under the pressure. He was so confused, so blindly lost he couldn't understand. Gokudera seemed stable, he seemed strong, but Yamamoto just had to wrap his head around his whirling emotions. He wanted to freeze them and arrange them into categories so he could finally keep it up. Just a moment to organise this chaos whirling in his mind would be a blessing.
Did he love Gokudera? What kind of question was that? Yes of course he fricking did, honestly! Hadn't he just convinced himself of that? For God's sake, get your damn act together! He swiftly gave himself a mental slap. Had he not just felt that blissful rush of relief swoop in on him? What other proof did he want, a declaration carved in stone? Jesus, he could be so hopelessly ridiculous. Questioning something as solid as his feelings for Gokudera...God...what was the matter with him?
Yamamoto mashed his lips together, "of course not...I hate you for keeping all that pent up inside you...I despise that man for doing that to you...but what I hate most of all is," he looked up with a pained expression, "is that you think you have to be forgiven Hayato."
Gokudera flinched, "So what you said to me before, were you lying? Can you not forgive me?" His eyes saddened, but seemed to accept it. The truth bit at him, but he wasn't a child anymore. He had to accept it one day, so why not now?
Yamamoto sighed, exasperated with the both of them, "No, I do forgive you Hayato, but I can't understand what it is that I'm forgiving you for. It just...I'm confused..."
Gokudera looked back outside the window amusedly, "Well that makes two of us then."
He was silent for a moment, then spoke so quietly Yamamoto nearly missed it, "I began to like it Yamamoto. It's disgusting really but still...I just..." He gripped his hair angrily. He was being such a retard. Hadn't he already gotten over this? Yeah, his life had been utterly shit back in Italy, but now he was in Japan, it was better, more...whole. Yes, he'd been raped and abused and thrown around like a tool, but life wasn't like that anymore. It was a past-life, one that hadn't caught itself in this one yet – he intended to keep it that way.
"You were traumatised," Yamamoto spoke blankly, insinuating each word, "You're body did what it could to adapt and survive. It's pretty simple really Hayato. Everything that happened; it wasn't something that you need to be forgiven for. It wasn't your fault."
"But…" Gokudera objected. Hadn't Yamamoto heard him? Or, in fact, seen what he had done under Grigori's touch? He'd practically bucked and cried out like a worthless slut. Correction, he was a worthless whore.
"No, no buts," Yamamoto shook his head, pressing it against the crown of the Italian's, drawing him closer. "Stop making excuses. What happened was not your fault. I wanted to know, and I'm glad I do."
"But it was, Yamamoto, it just...it was," Gokudera whispered hoarsely, almost unable to speak without his voice choking. He was too afraid to hope. Hope didn't make sense and neither did his thoughts. "A-and when you finally realize that, then...I just know you're gonna..."
Yamamoto shook his head back and forth vigorously, angered by how little the boy thought of his morality. It was damn frustrating to see Gokudera this torn up! What did he have to say to get the boy to believe him? He had a strange, uncharacteristic urge to shake some sense into the boy until he saw what he was so blatantly missing.
"What Hayato? You actually thinkI'll leave you like that heartless bastard did? Please," he tightened his grip, "just ... would you stop with the one-track mind? It's nearly insulting. You're stuck with me, alright? I wouldn't leave you even if it had been your fault and you'd outright seduced him. Jesus, you were just a kid." He groaned angrily, annoyed with Gokudera's growing sense of denial and his inability to stay calm. His tone was rough as sandpaper, but his eyes moist with gentle tears. A kid – that's all he'd been. Thinking back to when he'd been that age, obsessed by whether or not a girl in his class fancied him, or if he might be asked to play for the school team in baseball, while Gokudera had been sold and then...he swallowed the bile in his throat. He should have been as carefree as he had been – it was just how it was supposed to be. Things like this aren't meant to happen to children; especially those like Gokudera who carried the guilt with them to their graves, letting the hatred eat away at them.
He forced his throat to work, "Hayato, please...just...I want you to listen to me for once and try to understand." Yamamoto took the other boy's face tenderly between cupped palms, fixing him with an unbreakable gaze.
"I am not, and never have been, some idealistic, starry-eyed dreamer. Ok, you aren't perfect, but who is on this planet?" Gokudera turned his gaze away, "Look at me Hayato. Not once did I ever see you as some flawless being that nobody could touch. True, I didn't imagine you had to carry such a heavy, painful burden, but it doesn't make me love you any less. You don't need to be perfect in order for me to love you. The only thing you have to be is you – stubborn, rude, rebellious and impossible to please." He saw Gokudera draw his eyebrows together at how the swordsman listed off all his bad points, "But it makes me love you when I see that you can be tender, be fragile. I know you're someone who shields their kindness and shows it only to those who are close to them. That's who I fell in love with. What happened to you in the past was awful, but it doesn't change anything, not to me." Yamamoto pressed his forehead to Gokudera's gently, noticing how their breaths were coming fast, both taken aback by what he'd said. Had he enough energy, Yamamoto might have flushed from the confession.
Yamamoto felt like his nerves were frayed and stretched to breaking point. He had no idea what he should do. A shower would have been ideal, but with the state it was in, he decided against it – he couldn't separate himself from Gokudera for that long. He felt like if he left, the boy would disappear, being nothing but a dream.
They were still hugging each other like they might die without the contact, but Yamamoto wanted more. He didn't want to look at Gokudera and only see the imprint of those men. He wanted to bury their touch with his own, wash their hands away with his – replace their harsh, rough touches with his gentle, tender caresses that the boy deserved. He had to be told how to be loved, not to be used.
