36 Realms of Influence [set 3]
I had a busy week so I only got to finish one :O I don't know what came over me when I wrote this, but hopefully it's entertaining?
Title: #26: Am I Hallucinating or is that a Dick in a Box?
Author: ember_alda
Rating: R
Characters: Yamamoto, Squalo,
Words: 4,014
Summary: Yamamoto starts having narcoleptic fits where he dreams about Squalo. When he occasionally meets him for real, he starts mixing dream and reality disastrously.
Previous Parts:
I-VI
VII-XI
Note: Some things if you didn't know- wagyu is a breed of beef cows particular to Japan, and Mishima is a type of wagyu.
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Am I Hallucinating or is that a Dick in a Box?
26. Yamamoto starts having narcoleptic fits where he dreams about Squalo. When he occasionally meets him for real, he starts mixing dream and reality disastrously.
----------
The disgust in Squalo’s eyes makes him want to sink to the ground and shrink away. The rain falls in grey mist around them on the baseball field, devoid of anyone but the two of them.
“Are you going to just fucking stand there? That thing you have isn’t just a decoration!”
Yamamoto can’t respond as another hit to his face scrapes his jaw, blood from a bitten tongue spilling all over his chin and down his neck, the burning pain ripping away his senses. He clenches his fist, trying to stop the flow with a thin sleeve before glancing across at the silver haired man who looks fed up with this game.
“Unsheathe your damned sword. I’m not going to wait until you decide, you had your chance.”
Yamamoto understands. This is serious, if he can’t make Squalo acknowledge him in this duel now, he’ll never be able to.
Hands ready, they both stare recklessly into each other’s eyes as they unzip their pants for battle.
…
“V-VOIIIIIIIII WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING KID?! ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!”
Yamamoto blinks, looking across at a suddenly indignant and horrified Squalo before his hand stills. His fly is open all the way and underwear already half slipped off, rain already drenching his pants and sliding them down over his half exposed cock.
“I thought we were going to duel?”
A small, panicking gleam inserts itself into Squalo’s eyes.
“WHAT KIND OF DUEL DO YOU THIK THIS IS?!”
Automatically, Yamamoto’s eyes glue themselves to Squalo’s crotch, which appeared to be completely covered and zipped tight. As soon as he sees the sword strapped to the other man’s arm, it clicks in.
“Ohhhh, haha. Sorry.” Hiking up his pants and underwear, Yamamoto grabs his fallen katana from the ground with his other hand, situating himself before swinging the blade out, pointed towards the other man like nothing was wrong and he hadn’t just started stripping in a muddy field after Squalo attacked him unawares.
Yamamoto couldn’t mess up now, not especially since Squalo came here looking for him. It was rare that he got to see the other man at all, this was serious.
“‘HAHA’? 'HAHA?!’ WHAT THE FUCK?”
There’s no time to recover, Squalo can only dumbly defend himself as Yamamoto cheerfully rushes towards him, blade steady and eyes focused on the fight.
When Yamamoto defeats him, Squalo absolutely refuses to believe that he legitimately lost.
-0-
He doesn’t know why but the silky smooth feeling rubbing against his nipples makes Yamamoto open his eyes. Across the horizon there’s a blotch, right across the sun. He tries to lift his hand up to block the glare, but against the smooth skin of his wrist, a vine, prickly with thorns, binds his arm down to the earth. Funny, he didn’t remember falling asleep in the grass, much less on at least twenty pounds worth of tea rose petals. He didn’t remember being naked, either, but then again he forgot about Lambo’s pork rind allergy so he guesses it’s not such a big deal.
The figure in the distance gets bigger and bigger, and from his supine place Yamamoto can only squint to see the lashing flames of a creature’s mane and a hand tightly holding a whip.
