fic: like clockwork
Title: Like Clockwork
Pairing: TYL6959, 80-->59
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine
Beta: gloomy_gloo aka sexy-pantsu
Note: I'm late but what else is new?
Summary: The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
Written for theotherdenise aka vavavooom,
Their first assignment together probably wouldn’t be their last, considering how well it went because Gokudera knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse Tsuna no matter how much he despised working with Mukuro, but that wasn’t the problem; the problem was much, much later when he’d found himself on Mukuro’s bed in their shared fancy hotel room, straddling over the other guy’s thighs, grinding and nipping on the skin just above his shoulder.
It was a bad call, but once in a while Gokudera allowed himself to stray because he was human after all and he had his limits and his blood was still pumping with adrenaline from their job earlier, from barely-missed bullets and bastard was stripping down to his undershirt and pants and leering at him from the other side of the room.
“Don’t give me that face, fucktard. I’d say you’re a freak but you already know that. You probably get off by fucking with people’s minds.”
“I’d rather get off by fucking you.”
And that was exactly what happened.
-
It was when Yamamoto made a comment about it two weeks later that he began to notice the fuckery with the whole business. ‘Buddies’ was the exact word Yamamoto had used and Gokudera had snarled in response, just a few seconds of delayed but quick enough to cover his shock because of all people- god, of all the fucking people- Yamamoto would be the one to point it out.
“I think it’s great, really. It’s just that you hated that guy, but now-”
“We aren’t buddies, you idiot,” he snapped. “-and stop buddying me up with people for fuck’s sake, just because- but you know what? You know what? It doesn’t even fucking matter.”
“Yeah, sure,” Yamamoto had said, blinking; his expression was unreadable.
“All right,” Gokudera had muttered. “Fine.”
-
But it wasn’t fine at all. It was a bad call. And Gokudera had made a lot of those.
-
One fuck led to another (no surprises there), and it wasn’t a relationship so no harm was done but by the fifth time it happened, Gokudera still thought Mukuro was a bastard, perhaps even more.
“You’re still a bastard, you know. Some things never change,” he said as Mukuro joined him at the bar one night at the end of his shift and afterward Gokudera didn’t even finish his third drink and let Mukuro fuck him against the wall in one of the cramped toilet stalls.
“I’ve been told,” Mukuro said later as he fixed his tie.
-
There were things he shouldn’t do; things he could’ve avoided; bad things, outrageous things- and Gokudera knew this but it didn’t mean it would make his life a little less complicated, a little less fucked up, if he didn’t open the door to the bastard for the second time that week.
The first time, though- the first time was five days ago, or was it four days ago? They had fucked before, so what? But those were while on jobs, in some random hotels and in some random toilets, and once in a car- but this, Gokudera thought, this was Gokudera’s room and nothing was more personal than letting some guy pound your ass on your own bed and fuck it, if it didn’t make any sense back then, it wouldn’t make any sense this time either. If he were being honest with himself, Gokudera knew he would be able to resist, because it shouldn’t be this hard and he’d say, What do you want? I was sleeping, but his fingers were already reaching the top button of his crumpled shirt as soon as the door was shut and the bastard smirked over his words as if they were meaningless. Then a pair of hands blindly reached for him by the waist and slid lower below his waistband and then lower and screw being honest with himself, it shouldn’t be this hard.
“Don’t come to my room again,” Gokudera said when morning came. His words muffled against the pillow and his mobile on the dresser began to ring.
“And why is that?” Mukuro asked, not bothering to conceal his amusement. His voice floated over Suicide Scherzo, “Did you find yourself something better?”
-
On the table in his office, there were stacks of papers, two empty mugs, an ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, and Gokudera’s head. Ten minutes later, or more likely an hour later, he lifted his head from the desk, rubbing his face hard with both of his hands and proceeded with his paperwork. The solo mission in Genoa six days ago was a piece of cake but he had come back with a permanent scowl attached on his face because, really, Gokudera would rather stuff his face with his sister’s cooking than negotiate with a bunch of idiots but whatever, Gokudera was good at his job. The day before he left for Japan, he made a trip to downtown and almost hooked up with some random sleazy guy in some random sleazy bar but decided to fuck it because, seriously, what would be the fucking point anyway, and what was with this relentless, chronic desire for fucking ups? And Yamamoto waltzed into his office earlier, all smile and happy face and deadly, and, hey, I’ve made you coffee, Gokudera. God, why did it sound like a marriage proposal, anyway?