They sat in silence for a few moments; both lost in their own troubles, worried by the others reactions if they made a sound or voiced a question that might be misunderstood.
Yamamoto made the first move, his around Gokudera's midriff tightening, pulling him down onto the bed. Gokudera made no complaints and lay down, his back to Yamamoto. He felt the boy's back pressed against his chest, and unconsciously their breathing synchronised, already accustomed to each others biological chemistry. It almost seemed like their hearts were beating at the same tempo, their breaths synchronising effortlessly.
Gokudera absent-mindedly laced his fingers through Yamamoto's, rubbing his thumbs over the top of his hands, the feel of his skin under his sating his nerves. He was too good for him – far too good. Such a solid, decent guy like him shouldn't even know someone like him. It seemed as though fate had a pretty wicked sense of humour.
He felt pathetic for needing the physical contact, but it helped soothe him, "You're too good at being the good guy."
Yamamoto swallowed. Gokudera was so strong at picking himself up he envied it. He felt a small pang of relief take the edge off his worry at the joke his lover had made. He was using all his strength to not quiver at the touch of Gokudera's hands on his own, the warmth radiating off his back. This skin, this beautiful unscarred skin had been touched and hurt in such a vulgar, repulsive manner it nearly made him sick. Those bastards deserved to be murdered...preferably slowly with blunt weapons.
Gokudera shifted uncomfortably, aware of the stare that was focused on the back of his neck. The murderous intent radiating from Yamamoto was a little extreme for him to deal with right now.
"Yamamoto...?" He spoke the boy's last name, both annoyance and apprehension racing against his heart. What he would give to be in the swordsman's head right now. Ah, the irony...how bitter it could be.
When he'd woken up, Gokudera had nearly had another mental breakdown, but then, remembering what Yamamoto had promised him, had told him...he'd pushed it back down, knowing that such a thing would get him nowhere. With that, he'd felt his resolve solidify and in a rush, he felt utterly in control. Maybe a little numb, but no matter, it would pass. If he had to walk on from this with the extra luggage shared between him and Yamamoto, then he would. It was only the case of whether Yamamoto was willing to hold up his end of the bargain.
Yamamoto sensed the direction of his lover's thoughts and unnecessarily added, "I'm not going to betray you Hayato. I promised to stay by you. I just wish I knew you were alright...for certain. I don't want you to keep acting like you're alright." His voice stuttered and wobbled, doubtful of his own thoughts and Gokudera squeezed his hand encouragingly.
There was a sharp pang in his chest at that, but of course, it was to be expected. He'd just thrown light on every ugly corner of his life. Of course the guy was gonna have suffered from whiplash.
"I am now," he ushered, pressing his back up against Yamamoto's chest further, the soft pressure sending welcomed jolts of warmth through his chilled body. If he was the night, then Yamamoto was the warm fire that made it bearable. They balanced each other perfectly. Gokudera was extreme, rash and almost unbearably unpredictable, but Yamamoto effortlessly countered that with his calm demeanour. They really did act as light and dark. The other wouldn't survive if its opposite disappeared, and so they continued to circle each other, balancing each other perfectly.
There was a light knock at their door and Yamamoto begrudgingly got up to open it up. He was startled to see Chrome there with Reborn.
"G-good evening Yamamoto-kun," she stuttered, ever the polite girl. Of course, Reborn was courteous as always, stamping on Yamamoto's foot.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed, resisting the urge to grip his sore foot. For a child, the kid sure had some big feet.
"We need to see Gokudera," the infant said flatly, "downstairs, less than a minute. Got it?"
And with that Chrome and Reborn disappeared down the staircase.
"Hayato-" he began, but was caught off guard by the Italian stood beside him already, still dressed in his black t-shirt and baggy jeans, except now with his customary chained belt. How on earth did he get that out so fast? Then again, at the state their room was nearly always in, they mightn't as well have wardrobes.
"It's alright, I won't be long. I'm sure they're just checking I won't lose my marbles any time soon," he made his way around Yamamoto but was stopped by his arm, "uh...Takeshi?" He looked down to his pointedly that blocked his way out. That demanding look in the swordsman's eyes was strangely...attractive. He liked that possessive flash that flitted across his amber eyes. It sent warm shudders through his muscles.
Yamamoto knew better than to say it but, "Are you?"
Gokudera frowned, "Unless I get a brain transplant..." he judged Yamamoto's expression with a smirk, but a kind one, "no. Relax would you?" He wished he hadn't said it with such a flippant tone, but he didn't want the guy to worry too much. No use mulling over a problem that wasn't there.
Relieved, Yamamoto let the boy pass, but was surprised when Gokudera spun around. He was blushing, his ears reddening. He tucked a lock of his silver hair behind his ear, and looked to the side, brows furrowing, "Takeshi?"
Yamamoto looked up from his feet, leant against the door, "yeah?" That dark flush was so damn alluring the swordsman had hurriedly banish any indecent thoughts before his body became annoyingly aroused. Now was definitely not the time for that kind of thing.
Gokudera shuffled his feet, trying to hold eye contact, "grazie...for helping me. You might not want to...touch me again, in that way, which is fine," he held up his hands which Yamamoto noticed were quivering slightly, "I don't want you to force yourself. If all you want to be is friends...I'm cool with that."