In the brilliant outline of a sun, a fan of long silver hair billows out on the jewel green horizon reveals a man set atop a flaming horse with a delicate, spiraled horn. He can’t see the other’s face but his breath shortens as Yamamoto cries out when he tries to get up, the thorns starting to prick into his leg as he wriggles his way out. He’s about to shout out to them to hurry up because the thorns are getting awfully uncomfortable, especially the ones poking against his bu-
“Wake up you fucking idiot! Mr. Oshida’s passing back out our tests.”
Smack dab in the idle of the classroom, awakened by a pissed off whisper and shove, Yamamoto blinks his eyes and nearly falls out of his chair, the bang of half his books clattering to the ground excessively loud in an attentive classroom.
Half the students turn around to look at him.
“Haha…just too excited about those test results!”
Another punch jabs him in his arm.
“Ow. Gokudera…you know you don’t have to punch me to wake me, right?”
“Learn not to sleep in class.”
Yamamoto scratches the back of his head, not feeling any need to lower his voice even though everyone else around them was silent.
“You’re probably right; maybe I’ll be naked less often in my dreams, then.”
Mr. Oshida gives the two of them detention for disrupting the class after Gokudera topples over his entire desk. Distantly, Yamamoto is disappointed he didn’t get to finish his dream. It seemed like it had been going somewhere.
-0-
“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”
Yamamoto tries not to blink as a swath of white hair is flipped directly into his eyes by Squalo whirling indignantly around. A finger points down to a lavishly spread meal of sushi set delicately on bamboo leaves.
“Sushi?”
The simple answer only garners deeper vees of frustration in Squalo’s brows as his mouth opens for a deafening shout down. “I didn’t ask for fucking sushi, this is pathetic is what it is.”
With another rage filled arm he sweeps a contingent of maki rolls to the floor. Yamamoto can’t help but feel disappointed in himself, these had be especially made for the swordsman and he didn’t want Squalo’s first experience with his sushi to be bad.
“I’m sorry. What can I do to help fix your meal, sir?” Yamamoto tries not to nervously fiddle with his handlebar mustache, but with the way the man was raging about he couldn’t help it.
“GET ME SOME DAMN WASABI, I’LL NEED IT TO EAT THROUGH THIS TRASH.”
When he comes back with a dish evenly filled with the green paste, Squalo snatches it from his hand. Yamamoto straightens his black bow-tie and apron, standing respectfully to the side with a napkin draped across his arm, ready to wait on his guest while Squalo sits at his meal.
Across from him another unconscious, horizontal Yamamoto, with two hand rolls on his chest and salmon sashimi across his legs, breathes softly while Squalo, with the tip of his sword, spreads a thick green line down his navel and slowly towards his cro-
Vigorous shaking makes the unagi roll oozing on his shirt drop onto the floor.
“...Can I help you?”
Tsuna’s big eyes stare back at him, looking vaguely concerned as he tries to analyze how his friend is doing.
“You fell asleep while me and Gokudera were talking. Your lunch got all over your shirt.”
A clueless blink later, Yamamoto takes in his surroundings at the cafeteria, and considering his non-naked, non-sushi table state, figures out he must be at lunch. He looks down at the mess he made of himself, sheepishly laughing at his own foolishness.
“Must be really tired.”
“I hope it isn’t because Lambo, Reborn and Bianca went over to your house yesterday and kept you up all night.”
“No, they just wanted to have some dinner, they didn’t stay very long. I told them I had a guest coming. They were pretty rowdy but that’s what made it fun.”
Tsuna highly doubted that random explosions, being eaten out of house and home, and poisoning attempts on all sides were all that much fun, but then again laid-back was the mildest description he could think of to describe Yamamoto.
“You should go home and get some rest later today.”
The other boy blinks at the concern. “I’ll sleep some more after school.”
-0-
The vibrating in his stomach jolted Yamamoto from his sleep. His hand quickly scrambled around in the sheets, pinpointing the location of his phone, which he flipped open as he got up, loudly yawning.
“Vooooooooii brat, you’re taking me to the goddamn store.”
He blinks a few times, lifting the phone away from his face while the decibel of Squalo’s voice heightened.
