Reborn Drabble (Hakama Love)
Title: Hakama Love
Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: 8059
Rating: R
Notes: written for the 8059challenge prompt 92 (A fitting room, cosplay store). I don't feel I described the claustrophobic feeling of the fitting room enough, and focused on the stupid hakama pants (because I'm wearing a pair in a couple of days). They are really hard to figure out, actually.
Hakama Love
Prompt 92. A fitting room, cosplay store
To his credit, the baseball idiot's smile was finally slipping. He was rather surprised how long the swordsman had lasted, considering this was the sixteenth outfit he'd put on today. The list included (but wasn't limited to): a butler outfit, a Catholic clergyman, desert-storm Middle Eastern garb, medieval clothes, three different Japanese school outfits in various colors, an outfit in black and green from some popular ninja anime, and a skimpy J-Rock guitar's outfit. Though he would never say it out loud, his favorite was the last one - there was just something about the ripped-up black pants and those laced-up boots, the entire costume molding to that body like a second skin, that made him fight down the urge to stare, drool, and completely give away the fact that he'd been looking.
Looking, that was all. Once, the thought to cross that line briefly occurred to him, right before Yamamoto threw his arm around him and leaned in close, and Gokudera thought further to himself that if he somehow lost this tangibility, he might just die from the emptiness in its wake.
That vow didn't keep him from peeking surreptiously, though, and barging in once in a while when it "was taking him too damn long to put on a freaking shirt". He couldn't recall, though, if he'd ever seen some of those scars before - like the long white one that ran perfectly straight down over his right wingbone. Or the double marks over his left shoulder. If he remembered correctly, Squalo had only slashed him once...
He was distracted by the other calling his name suddenly from the depths of the changing room. "Gokudera," the voice came, and he could detect a note of embarrassed panic, "can you help put me this on?"
Does this not sound like the setup for a very bad porno?, he thought ruefully to himself as he pulled aside the door and went in.
He almost smashed his nose straight into Yamamoto's shoulder. Stepping back with a frown, he took in the sight from feet to face: barefoot, toes wiggling; strong thighs disappearing into the folds of a kimono tucked into his obi; the wide ribbon of stiff blue silk embroidered with silver fans, tied in the back in a normal obi knot; up the creased folds of white cotton; finally to the V where cloth met skin, and to the other's sheepish face. Without preamble the other thrust a bundle of blue material at him. Gokudera unfolded it slowly to reveal plain hakama pants to match the rest of the outfit on the rack: the teal blue haori emblazoned with white triangles at the hem and sleeves, along with a plain white headband and a set of too-decorated swords.
"What, you don't know how to put it on?" The none-too-eagerly embarrassed look on the other's face gave him all the answer he needed. Eyes scanning the instruction sheet, he shoved the pants back at the other and grumbled, "Some failure of the Japanese people you are..."
The first few directions were easy to figure out: what was back and what was front, which straps went around first. They shuffled into position, Gokudera attempting to peer around the bulk of the other's body to see if the other was still holding the cloth in place. He snarled out some commands, of which he was sure Yamamoto occasionally disobeyed on purpose - dropping the front part, not holding the straps where they were supposed to be held, or letting the instruction sheet flutter to the floor. Finally, thoroughly dissatisfied with his partner's clumsiness, he barked irritatedly for the other to just hold perfectly still while he did everything.
Of course, he couldn't help leaning in, forehead bumping awkwardly into the line of the other's back as he felt with his hands where the straps were crossing over the smooth buffer of the obi. The scent that hit his nose then was nothing unfamiliar - something hazy like sun-baked spices, intoxicating in its sudden closeness. His fingers faltered where they were tying the knot, and again he tried to look under the other's arm, then the other's shoulder as he deftly arranged the knot to exactly how it was supposed to look.
Yamamoto must have heard his grumblings, because as he was reading the next line of instructions he felt the shoulder under his chin shudder with soft laughter, "Thanks for doing this, Gokudera. I know it's a pain."
"Damn right," the other growled, and longed for a cigarette to wipe away that damned scent. Leaning so close, he could smell the clarity of soap and shampoo, and when the other turned to speak there came the faint whiff of mint mouthwash. Hell, he even knew what brand it was - the fact was enough to send the heterosexual, still-denial side of him into hysterics. "I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for the 10th's command."
"I am the only one left without a Halloween costume, after all." He could feel more than see the other pausing to think a little deeper, the little moue between his eyebrows bunching in concentration. "He didn't seem too concerned if I had the same costume as someone else, though..."