Yamamoto asked emotionlessly, "Is that all you want?" he certainly didn't want to just be friends with Gokudera. Not since he'd set eyes on him. Not even now, knowing all he did about the Italian's past. He was his lover, through and through – only Gokudera could tell him otherwise. His heart tugged at the thought of having to part from him in that way, watch him slowly love someone else over the years. It was a painful thought but he didn't want to be selfish. Gokudera's wants came before his, no matter how torn his heart was between loving the boy against his will and leaving him.
Gokudera bit on the inside bit of his lip, fingering one of his chains, "non proprio," he looked at Yamamoto sideways, cheeks reddening further. Yamamoto couldn't help but smile. Gokudera always spoke in Italian when he was flustered, "not really..." he admitted in Japanese this time, his eyes breaking eye contact, focusing on the floor. Beneath his bangs, his face was turning a very adorable red, and it took quite a hefty chunk of his better sense to not take the boy in his arms right then and there.
A welcomed wash of relief swept over the swordsman. It seemed Gokudera was prepared to wait for him to get his head screwed on properly just as much as he had waited for Gokudera since he'd caught on to his emotional instability. It meant more to him that words could express.
Unexpectedly, Gokudera stepped forward and brushed his lips across Yamamoto's, a ghost of what they had done before...well, before...but still very much a kiss. It warmed Yamamoto's stomach and sent it into a frenzy. Butterflies flew around in his gut when Gokudera's lips kissed his cheek as well, before retracting, smiling bashfully before he turned around and made his way downstairs.
Confused far past expression, Yamamoto staggered into the bathroom, startled to find it had been cleaned up. He'd wanted to take something off his frantic thoughts, but it seemed somebody had already beaten him to it. Instead, he rested his palms on the basin of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.
God, he looked undeniably awful. His eyes were wide and owl-like, skin pale and his lips wouldn't stop quivering. They felt warm from where Gokudera had touched them, and he wished deep down that he'd made more of it...but what had happened had happened and he couldn't change that.
So why was he so torn between his emotions? He felt...unsettled, to say the least by what he'd seen in Gokudera's memories, and was worried that the boy was pretending he was alright, but from what he'd seen and the newfound clarity in the boy's eyes, the matter became highly debatable. It seemed he had moved on and was just waiting for Yamamoto to accompany him.
He wished he could so easily. He wished he could go back to how it was before everything got so complicated. He wanted things to be easier...god...
With a grunt, Yamamoto slapped himself in the face, hard. He was being ridiculous. Here he was, pining away like a kicked puppy when the real traumatised one here had already picked himself up and walked away from it. True, who was going to clean up the mess, but at least he'd decided to go somewhere. He had a goal and though he had lost sight of it temporarily, Yamamoto had helped him see it again.
Whatever words he had wished to give the Italian when he'd woken up had failed him utterly, so much that he couldn't even speak a word of comfort – all he had been able to do was cling to him after having gawked at the boy for what had probably been an age. Nothing but that strong, dependable, arrogant, irritable, wonderful and gentle boy that had been so achingly hurt held him fixed to the ground. To have that done to you at such a vulnerably young age should have destroyed him - It nearly had. Yamamoto couldn't stand that thought and it burned him to think that life was complicated. He felt furious, heart broken, and sick. Those adults should have frickin' protected him, not used him like a puppet. And to think the Italian had been sold back and forth between families. It was despicable.
Another mental kick to his consciousness. He really was getting too caught up in this.
C'mon...all he had to do was get his act together and get over this.
Splashing cold water over his face to wake himself up, Yamamoto made his way back to his bedroom, sagging down onto the mattress gratefully. He was practically dressed for bed, so threw the covers over his body and his arms over the back of his head, gazing up at the ceiling wearily.
Questions continued to circle in his mind, neither one staying long enough to be of any value. They conjured themselves as quickly as they disintegrated. None got the answers they were searching for.
Hayato...the boy thought longingly. He wished to touch him, to hold him in his arms and kiss him for hours, possess every single inch of his body to make sure that it was his. He wanted to stamp his own mark on him, one powerful enough to wipe out the scars left by those scum bags.
His head ached from the memories and for a moment he wished he'd never seen them. The term 'ignorance is bliss' came to mind but he squashed it. He understood how vulnerable a position Gokudera was in. He'd all but given him his heart on a platter with a skewer beside it. Now it was his decision. Of course he wanted to take the boy in his arms and never let go, but with so many other factors, under the given circumstances, he had reason enough to be confused.
But he loved him. So damn much – he would have thought that aspect would have made it easier. Instead, it just made it all the more difficult. To do what was best for himself, or look out for Gokudera's best interest? It was a precarious balance, with one fault tipping it critically. Either could push the boy away and cause him to fear Yamamoto, something he never wanted.
Please be careful Hayato, Yamamoto warned no-one, I'm inclining myself to keep my cool because I love you too much to let my concern show, but...I'm certainly not bulletproof, no matter how many I can deflect with my katana.
The thought carried a small waft of humour with it, and it helped lift his mood. In blatant terms, it was a simple choice. To walk away or to stay and to stay would mean for good. He understood this decision wasn't temporary. It was potentially life-altering. But he'd made up his mind long ago. Gokudera made him stronger, his heart steadier and his life more fulfilled. Where Tsuna had added spice, Gokudera had added importance and an actual reason to go and risk his own neck. Before him, he'd gone about his daily life like any other average high-school guy like himself. Smile at the girls like you care, do a well as you can with your bad grades and make up for it with sport. Of course, not all guys were like that. Take Gokudera – well renowned for his bad-boy attitude and outstanding IQ, he'd become the girls' new obsession within a day. Quite a relief for someone like Yamamoto who despised all the attention, but then, everything had a way of coming back and biting you in the ass. Gokudera had gotten quite a bit of attention, and that had fed his jealously greedily.