Something better than what, Gokudera didn’t ask.
-
“Do you miss me yet?”
One week and two days later, not that he was counting, but still. In the meeting room, in a room full of people, people they worked with and bastard was looking at him from across the table, expression like the one time when he had Gokudera pinned down to the mattress, with his lips less than an inch from Gokudera’s cock and with those eyes that said, Look, Hayato, I got you exactly where I wanted you.
“Go the fuck away.” Please.
Okay. Maybe going to Tsuna wouldn’t be a bad thing after all. He’d tell himself he was being strictly professional and completely sensible and messing with his partner during a mission wasn’t doing him any good, nor did the mental confusion or carpet burns, and he’d tell Tsuna- he’d tell Tsuna. What would he tell Tsuna? Goddamnit, Gokudera was a reliable right-hand man. Case in point. What the fuck was happening here?
-
So, don’t think of oranges. This was, of course, impossible.
Nana made the best orange tarts ever and whenever she did, Gokudera could smell it from three blocks away and Tsuna’d always give him extra from his own share. Yup, Tenth was an amazing guy. Once, when he was five, Gokudera had used oranges as substitute for snowballs, it hurt like a motherfucking bitch and later he would compare bruises with Bianchi; but to be fair, it was worth it. He had tried it with Yamamoto once, but Yamamoto hit hard, that idiot.
-
So, not thinking of oranges did not work, which led him to the current situation- in Mukuro’s room, on Mukuro’s bed, and under Mukuro nonetheless.
“You did all this. Why did you do that? Fucking me isn’t enough that you have to fuck with my head? Is that it?” he asked later, because damn, he couldn’t possibly walk into Mukuro’s room just to be fucked into six different positions, and because, seriously, he could never be that self-destructive or some other pathetic shit like that, okay.
“This is your own doing, think about it,” Mukuro said, and pressed his lips to the inside of Gokudera’s wrist, “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”
“Gestalt.”
“All I did was pursue you.”
“That was- notoriously cunning but implausibly amazing in a very freaky way, you sneaky rotten bastard.”
“Elementary, my dear Hayato, elementary.”
-
note:
1. Last line misquoted from Sherlock Holmes
2. One day I'll write something better and proper yeah
3. What the fuck is orange tart? I think I just made that up huh
Pairing: TYL6959, 80-->59
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine
Beta: gloomy_gloo aka sexy-pantsu
Note: I'm late but what else is new?
Summary: The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
Written for theotherdenise aka vavavooom,
Their first assignment together probably wouldn’t be their last, considering how well it went because Gokudera knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse Tsuna no matter how much he despised working with Mukuro, but that wasn’t the problem; the problem was much, much later when he’d found himself on Mukuro’s bed in their shared fancy hotel room, straddling over the other guy’s thighs, grinding and nipping on the skin just above his shoulder.
It was a bad call, but once in a while Gokudera allowed himself to stray because he was human after all and he had his limits and his blood was still pumping with adrenaline from their job earlier, from barely-missed bullets and bastard was stripping down to his undershirt and pants and leering at him from the other side of the room.
“Don’t give me that face, fucktard. I’d say you’re a freak but you already know that. You probably get off by fucking with people’s minds.”
“I’d rather get off by fucking you.”
And that was exactly what happened.
-
It was when Yamamoto made a comment about it two weeks later that he began to notice the fuckery with the whole business. ‘Buddies’ was the exact word Yamamoto had used and Gokudera had snarled in response, just a few seconds of delayed but quick enough to cover his shock because of all people- god, of all the fucking people- Yamamoto would be the one to point it out.
“I think it’s great, really. It’s just that you hated that guy, but now-”
“We aren’t buddies, you idiot,” he snapped. “-and stop buddying me up with people for fuck’s sake, just because- but you know what? You know what? It doesn’t even fucking matter.”
“Yeah, sure,” Yamamoto had said, blinking; his expression was unreadable.
“All right,” Gokudera had muttered. “Fine.”
-
But it wasn’t fine at all. It was a bad call. And Gokudera had made a lot of those.
-
One fuck led to another (no surprises there), and it wasn’t a relationship so no harm was done but by the fifth time it happened, Gokudera still thought Mukuro was a bastard, perhaps even more.
“You’re still a bastard, you know. Some things never change,” he said as Mukuro joined him at the bar one night at the end of his shift and afterward Gokudera didn’t even finish his third drink and let Mukuro fuck him against the wall in one of the cramped toilet stalls.