"Probably because everybody else's costumes are all things that can't be bought a regular cosplay store." He pretended to sigh, all the while leaning in to brush his nose 'accidentally' against the lip of the other's ear. "This is so uncool, spending my weekend doing this with a guy..."
Like Yamamoto's expressions, he felt the shift in tension more than saw it. Under his chin Yamamoto's shoulder was warm but suddenly stiff. His eyes followed the line of chin and the bob of the other's Adam's apple as he spoke, "Do you really feel that way, Gokudera?" It was cautiously said, with no trace of hurt or any sort of emotion in it.
He'd been the one who'd toughed the swordsman's hide against insults, so why he was he regretting it now? "Hmph," he answered finally. It could have been a yes. It could have also been a no.
To his relief, the tension relaxed to easy camaraderie once again.
Finally, after the third try at the stupid knot, he couldn't take it anymore. "Put down the instructions and hold the top of the hakama - yeah, like that - do it like you did before, just don't move you -"
Yamamoto had seized one of his hands where it was still grasping one of the straps, and squeezed it tight. As Gokudera struggled to free himself from the mouthful of white cotton he'd ingested at the sudden action, his other hand followed a similar fate, so that he was pressed against the other's body as close as clothes would allow. He froze at the touch - there was still a human flight instinct engrained into him after all of these years whenever anybody brushed against him casually - and also at the heat of the other, sweating slightly under all the cotton with only the store's cheap overhead fans to cool him down.
"You're taking too long," the other noted softly, still facing forward. Gokudera was taken completely by surprise by the hurt in that voice, they'd definitely departed from the realm of Halloween costumes -
"What?," he asked confusedly, resisting the urge to babble at the closeness. Yamamoto's back was sturdy and when he'd pressed his cheek to it, he could feel the muscles underneath, the jut of wingbone sending electrical bolts of heat along with the grip of the other's hands around his waist. He cursed he was shorter than the other and couldn't see anything, especially the other's expression, which would surely give him some answers.
"This," Yamamoto answered, releasing him abruptly to change his grip to his shoulders. With a sharp twist, they'd changed positions so the swordsman's back was to the door, Gokudera pressed against the mirror. He had a glimpse of gold eyes, wide and potent with desire, before they were closer than they'd ever been, too close because the lashes were tickling his cheek and wet warmth was sliding along his lower lip. He jerked upward more in panicked surprise than anything - and that movement sent their lips clashing fully together, eyelashes sliding shut in tandem at the sensation.
He could feel the other's hands tracing him, smoothing down his arms to circle around his hips. They were pressed together again, fingers clenching in cloth in disbelief, tongues tango-ing as they attempted to suck the very breath from each other's mouth, lost in the moment as they were. Gokudera shifted his hold to the other's hips, pulling the open fold of the kimono aside to slide down the other's torso. Curiously he twisted the nub of one nipple between his fingers, and blinked in surprise when the other pushed back into his hips needily, a hushed moan falling in the silence of the fitting room.
Hands cupped his behind and squeezed in heady response; he bucked, cracking his head clumsily against the mirror. The instruction sheet fluttered to the ground once again as Yamamoto attacked the other's neck with his mouth. His kimono slipped off one shoulder, and he shrugged out of the top part impatiently. The bomber squirmed helplessly beneath him, trapped between the wall and the final explosion of desire between the two teenagers.
"Yamamoto," the other struggled to talk and not to set lose another wave of hitched breath and gasps, "Yamamoto, stop, we're in a - s-store, what are you doing..." The last word ended high as the other went for his collection of belts, tearing them aside to reach inside. The abrupt touch of the other's hand, even through the cloth, was too much temptation for Gokudera - he thrust panting in the face of all his most unbelievable fantasies coming true. The swordsman's eyes raked his body twisting and squeaking against the mirror behind him, soaking in the sight of having the other completely driven to the edge.
Gokudera tried to protest or snarl or do anything in return, but with Yamamoto latched to his collarbone, it was all he could do to keep silent. Silently then, he clapped his hands over his mouth and pumped helplessly into the other's hands, eyes squeezed tight. Stars sparked his vision behind his eyelids, bursting fireworks of static-y silver as the swordsman found new places to make him twitch and muffledly groan.
He couldn't help the buildup of pressure in his body as he pushed insistently into that damned touch that was driving him mad. Tears sprang to his eyes, one drop trickling down his cheek. It hadn't reached his jaw when a wet, rough tongue dragged up his cheek and claimed it. As if that was the final trigger, Gokudera huffed a sound of aching disbelief, voice high and eyes wide as he came, hunched and held up by Yamamoto's waiting arms.