God, I'm pathetic, the boy observed critically.
His mind was made up. Most would say it was a rash decision and blame it on inexperience and immaturity, but to him, it was the only way he could restore his relationship with the Italian fully. He was so tired though...so exhausted...he needed the rest...and before he could stop himself, his eyes had shut and he'd begun to doze soundly.
Barely a few minutes later, the door opened quietly and Gokudera shuffled in.
"Damn, that was annoying," he moaned, cracking his neck. Who knew being grilled by someone as docile as Chrome could be so draining? And Reborn...well, didn't his name speak for itself? Having seen the two out and used all of his good natured side to appear well mannered, he'd all but slammed the door and locked it the moment they had set a foot down on the doorstep.
In the darkened, but body warmed room, he looked around for the baseball nut and smiled when he saw him already tucked in for bed, breathing softly.
Honestly, the guy had done so much for him. He'd only just, by an impossibly narrow margin, kept his head and managed to get back on his feet. Without the strength of this boy, he knew it would have been an unfeasible effort on his part. Whatever courage he had now was all because of this glorious, wondrous boy.
Truly, Yamamoto seemed invulnerable now; it wasn't like how Gokudera wanted to be seen as the aloof, untouchable soldier. But Yamamoto, he'd...developed a strength that defied knowledge, even surprised Reborn with his development. He'd grown up immensely since they'd met - his eyes were no longer naïve but stubborn and morally sound, filled with ordeals far beyond his years.
And as much as that aggravated Gokudera's competitive streak... perhaps there was a softer, more vulnerable part of him that clung to that too with biting desperation. He had always searched for strength and benevolence in a person, but had always found one without the other. Maybe, just perhaps, Yamamoto was the one who possessed both, each balancing the other to make him what he was - a perfect collaboration of yin and yang.
Yes, that power Yamamoto asserted just when he stood, that ability to carry himself with such ease and confidence...itwas intensely compelling, but then to have to watch that strength vanish with the rise of fear that he had seen today...that unshakable panic...it twisted his gut, dislodging his organs. Gokudera had lost too much, everyone nearly. He felt more than cursed, and feared that anyone he cared about would die, especially at the hands of Grigori. Even though he'd vanished from his life five years ago, Gokudera felt somewhere in the back of his mind, an oh-so paranoid voice warning him. Don't get too close, you'll burn them.
He shouldn't care about anyone anymore, hadn't he learned his lesson yet? Of course he shouldn't, the matter didn't even have to be discussed. Besides, did his personality not speak for itself? An arrogant, obnoxious, foul mouthed stubborn rebellious punk like him was one of those people you knew could never love or be loved. But here he was, knelt by someone's bed, his lover's bed, wishing for more than what he was being given.
He did care for Yamamoto, more than the world and its riches combined, but he hated how the boy would load everyone's worries onto his own back and would shoulder it all with that same unbothered smile. The sudden, mere thought that he could possibly lose the swordsman too was enough to send Gokudera's enclosed heart reeling with aching, dull shots of pain. As stupid and hopeless as it was, Yamamoto was all he had. And he wouldn't lose him to anybody. If he was able to belong to somebody in this world, then it would be him.
He knelt down, cocking an eyebrow, resting a palm on Yamamoto's cheek. His long black lashes touching his cheeks softly were endearing and a rare, small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Had anyone asked his opinion of the boy a good year ago, he would have scoffed and kicked Yamamoto in the back as if that would have been a good enough response.
"You've changed a lot," he observed softly. He'd expected the boy to change after what he saw but was relieved to know that he wouldn't be left behind as his lover moved forward from it. Content with the fleeting contact, Gokudera went to pull away from the sleeping the swordsman and let him sleep. God knew he needed it.
He went to get up and hop into his own bed when Yamamoto's hand lashed out and clasped onto Gokudera's.
Gokudera feigned annoyance, "Honestly, I won't put a dagger to my throat," but stopped at the expression he saw on his face. It begged for some sort of comfort. Gokudera sighed irritably. He always had a knack for getting annoyed by things very easily. Wasn't the situation meant to be reversed? Shouldn't this narcotic baseball nut be the one comforting him? No matter, he wouldn't stress it. Just give him what he wants. It was high time he grew up and shut out that selfish obnoxious brat he had been before. He might not be the best at showing affection, but when he did, it was all the more precious.
He sat down on the bed, looking at the boy with a wry smile, "Yes, your highness? You want me to massage your feet?"
Yamamoto frowned and Gokudera just continued to look at him with that wry look. If he was going to stay here, he might as well have his fun. It would be all the proof the swordsman would need to know that he was ok.
"Hayato..." he mumbled, his voice seeming to be caught by sleep.
"What?" Gokudera felt tired as well and wasn't in the mood to do much more than consol his partner before hurrying into his own bed.
"You were an idiot for doing what you did..." he fought back a yawn. He said it rather pragmatically and Gokudera bristled at the notion. Hadn't Yamamoto just stepped into his shoes and walked over a mile in them? Who was he to be preaching like the grand messiah? Maybe his actions hadn't been the most justified, but at the time it had been his best way of handling it. Though, it always was amusing to listen to Yamamoto's rambles when he was tired – they were so out rightly honest and raw, without all the frills of a diplomat. It helped give a little insight into what the swordsman actually did think of things.