“I’ve been told,” Mukuro said later as he fixed his tie.
-
There were things he shouldn’t do; things he could’ve avoided; bad things, outrageous things- and Gokudera knew this but it didn’t mean it would make his life a little less complicated, a little less fucked up, if he didn’t open the door to the bastard for the second time that week.
The first time, though- the first time was five days ago, or was it four days ago? They had fucked before, so what? But those were while on jobs, in some random hotels and in some random toilets, and once in a car- but this, Gokudera thought, this was Gokudera’s room and nothing was more personal than letting some guy pound your ass on your own bed and fuck it, if it didn’t make any sense back then, it wouldn’t make any sense this time either. If he were being honest with himself, Gokudera knew he would be able to resist, because it shouldn’t be this hard and he’d say, What do you want? I was sleeping, but his fingers were already reaching the top button of his crumpled shirt as soon as the door was shut and the bastard smirked over his words as if they were meaningless. Then a pair of hands blindly reached for him by the waist and slid lower below his waistband and then lower and screw being honest with himself, it shouldn’t be this hard.
“Don’t come to my room again,” Gokudera said when morning came. His words muffled against the pillow and his mobile on the dresser began to ring.
“And why is that?” Mukuro asked, not bothering to conceal his amusement. His voice floated over Suicide Scherzo, “Did you find yourself something better?”
-
On the table in his office, there were stacks of papers, two empty mugs, an ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, and Gokudera’s head. Ten minutes later, or more likely an hour later, he lifted his head from the desk, rubbing his face hard with both of his hands and proceeded with his paperwork. The solo mission in Genoa six days ago was a piece of cake but he had come back with a permanent scowl attached on his face because, really, Gokudera would rather stuff his face with his sister’s cooking than negotiate with a bunch of idiots but whatever, Gokudera was good at his job. The day before he left for Japan, he made a trip to downtown and almost hooked up with some random sleazy guy in some random sleazy bar but decided to fuck it because, seriously, what would be the fucking point anyway, and what was with this relentless, chronic desire for fucking ups? And Yamamoto waltzed into his office earlier, all smile and happy face and deadly, and, hey, I’ve made you coffee, Gokudera. God, why did it sound like a marriage proposal, anyway?
Something better than what, Gokudera didn’t ask.
-
“Do you miss me yet?”
One week and two days later, not that he was counting, but still. In the meeting room, in a room full of people, people they worked with and bastard was looking at him from across the table, expression like the one time when he had Gokudera pinned down to the mattress, with his lips less than an inch from Gokudera’s cock and with those eyes that said, Look, Hayato, I got you exactly where I wanted you.
“Go the fuck away.” Please.
Okay. Maybe going to Tsuna wouldn’t be a bad thing after all. He’d tell himself he was being strictly professional and completely sensible and messing with his partner during a mission wasn’t doing him any good, nor did the mental confusion or carpet burns, and he’d tell Tsuna- he’d tell Tsuna. What would he tell Tsuna? Goddamnit, Gokudera was a reliable right-hand man. Case in point. What the fuck was happening here?
-
So, don’t think of oranges. This was, of course, impossible.
Nana made the best orange tarts ever and whenever she did, Gokudera could smell it from three blocks away and Tsuna’d always give him extra from his own share. Yup, Tenth was an amazing guy. Once, when he was five, Gokudera had used oranges as substitute for snowballs, it hurt like a motherfucking bitch and later he would compare bruises with Bianchi; but to be fair, it was worth it. He had tried it with Yamamoto once, but Yamamoto hit hard, that idiot.
-
So, not thinking of oranges did not work, which led him to the current situation- in Mukuro’s room, on Mukuro’s bed, and under Mukuro nonetheless.
“You did all this. Why did you do that? Fucking me isn’t enough that you have to fuck with my head? Is that it?” he asked later, because damn, he couldn’t possibly walk into Mukuro’s room just to be fucked into six different positions, and because, seriously, he could never be that self-destructive or some other pathetic shit like that, okay.
“This is your own doing, think about it,” Mukuro said, and pressed his lips to the inside of Gokudera’s wrist, “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”
“Gestalt.”
“All I did was pursue you.”
“That was- notoriously cunning but implausibly amazing in a very freaky way, you sneaky rotten bastard.”
“Elementary, my dear Hayato, elementary.”
-
note:
1. Last line misquoted from Sherlock Holmes
2. One day I'll write something better and proper yeah
3. What the fuck is orange tart? I think I just made that up huh