Shuddering with release, he blew breath heavily, struggling to just stay standing. As his brain began to recover onto the right track, he realized his forehead was digging snugly into the crook of Yamamoto's neck, both hands gripping the other's shoulders hard enough to bruise. He blinked his watery eyes and looked straight up into the other's set of satisfied gold, eyes fluttering only when the other pressed his lips lightly to one eyelid. The swordsman still looked as if he was drinking in his every blushing frown and tremble of hands.
"I think I like this one," the other smiled, smoothing back Gokudera's hair with gentle fingers.
"Not like we have a choice - got it dirty and all."
The soothing touch didn't stop; the bomber realized with alarm that he was leaning into it like a cat. "I mean, this one. I think I want to take you home with me, Gokudera. For keeps." Despite his light tone, there was something of a hesitance and pleading in that tone that Gokudera didn't think he'd ever heard before.
He was a little scared that he meant so much, and a little flattered that the final decision still went to him. It wasn't getting steamrollered like Famiglia suggestions under the sheer amount of paperwork he had to do every day, or opinions he held back in respect to the delicacy of negotiations. This was his prerogative, Yamamoto was giving it to him.
"Since you got it dirty and all," Gokudera repeated firmly. At Yamamoto ill-hidden crest-fallen look, he added with a smirk, "We should go home and wash it. Together."
The grateful, almost shy smile he got was too much: he just had to bring the bastard's face back down for another kiss.
Oh GAWD, another inconclusive ending. Any ideas for an omake?
NOT BETA'D NOT BETA'D WHERE OH WHERE CAN I FIND A GOOD REBORN-FAN BETA?
Some awesome, awesome fanfics I read this week, and can't help but rec:
1. Title: For nothing, for everything
Author: terrayndian
Fandom: FF8
Pairing: SeiferxSquall
Rating: R
Notes: AU, medieval fantasy. Seifer Almasy, a man poised to rebel against the royal government of his country, finds a baby on his doorstep one day. After a blood check, he finds the baby is indeed of his blood - but who is its sorcerer mother?
2. Title: Drop Dead Gorgeous
Author: mistful
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R (if you read up to date)
Notes: pseudo-canon. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are an unlikely team of Aurors who tackle cases headfirst and without any thought to the rules or to their safety. One day, they find out a little secret about Harry~
3. Title: Owned
Author: jordangrant
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R
Notes: AU. The Malfoys have always belonged to the Potters.
Enjoy~
Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: 8059
Rating: R
Notes: written for the 8059challenge prompt 92 (A fitting room, cosplay store). I don't feel I described the claustrophobic feeling of the fitting room enough, and focused on the stupid hakama pants (because I'm wearing a pair in a couple of days). They are really hard to figure out, actually.
Hakama Love
Prompt 92. A fitting room, cosplay store
To his credit, the baseball idiot's smile was finally slipping. He was rather surprised how long the swordsman had lasted, considering this was the sixteenth outfit he'd put on today. The list included (but wasn't limited to): a butler outfit, a Catholic clergyman, desert-storm Middle Eastern garb, medieval clothes, three different Japanese school outfits in various colors, an outfit in black and green from some popular ninja anime, and a skimpy J-Rock guitar's outfit. Though he would never say it out loud, his favorite was the last one - there was just something about the ripped-up black pants and those laced-up boots, the entire costume molding to that body like a second skin, that made him fight down the urge to stare, drool, and completely give away the fact that he'd been looking.
Looking, that was all. Once, the thought to cross that line briefly occurred to him, right before Yamamoto threw his arm around him and leaned in close, and Gokudera thought further to himself that if he somehow lost this tangibility, he might just die from the emptiness in its wake.
That vow didn't keep him from peeking surreptiously, though, and barging in once in a while when it "was taking him too damn long to put on a freaking shirt". He couldn't recall, though, if he'd ever seen some of those scars before - like the long white one that ran perfectly straight down over his right wingbone. Or the double marks over his left shoulder. If he remembered correctly, Squalo had only slashed him once...
He was distracted by the other calling his name suddenly from the depths of the changing room. "Gokudera," the voice came, and he could detect a note of embarrassed panic, "can you help put me this on?"
Does this not sound like the setup for a very bad porno?, he thought ruefully to himself as he pulled aside the door and went in.
He almost smashed his nose straight into Yamamoto's shoulder. Stepping back with a frown, he took in the sight from feet to face: barefoot, toes wiggling; strong thighs disappearing into the folds of a kimono tucked into his obi; the wide ribbon of stiff blue silk embroidered with silver fans, tied in the back in a normal obi knot; up the creased folds of white cotton; finally to the V where cloth met skin, and to the other's sheepish face. Without preamble the other thrust a bundle of blue material at him. Gokudera unfolded it slowly to reveal plain hakama pants to match the rest of the outfit on the rack: the teal blue haori emblazoned with white triangles at the hem and sleeves, along with a plain white headband and a set of too-decorated swords.