Not wanting him to see how much he wanted to stay, Gokudera made a 'tch' sound and was about to get up but Yamamoto gripped his hand tighter and dragged the boy down so he was straddling his hips. Surprised by the movement, Gokudera's hands had sprung out and were placed on either side of Yamamoto's head, his face precariously close. If looking at it from a third person's point of view, the top half looked like a strange press-up position and the bottom half...well...it wasn't too difficult to imagine what two straddled boy's were going to get up to.
Gokudera blushed, "Moron-!"
"You're the moron," Yamamoto growled huskily and brought his face up to kiss him. It was soft and gentle, contrary to his tone, but it deepened quickly, his lips easing Gokudera's mouth open tenderly.
Gokudera started, relief flooding his burning body as Yamamoto's mouth assaulted him in a trembling, almost desperate wave of passion that seemed to have just broken open. Though it may not be as important to Yamamoto, it gave Gokudera the important delusion of connectivity with his lover, of being wanted as well as desired – not used for someone else's sick sadistic game where mockery, pain, disgrace and shame were the only cards dealt. It made him feel like nothing had changed between them at all – that all they were doing was expressing their affections for each other and he'd be damned if he didn't go all the way tonight.
Where Gokudera had thought he would be frightened by such intimate contact so soon after closing old, dangerous wounds, he was surprised to see that it instead helped seal them permanently. Where those men had been brutal and sadistic, letting Gokudera see the raw temptation and addiction found in such pleasure, Yamamoto brought him the joy of it. Hesitantly, Yamamoto seeked entrance to the boy's inviting mouth and with a growl, Gokudera accepted him, devouring the boy's tongue with his own.
For a moment, Yamamoto wondered whether he was being inconsiderate towards his lover, having claimed him in such a forceful manner. The boy could still feel vulnerable from his recently cracked open past, so Yamamoto's dominance may have been the last thing on his mind. It didn't seem to be the case though with how Gokudera was pressing himself closer, deepening their kiss as much as he could, groaning as Yamamoto's hands curled in his hair and shirt.
There was a dull hot ache in his chest, but Yamamoto knew the wound was fine. It was just his rising heart rate pumping more blood around his body that had made his wound complain.
Slowly, careful not to hurt him, Gokudera pushed his fingers under Yamamoto's shirt and ran themselves over his bandaged chest. His touch was light and he was startled by how Yamamoto groaned sensually, pushing his chest up into Gokudera's palm.
Yamamoto's lips were so soft and moist, trailing across his jaw and sucking on his neck. Gokudera couldn't mask the moan that resounded deep in his throat, a husky demand for more.
If he had to be culpable for anything, then he would most definitely be satisfied with this.
But it seemed Yamamoto had better control over his aroused senses, pulling away.
Gokudera didn't want to whimper at the loss of the contact, and instead was about to press his mouth to Yamamoto's when the swordsman's fingers pressed against his flushed lips gently.
"What?" He asked breathlessly, his lungs seeming empty – he couldn't get enough oxygen from the surrounding air.
Yamamoto seemed uncomfortable, and Gokudera was immediately concerned, thinking he'd aggravated his chest wound.
"Stop...if we continue I might..." even in the dim moonlight, Gokudera noticed the attractive blush, "I might do something I shouldn't...I don't..."
"Shh," Gokudera whispered seductively, opening his mouth to take one of Yamamoto's fingers. He sucked on the digit sensually, suggestively, "you don't need my consent Takeshi – I've always been yours."
Yamamoto gasped in response, and from where Gokudera sat straddling his hips, he could feel a slowly hardening bulge beginning to form under him to match his own arousal.
Refusing to give in to temptation just yet, Gokudera let his fingers comb through his lovers short, adoringly mussed black tufts of hair, relishing in their warm silky, soft texture under his fingers, so unlike typical coarse Japanese hair. Yamamoto shifted under him, his head leaning into Gokudera's touch in a cat-like gesture of contentment that reminded him of Uri.
Yamamoto's chest pain eased at the admission from his lover and a throaty possessive growl rumbled in his throat, "Yes, you are mine."
Gokudera purred near his ear, breath rustling his dark hair, "not yet." His tone promised many things and Yamamoto groaned pleasurably. In one swift move, Yamamoto had gripped Gokudera's biceps and had turned him over and reversed their positions. With Gokudera rolled onto his back beneath him, he straddled the boys hips, his weight pinning the assassin to the mattress, pressing the hard, hungry lines of their aroused bodies together through the fabric of their trousers.
"Damn, jeans are so restrictive," Yamamoto said wryly while unzipping Gokudera's fly. The denim was tight and it was difficult for him but he managed to get a hold of Gokudera's hardened arousal within a few moments and Gokudera gripped the bed sheets, keening as Yamamoto pumped him tenderly.
Gokudera felt fire shoot through him, pleasure creeping up to blur his vision, thick as hot lava. His lips parted slightly in a soft, pleasured gasp while he tried to focus his gaze up at his lover that was taking his t-shirt off. He had to release his hold over Gokudera's manhood for a moment to get the obstructive clothing off of him and Gokudera seized the opportunity to help him undress.
Both entirely naked now, dribs and drabs of their clothes strewn across the floor and bedspread, Yamamoto hovered over him, drinking in the sight before him, liking very much what he saw.