“Um, ok. Sure! Are we going somewhere specific?”
“Just get yourself down here I need this by tonight!”
Yamamoto rolls himself over on his bed, prying open the blinds covering his window to see and extremely irritated Squalo standing in the street with a phone pasted to the side of his face while he scowled so fiercely Yamamoto could tell from the second story.
“You’re a funny guy! I’ll be down in a sec.”
That is how he ended up spending the evening in the supermarket.
-0-
“Haha, why are we doing this again?”
Squalo doesn’t make a sound, he’s too busy not looking at Yamamoto and staring off into the meat section, quantifying all the cuts and grades and not thinking about how stupid and dorky it is for the younger man to be holding an awkward shopping basket on his arm. He didn’t even want to see the other rain guardian after that horrific mash-up of a fight, but Xanxus’ whims forced him into this hopefully short and half-painless (Squalo wasn't an optimist) shopping expedition.
“It’s carapaccio and I’m going to buy some wagyu so the stupid boss doesn’t destroy half of Japan if he’s disappointed so I’m doing you a favor because I AM NOT AN ERRAND BOY.”
Several older women and tiny children stop what they’re doing and stare at him. Yamamoto turns around and apologizes, smiling good naturedly saying that Squalo was just excited by being in the store for the first time, which seemed to work because everyone else went back to doing their business. Who the hell gets excited by going to the store?!
“Maa maa, it’s ok, I don’t mind helping you find a store and pick something out. It’s nice of you to get Xanxus a gift after he got released.”
“I’m not getting that shitty bastard a gift! He’s the one who threw a wine rack at me spewing about yesterday’s stupid dinner.”
Yamamoto pauses by the sirloin; Squalo has to abruptly halt his pace, about to ask what he as doing when the kid turns to look at him.
“I don’t really understand why you follow that guy, but it must have been hard when he was locked up again for three years. I’d miss Tsuna after a week and we’re best friends.”
Squalo opens his mouth, wanting to deny that strangely frank look in Yamamoto’s eyes, the sentiment in his words settling into his bones without an irritating sense of pity, and suddenly Squalo can’t say anything against him.
“I don’t know what the hell carapuchi is but I know how to pick out some good meat!”
The beaming smile on Yamamoto’s face is undeniable as he turns vigorously to inspect the cuts of wagyu at the open butchery. Stewing silently, trying to fight off the uncomfortable effects of the brat’s words, Squalo tries to distract himself by picking out random things.
“What about this one?”
“Mishima? That’s a good choice, you can’t really get it anywhere else.”
“No, the one next to it.”
The butcher takes one out to show them. Squalo, weighing it in his hand, tries to look like he knew what he was doing in judging it- he wasn’t going to lose to some fucking kid.
“Oh, that’s rare. Are you sure you know how to prepare beef testicles?”
A spark erupts in the swordsman’s eye as he looks down at Yamamoto, voice growling out in offense as he squeezes the balls in his hand. Was he judging his competency?
“I know how to prepare anything you throw at me.”
Yamamoto hails down the butcher again to take up the Mishima sirloin, admiring the marbling of the meat in his hand. “I don’t know, those are some pretty exotic pieces of beef you have. Are you sure you don’t want to try something more standard?”
He feels the press of glass against his back as Squalo pushes him into the display, one arm braced near Yamamoto’s head, beef in his hand as he bites into the raw flesh, eyes never leaving the younger man’s face.
“Don’t be boring, brat.”
Another tilt and their hips jut into each other, the cut of steak pressed between their abdomens coldly smearing across as Yamamoto rubs into the other man before their open mouths-
“STOP RUBBING AGAINST ME WE’RE IN PUBLIC WHY ARE YOUR EYES ALL GLASSY?!”
“Huh.” Yamamoto looks at the plastic wrapped package of wagyu in his hand, already shoved a good five feet away from a screaming Squalo who had by then, scared everyone else around them away.