"What, you don't know how to put it on?" The none-too-eagerly embarrassed look on the other's face gave him all the answer he needed. Eyes scanning the instruction sheet, he shoved the pants back at the other and grumbled, "Some failure of the Japanese people you are..."
The first few directions were easy to figure out: what was back and what was front, which straps went around first. They shuffled into position, Gokudera attempting to peer around the bulk of the other's body to see if the other was still holding the cloth in place. He snarled out some commands, of which he was sure Yamamoto occasionally disobeyed on purpose - dropping the front part, not holding the straps where they were supposed to be held, or letting the instruction sheet flutter to the floor. Finally, thoroughly dissatisfied with his partner's clumsiness, he barked irritatedly for the other to just hold perfectly still while he did everything.
Of course, he couldn't help leaning in, forehead bumping awkwardly into the line of the other's back as he felt with his hands where the straps were crossing over the smooth buffer of the obi. The scent that hit his nose then was nothing unfamiliar - something hazy like sun-baked spices, intoxicating in its sudden closeness. His fingers faltered where they were tying the knot, and again he tried to look under the other's arm, then the other's shoulder as he deftly arranged the knot to exactly how it was supposed to look.
Yamamoto must have heard his grumblings, because as he was reading the next line of instructions he felt the shoulder under his chin shudder with soft laughter, "Thanks for doing this, Gokudera. I know it's a pain."
"Damn right," the other growled, and longed for a cigarette to wipe away that damned scent. Leaning so close, he could smell the clarity of soap and shampoo, and when the other turned to speak there came the faint whiff of mint mouthwash. Hell, he even knew what brand it was - the fact was enough to send the heterosexual, still-denial side of him into hysterics. "I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for the 10th's command."
"I am the only one left without a Halloween costume, after all." He could feel more than see the other pausing to think a little deeper, the little moue between his eyebrows bunching in concentration. "He didn't seem too concerned if I had the same costume as someone else, though..."
"Probably because everybody else's costumes are all things that can't be bought a regular cosplay store." He pretended to sigh, all the while leaning in to brush his nose 'accidentally' against the lip of the other's ear. "This is so uncool, spending my weekend doing this with a guy..."
Like Yamamoto's expressions, he felt the shift in tension more than saw it. Under his chin Yamamoto's shoulder was warm but suddenly stiff. His eyes followed the line of chin and the bob of the other's Adam's apple as he spoke, "Do you really feel that way, Gokudera?" It was cautiously said, with no trace of hurt or any sort of emotion in it.
He'd been the one who'd toughed the swordsman's hide against insults, so why he was he regretting it now? "Hmph," he answered finally. It could have been a yes. It could have also been a no.
To his relief, the tension relaxed to easy camaraderie once again.
Finally, after the third try at the stupid knot, he couldn't take it anymore. "Put down the instructions and hold the top of the hakama - yeah, like that - do it like you did before, just don't move you -"
Yamamoto had seized one of his hands where it was still grasping one of the straps, and squeezed it tight. As Gokudera struggled to free himself from the mouthful of white cotton he'd ingested at the sudden action, his other hand followed a similar fate, so that he was pressed against the other's body as close as clothes would allow. He froze at the touch - there was still a human flight instinct engrained into him after all of these years whenever anybody brushed against him casually - and also at the heat of the other, sweating slightly under all the cotton with only the store's cheap overhead fans to cool him down.
"You're taking too long," the other noted softly, still facing forward. Gokudera was taken completely by surprise by the hurt in that voice, they'd definitely departed from the realm of Halloween costumes -
"What?," he asked confusedly, resisting the urge to babble at the closeness. Yamamoto's back was sturdy and when he'd pressed his cheek to it, he could feel the muscles underneath, the jut of wingbone sending electrical bolts of heat along with the grip of the other's hands around his waist. He cursed he was shorter than the other and couldn't see anything, especially the other's expression, which would surely give him some answers.
"This," Yamamoto answered, releasing him abruptly to change his grip to his shoulders. With a sharp twist, they'd changed positions so the swordsman's back was to the door, Gokudera pressed against the mirror. He had a glimpse of gold eyes, wide and potent with desire, before they were closer than they'd ever been, too close because the lashes were tickling his cheek and wet warmth was sliding along his lower lip. He jerked upward more in panicked surprise than anything - and that movement sent their lips clashing fully together, eyelashes sliding shut in tandem at the sensation.