Gokudera's silver hair fanned out over the pillows and the startling burst of green in his eyes made the swordsman's body feel like it was on fire – a fire that he wasn't in any mood to ignore. Gokudera's entire body could have been taken straight from an artists' dream – beauty and passion incarnate with the lone soul of a tortured hero that kept his troubles hidden – such an attractive sight. How long had it been since Yamamoto had seen that? Not just this incredibly hot image that made an unbearable fire pool in his groin... but...Gokudera... looking happy and safe? Yamamoto caught himself, pride swelling in his chest. Gokudera trusted him so fully he was giving him his heart and soul in such a vulnerable situation, trusting the boy would protect it. Gokudera had seen such betrayal and loss in his life that to see him this vulnerable and willing to give himself to Yamamoto like this...he felt special, important almost.
Heat swelled through him, unbidden but unstoppable, pounding in his veins, thudding in his ears. The way Yamamoto was looking at him, Gokudera wondered whether he really was in the 'mood' or if the boy had decided to take up art classes studying the naked form. He rustled the sheets under him, moving his leg and pressing it suggestively between Yamamoto's thighs, pushing back and forth.
Whatever thoughts had captivated Yamamoto's attention was swamped by the sudden burst of pleasure that rocked through him. He felt his hips buck shamelessly against Gokudera's ministrations and almost collapsed onto the boy's chest.
Their chests now pressed together, hips grinding together in rhythmic thrusting motions; the two wondered how long they could hold up at this strange, unpredictable pace.
Gokudera wrapped his arms around the other's back, fingers greedily caressing the swordsman's strong shoulder blades, then tracing the ridged line of his spine. Yamamoto's skin was soft under his fingertips and he could clearly feel the delicious ripple of the boy's muscles underneath it as Yamamoto shifted against him, rocking ever so slightly back and forth, with less vigour now. His hand had shot out to the side, rummaging around for something, and there was the pop of a lid and then the soft sound of an object being set back down on the table.
Gokudera's face flushed at what Yamamoto had gotten out and Yamamoto sensed his lover tense under him. Both boy's were still heavily aroused, so there was no restriction in that department, but the Rain guardian guessed that his lover was imagining what had happened before and asked, "If you want, you can take me instead."
Gokudera shook his head. By taking Yamamoto, he would only feel like those men. He wanted to experience the full on ecstasy and pleasure that came with making love with someone, not the biting fear that had chipped away at him before. He wanted to be loved, not used and thrown away.
"No...I only want you..." and to prove his point physically, he plunged his hand downwards, cupping the Rain Guardian's body, a hot pulsing length in his palm and gripped it tenderly, "wipe away their scars...make me yours..."
It must have been the mood or something, because Yamamoto was fairly certain that Gokudera would never have said something like that anywhere else – it was...uncharacteristic but still extremely sexy.
Yamamoto felt stars burst to life in his vision, blood thrumming excitedly in his ears, begging him for more – that insane rush that came with these moments. Reluctantly, he pushed Gokudera's hand away from his pulsing length, not wanting to teeter too close to the edge when they hadn't even gotten even close to the good part and gripped his lover's thighs, hooking his legs around his hips so he could move closer.
"That's not what I'm looking for Hayato," he purred temptingly. If they going to do this, then he was going to enjoy it, so there couldn't be much harm in making the boy squirm under him and ask for what he so obviously wanted.
Gokudera's already flushed face burned a deeper, even more attractive red and Yamamoto had to bite down on hi lip to stop himself from just giving his lover what he wanted right then and there. That face of his, saying it could hardly take anymore teasing was so damn irresistible.
Gokudera wondered if he should feign annoyance, but was too aroused to make a fuss and simple swallowed his pride. "Make love to me, Takeshi...please..." he whispered hesitantly. For the first time, he didn't feel ashamed in his request - Maybe a little embarrassed and a bit hesitant at the request, but certainly not ashamed. It was what he wanted and Yamamoto seemed pretty psyched about it... and if this powerful, vibrant, charming, sensual Guardian was not ashamed to want to make love to him... why should he be? To think that even when knowing what scars his body of his bore, the ugly extent of his faults, Yamamoto wanted to still perform the upcoming act, it made his heart flutter and his mouth tug upwards in a smile.
Yamamoto fixed his amber gaze with the lush green one of his lover, a warm miasma of arousal and adoration in his eyes as they held Gokudera's. The Italian felt a deep shiver trace up his own spine, making his nerves zing. Slowly, Yamamoto's fingers slid up Gokudera's chest and gripped his shoulders, his lips brushing the other's smooth milky white skin. He paused by one pale nipple, kissing and mouthing it tenderly, licking and tasting as if the Storm Guardian was the most delectable and incredible thing in the world. He felt the Italian's body heave under him, his breath rumbling in his chest at the ministrations and ploughed on with newfound confidence.
Taking his hand away from where it cupped his lover's cheek, Yamamoto took the uncapped tube from his bedside table and squeezed a small dollop of the lube onto his thumb and index finger. Rubbing them together to warm the lubricant so it wouldn't chill Gokudera's warm body too much, he leant forwards, rocking their hard bodies together, kissing his lover passionately while his fingers teased the Storm Guardian's tight entrance.
Gokudera couldn't help the stiffening jolt in his muscles as Yamamoto's tentative fingers toyed with him between his legs. He forced his muscles to relax and sink back into that warm pool of desire, which wasn't too much of an effort.
Yamamoto was ready to stop entirely when Gokudera's hand came down and forced both of Yamamoto's slender digits inside. He was so tight and hot he nearly pulled out again, but slowly, felt his body react to the sensual ministrations. Desire was a powerful opponent that he couldn't win against. He thrust his fingers in slowly at first, widening the passage, prepping it as best he could for what was to come whilst distracting his lover with his mouth.