“I guess this means you want the beef testicles?”
“WHAT?!” When had that ever come up?! One minute Yamamoto was perfectly fine, irritating and being his mushy clueless self, but fine, and then he’d stopped again in the middle of the display and dropped his basket. His eyes started blanking and he wasn’t responding to anything Squalo was saying and then he took up a chunk of meat and disturbingly rubbed it into Squalo’s abdomen! What kind of sickness made people do things like this?
“No? We should check out then. Oh look, ramun! Let’s buy some for the way back.”
He wasn’t worried, Squalo would never fucking worry because he was always in control so there was nothing to worry about, but this was pretty far out of the realm of his experience. It was understandable that he was shocked, right? Yamamoto happily skipping towards the checkout with his credit card and his beef like everything was ok was something Squalo didn’t have a solution to, all he could do was follow along and hope he could leave for the sanity of the Varia relatively soon.
-0-
Yamamoto’s pretty sure he’s awake but he can’t be one hundred percent certain.
“Then after you smeared the glitter on your chest I fucked you on that giant lobster statue in front of the Ginza mall.”
Ramun sprays onto Yamamoto in a shower mingled copiously with spit. His hair is sticky with the soda and his face is sticky and Squalo’s hair is sticky because the older man just poured the entire can in his hand onto his own chest.
“WEREN’T YOU YAPPING ON ABOUT BASEBALL OR SOMETHING WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!”
“Oh. Haha, I guess this means it’s real.”
“WHAT?!”
Yamamoto pats Squalo’s back good naturedly, gladly smiling because he’s pretty sure that the other swordsman is really there, now. This should be enjoyable, he doesn’t get to see Squalo often.
“Did you want to go to the park and feed the ducks?”
Before he can turn around a pair of hands clamp down hard on his shoulders, forcibly anchoring him in place as Squalo confronts him.
“What are all these weird sexually ambiguous comments? Why are you so fucking creepy?! I mean you unzipped your pants-” Squalo cuts himself off, that was one moment in time he never wanted to relive and no, he was not going to challenge Yamamoto to a duel until he knew that shit wasn’t ever going to happen again.
“Well you unzipped your pants too so I thought it was understood. Anyway, I don’t think ducks are a good idea, I’m kinda sticky. Who knew you could spray so far? Try to swallow it next time, or you’ll have to take another shower.”
His hands go numb. Apparently he’d unzipped his pants. Apparently it was perfectly normal for Yamamoto to make double entendres about soda and stickiness and swallowing. Apparently rubbing a cut of beef on Squalo’s abdomen in the middle of the fucking supermarket was completely acceptable. Apparently Squalo was going batshit insane and was oscillating on some strange, alternate universe where katana-brats made unsubtle come-ons that apparently never existed in the first place!
Yamamoto slips from his grip, perfectly unaware of the mental blender whirring in Squalo’s head about to explode.
“I’m bad at thinking of things we could do.” An idea brightly pops into his head. “Hey, maybe we should have a re-match?”
No. No fucking way. “VVVVVVOOOOOOOOOOOOIIIIIII WE ARE NOT HAVING ANOTHER REMATCH THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A REMATCH EVER BETWEEN US YOU WEIRD EXHIBITIONIST!”
Yamamoto never hears the hysterical tone rising in Squalo’s screaming, opting to instead, obliviously sling an arm around him, bringing them hip to hip as they walk.
“Haha, that’s ok. We can go to my house and you and I can clean up. That ramun is really uncomfortable, you know?”
Having Yamamoto’s crazy arm full of his craziness touching Squalo’s perfectly sane arm is most definitely more uncomfortable. The warm, expectant look in that pair of brown eyes freezes Squalo in his place, though. He can’t bring himself to say that out loud and it’s right then and there that he’s afraid for his life because maybe Yamamoto’s crazy naked innuendo disease has already started to form inside him.
Squalo has the sinking feeling that he’s been propositioned and there’s nothing he can do about it.