He could feel the other's hands tracing him, smoothing down his arms to circle around his hips. They were pressed together again, fingers clenching in cloth in disbelief, tongues tango-ing as they attempted to suck the very breath from each other's mouth, lost in the moment as they were. Gokudera shifted his hold to the other's hips, pulling the open fold of the kimono aside to slide down the other's torso. Curiously he twisted the nub of one nipple between his fingers, and blinked in surprise when the other pushed back into his hips needily, a hushed moan falling in the silence of the fitting room.
Hands cupped his behind and squeezed in heady response; he bucked, cracking his head clumsily against the mirror. The instruction sheet fluttered to the ground once again as Yamamoto attacked the other's neck with his mouth. His kimono slipped off one shoulder, and he shrugged out of the top part impatiently. The bomber squirmed helplessly beneath him, trapped between the wall and the final explosion of desire between the two teenagers.
"Yamamoto," the other struggled to talk and not to set lose another wave of hitched breath and gasps, "Yamamoto, stop, we're in a - s-store, what are you doing..." The last word ended high as the other went for his collection of belts, tearing them aside to reach inside. The abrupt touch of the other's hand, even through the cloth, was too much temptation for Gokudera - he thrust panting in the face of all his most unbelievable fantasies coming true. The swordsman's eyes raked his body twisting and squeaking against the mirror behind him, soaking in the sight of having the other completely driven to the edge.
Gokudera tried to protest or snarl or do anything in return, but with Yamamoto latched to his collarbone, it was all he could do to keep silent. Silently then, he clapped his hands over his mouth and pumped helplessly into the other's hands, eyes squeezed tight. Stars sparked his vision behind his eyelids, bursting fireworks of static-y silver as the swordsman found new places to make him twitch and muffledly groan.
He couldn't help the buildup of pressure in his body as he pushed insistently into that damned touch that was driving him mad. Tears sprang to his eyes, one drop trickling down his cheek. It hadn't reached his jaw when a wet, rough tongue dragged up his cheek and claimed it. As if that was the final trigger, Gokudera huffed a sound of aching disbelief, voice high and eyes wide as he came, hunched and held up by Yamamoto's waiting arms.
Shuddering with release, he blew breath heavily, struggling to just stay standing. As his brain began to recover onto the right track, he realized his forehead was digging snugly into the crook of Yamamoto's neck, both hands gripping the other's shoulders hard enough to bruise. He blinked his watery eyes and looked straight up into the other's set of satisfied gold, eyes fluttering only when the other pressed his lips lightly to one eyelid. The swordsman still looked as if he was drinking in his every blushing frown and tremble of hands.
"I think I like this one," the other smiled, smoothing back Gokudera's hair with gentle fingers.
"Not like we have a choice - got it dirty and all."
The soothing touch didn't stop; the bomber realized with alarm that he was leaning into it like a cat. "I mean, this one. I think I want to take you home with me, Gokudera. For keeps." Despite his light tone, there was something of a hesitance and pleading in that tone that Gokudera didn't think he'd ever heard before.
He was a little scared that he meant so much, and a little flattered that the final decision still went to him. It wasn't getting steamrollered like Famiglia suggestions under the sheer amount of paperwork he had to do every day, or opinions he held back in respect to the delicacy of negotiations. This was his prerogative, Yamamoto was giving it to him.
"Since you got it dirty and all," Gokudera repeated firmly. At Yamamoto ill-hidden crest-fallen look, he added with a smirk, "We should go home and wash it. Together."
The grateful, almost shy smile he got was too much: he just had to bring the bastard's face back down for another kiss.
Oh GAWD, another inconclusive ending. Any ideas for an omake?
NOT BETA'D NOT BETA'D WHERE OH WHERE CAN I FIND A GOOD REBORN-FAN BETA?
Some awesome, awesome fanfics I read this week, and can't help but rec:
1. Title: For nothing, for everything
Author: terrayndian
Fandom: FF8
Pairing: SeiferxSquall
Rating: R
Notes: AU, medieval fantasy. Seifer Almasy, a man poised to rebel against the royal government of his country, finds a baby on his doorstep one day. After a blood check, he finds the baby is indeed of his blood - but who is its sorcerer mother?
2. Title: Drop Dead Gorgeous
Author: mistful
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R (if you read up to date)
Notes: pseudo-canon. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are an unlikely team of Aurors who tackle cases headfirst and without any thought to the rules or to their safety. One day, they find out a little secret about Harry~
3. Title: Owned
Author: jordangrant
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R
Notes: AU. The Malfoys have always belonged to the Potters.
Enjoy~