Leaving Gokudera to catch his hitching breath for a moment, the Rain Guardian licked the side of his lover's warm neck, just below his ear and jaw. Gokudera felt shivers run across his skin and electrocute his nerves as his lover molested the sensitive area, teeth grazing on the skin pleasurably. He moved on to kiss every other exposed part of Gokudera's enthralling body he could reach as he slid two slick fingers into his body repeatedly, feeling the passageway and entrance slicken.
"ugh-ahnghh..." Gokudera's groan became a husky growl in his chest. His tones were nowhere near the same as Yamamoto's soft silky ones, which elicited an anticipatory shudder from Gokudera when Yamamoto shifted, scissoring his fingers to stretch his passage as gently as he could. It should have been unbearable, but with the way Yamamoto did it, it only made Gokudera feel like he was bathing in a sea of bliss, his senses tipping on the edge, ready to plunge into the chasm of ecstasy.
Yamamoto's other hand went to explore the hard, defined lines of his lover's body, the warmth under his palm so reassuring, that his lover was alive, reasonably unharmed and so willing to do this with him. Gokudera's face was flushed with embarrassment and need to be pushed into that alluring sea of bliss, and his eyes were looking anywhere but at Yamamoto's face.
To ensure Yamamoto's electric touch didn't push him over the edge too soon, Gokudera all but whimpered, arching on the bed and shuddering in bliss. He tried to push away the incoming high that came when you orgasm and thought up a rather relevant question, the mental processes helping him keep some sort of control over his body. "Since when... did you start carrying lube?" he had hoped to sound nonchalant, but his question was asked breathlessly in surprised amusement instead.
"Ahh..." his breath escaped him in a small rush as Yamamoto confidently added a third finger. His lover was prepping him rather quickly, but it held none of the rash haste that Grigori or his men had shown – it wasn't brutal and vicious. Where that had been shame and raw torture, this was blazing passion mixed with bliss. The rushed frenzy of their need was erotic and exciting.
Gokudera looked both surprised and enraptured as Yamamoto prepped himself before slowly pressing the tip of his length against his lover's exotic body. Gokudera didn't usually allow Yamamoto to go any further than this, heck, he didn't even let him touch him around there so they would always deal with their pleasures and needs in a less...connected and intimate way, using their hands or sometimes, Yamamoto would use his mouth. So to see Gokudera become this eager and seductive on him was a first, and his body tingled and vibrate with heat as he pushed himself in further, the Storm Guardian's body quaking and convulsing in tightly reined pleasure.
Gokudera had to admit, it did hurt initially, but Yamamoto was going slow, pressing in a few inches, then replacing the dull pain with bittersweet desire as he claimed his lover's mouth passionately. Gokudera's body was supple and compliant under him as the Rain Guardian dipped his head to lavish heated kisses across the other's throat and collarbones before pushing back up to press their lips together in a heated, passionate kiss.
His lover's ministrations, so tender yet vigorous in their desperation made his whole body thrill with heat and he moaned, his eyes dilating with need, clutching the Rain Guardian to him and gripped his lover's toned backside. "Takeshi..." he moaned the boy's name fervently, the name a breath-stealing plea.
"I love you Hayato – too much to bear," Yamamoto confessed as he rhythmically thrust in and out as gently as he could, hoping he wasn't hurting his lover – it cut at him to think that he might be no better than those bastards. He gripped his lover's own hot shaft and pumped him thoroughly as he pulled out and thrust back in, completely captive to his lover's intense warmth and the way the planes of his strong body gave and moulded against the Storm Guardian, similar to two tectonic plates shifting over each other. His lover's body conformed to his perfectly as they undulated together atop the bedspread.
This was exactly what making love was supposed to feel like, Gokudera thought. The realisation helped brush a cool soothing hand over his scars. He'd been so afraid that what those men had done to him would have felt no different from Yamamoto but he had been so wrong. Where they had made him submit to their harsh, rough motions, using him like a tool, Yamamoto made him a part of a whole, two pieces of a jigsaw that fit together seamlessly. Where Yamamoto's hips rocked, so did Gokudera's grinding their bodies together in perfect synchronisation, adoring the firm, muscles of Yamamoto's arms and the way his muscles ripples under his smooth creamy skin.
It wasn't too long before Yamamoto had reached his limit and toppled over the edge. He claimed his lover's mouth hungrily, their tongues duelling playfully, rolling over each other, intoxicating the other when they drew away breathless. Yamamoto wanted nothing more than to just collapse onto the mattress in the after glow of climax, but recognised Gokudera's still prominently aroused body and thought better.
Gokudera was so close, so painfully close to climaxing that when Yamamoto pulled out of him he thought he might cry from the burning desire in his muscles, the way his hips kept thrusting anxiously, begging for release.
He was so caught up with the loss of contact from his lover that he didn't notice Yamamoto moving down to just about his still hard, throbbing flesh. He whimpered when Yamamoto's head dipped between his legs and the swordsman's incredibly hot mouth began to sensually molest his thick shaft. Yamamoto's tongue rolled over the tip of his length, licking slowly and then, nearly making Gokudera pass out, he swallowed him whole.
The Storm Guardian groaned, unable to think for a few blissful moments while Yamamoto bobbed his head between his thighs, engulfing him in moist, mind-shredding heat. The Italian's hand tangled in his lover's hair. He arched on the bed with a soft cry, back bowing gracefully, gripping Yamamoto's soft dark hair tightly as he climaxed in his lover's throat. The burst of excitement and climax was excruciating in its ability to hurtle him into a world of pleasure – he was swamped by the pleasure Yamamoto had given him and adored the swordsman for it. This was definitely not the feeling of being used like a whore – it was just him being loved, loved unconditionally and faithfully. The happiness and bliss that thudded through ever fibre of his being made his muscles ripple and his body convulse. God it felt so fricking good.
Yamamoto swallowed with natural skill, taking everything Gokudera gave him greedily, groaning against his lovers hard flesh which only made Gokudera shudder with delight. As Gokudera fell back on the sheets, the swordsman licked and sucked him clean in a tender, attentive way that made Gokudera's shivering, pleasure flushed body tremble warmly. He could already feel his previous scars fading ever so slightly under Yamamoto's touch, how he turned agony into pleasure and pain in bliss. God, he so did not deserve him.
Finished, Yamamoto crawled up to where Gokudera was laying contentedly, his gorgeous green eyes glazed with the after effects of climax, his skin sparkling with a thin sheen of sweat. Yamamoto yearned to do it again, to reverse their positions and have Gokudera swallow himself in Yamamoto's own tight heat, but quashed the idea before it aroused him too fully again. Gokudera looked spent and he was not about to force him into anything.
He stroked the boy's heaving chest, the thud of his heartbeat calming his zinging nerves and steadying his erratic heartbeat.
"Woah..." Gokudera huffed and closed his eyes, head tipping back and Yamamoto noticed his adam's apple shift as he swallowed and breathed out loudly. The Rain Guardian might be able to live on sex alone what with how energetic he'd just been, but he was feeling the need for a few other basic necessities of life that he'd not had in quite a while. Like say, a good, untroubled night's sleep. He just hoped Yamamoto didn't take it the wrong way and think he hadn't enjoyed it. Damn, if he really was that blind, then he would have to pin his pleasure on a billboard with a megaphone.
They lay there for a while, catching whatever breath they could, tingly from the after glow that came with making love. Yamamoto cradled Gokudera closely to him, an arm hung across his sculpted chest, feeling his heated body cool from the intense pleasure they had shared just then.
Feeling Gokudera's chest rise and fall at a steadier, slower rate, Yamamoto hunted around blindly for the quilt, draping it over their naked bodies softly in somewhat ironic modesty. Gokudera groaned and turned onto his side, snuggling up to Yamamoto, resting his head on his shoulder. His silky silver hair tickled Yamamoto's still sensitive skin and he brushed his fingers through it adoringly, kissing the crown of his head softly.
He felt strangely...honoured that Gokudera had given himself to the boy so fully, and he felt so much more connected to him now, felt their bond solidifying under the act they'd committed. With the Italian resting in his arms so peacefully he could have been fooled that the previous events from the evening had never happened. But they had, and still Gokudera had given himself to Yamamoto – body and soul. The trust the boy had in him made his body tingle with pride and happiness.
Yamamoto sighed and dipped his head to the side, making himself comfortable, warm shudders roiling through him as Gokudera curled his arm around his midriff possessively.
He was certain now – whatever doubts he may have conceived before drifted away out of sight. Gokudera was his only lover, the only one he had been this truthful with. They brought out both the worst and best of each other, and understood each other as well as they did themselves. Maybe they were just two halves that had managed to find each other and clicked together. To think he had thought that maybe Gokudera had been out of his reach, too gone for him to save or love again, that confusion that had bound him to its ugly thoughts released him with his overflowing adoration for the boy in his arms. To leave him now would demonstrate a level of ineptitude that bordered on imbecilic – and that was meant in a caring way. Yamamoto suppressed an inward laugh, and closed his eyes, relishing in the warm, tired glow that floated around and clung to his thoughts, warming him.
Gokudera knew he was starting to drift off as the unnatural weariness claimed him. His fingers sought Yamamoto's blindly, of their own volition, curling around his hand that rested on his lover's still bandaged chest. As consciousness faded to a dull, inviting grey, Gokudera almost inaudibly murmured a wish that he would not have voiced if he'd been more aware, vulnerable or no. "Stay with me..."
Yamamoto's eyes stung with contentment and squeezed Gokudera's hand that rested in his, chest tight with unexpected emotion, blotting out the throbbing ache of his wound. "Of course, Hayato, always." he murmured back, even though the other was probably beyond hearing him, already having plunged into the ocean of dreams. Shifting slightly, he curled up against the Italian, pulling him into his arms tenderly and listened to his lover's slow, unstrained breath as he slumbered. The collaboration of Gokudera's breathing and the patter of rain on the window formed a sweet, gentle lullaby that lulled Yamamoto into the welcoming clutches of sleep, glad he could finally rest without having to worry about Gokudera and his lover's nightmares while he was safe and secure in his arms.
I love you Hayato...Yamamoto thought blearily before his dreams seized him and took him under.
A/N: Ok, I didn't want this to be a monster of a chapter but it seems I couldn't help it X) Time for the boy's to step out of their strange little wonderland though =) Next up is some training from reborn and dear me, I was going to include the Varia fight, but I just somehow don't think it's going to work with my plotlines, so forgive me for neglecting to include it D: Still, I have great plans for dear Yamamoto and Gokudera when it comes to the future (with Byakuran), so prepare :D
Note: the next chapter may take quite a while because I'm looking for my muse which has run away from me but I will plough on, no matter ;D It might be a couple of weeks though until the next chapter. At least you're left on a high note though XD Hopefully it won't take me more than two weeks . *leaves to go on a manhunt for my damn muse which I will nail to the floor when I find her XD*