-0-
There’s nothing ever to do but think when in the shower, and Squalo was determinedly scrubbing at the syrup stuck in his hair trying to avoid that very thing. After he grabs the shampoo (generic, apple scented shit, how the hell did Yamamoto live using this stuff?) he vigorously massages the ends, concentrating on every individual hair. His roots were getting pretty dry, and was that the beginning of a split end?
Fuck! He can’t stop fucking thinking about those ridiculous comments ‘Who knew you could spray so far? Try to swallow it next time, or you’ll have to take another shower.’ and then when Yamamoto unzipped his pants, and that space out in the store. Weirdly enough Squalo’s...not worried because why the hell would he care about that dipshit, but- curious- about that glassy look in the kid’s eyes when he dropped his sword in the middle of a fight. Not just that time but random times and always resulting in the most insane scenarios he wouldn’t even tell Xanxus if he’d asked him, they were so freakishly weird and embarrassing.
What the hell was wrong with Yamamoto?
What the HELL was wrong with Yamamoto why was he walking in here?!
The bathroom door was still wedged open, steam curling out the crack in the door as the younger man comes in completely ignoring the fact that someone else was using the bathroom, naked, and about to NOT scream because Squalo wasn’t a girl even if this situation warranted shrieking.
The frosted glass from a fogged shower door slides aside when Yamamoto steps next to Squalo in an impromptu attempt at bathing while fully clothed.
“VOOOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! WHY ARE YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES ON, I MEAN- DON’T YOU HAVE ANY MANNERS BRAT I’M TRYING TO TAKE A SHOWER!”
It doesn’t matter how loud the yelling is, Yamamoto seems determined to make his way to the other man, who for some reason was reflexively crushed into a corner, trying to stay as far away from the madman as possible. There’s the slight dull look in Yamamoto’s eyes again this time and suddenly Squalo wasn’t going to take this lying down- standing up- whatever anymore. He squeezes an arm out about to throw a bottle of conditioner and chuck it at the glass-
“…”
However when a deft hand suddenly wraps around his cock, there’s really nothing Squalo can do but stand frozen in the shower as he decides that this all must be some crazy surrealistic dream-nightmare.
“Fuck.”
The water was making it really hard to see but even squinting Squalo could see the slight furrow in Yamamoto’s brow as he stares at his hand, slicked wet, as his fingers run along the shaft in one long stroke. Squalo’s hysterically convinced himself by now that Yamamoto thinks he’s polishing a door knob with the odd, concentrated way he focuses himself and the rough, firm way his hand was rubbing back and forth, back and forth…
When his breaths run shallow and Squalo really can’t move because Yamamoto is pressed up against him, chest to chest, head resting some point on his shoulder, his lips dole out very little noise. He tries hard not to startle the man who, literally, had him by the balls.
There’s nothing but the sound of the spray of water trickling around them and the rhythmic beating against his chest of Yamamoto’s heart as Squalo slowly loses his grip on vision and clutches the other man’s hair, hand rubbing the rough patch at the base of the neck. The fingers pause at the tip mid-stroke, a hitch stops the kid’s breathing before it passes, and he feels the gliding pressure against his cock start to move again, faster and harder.
The smooth press of tile against his back cools his heating skin while the soft, silent puffs against his shoulder grow shorter. Deep in his throat he growls into the other man’s ear at the unacceptable pace. Squalo squeezes his eyes shut and shoves Yamamoto closer against him as the quick twist of the kid’s wrist takes him by surprise and he comes with his head banged against the wall.
After Yamamoto steps back there’s a space between them filling up with swirling water, as calm and lucid as the guardian ever was, no longer in that blank state he started in. In his post-orgasmic haze Squalo wonders if this was all some manufactured ploy, that the universe was plaguing him for that one dream, one, he had about the brat after they dueled over ending his stupid baseball phase.
Yamamoto gets out first, leaving Squalo to struggle behind with turning off the water and grabbing a towel as his brain starts kicking into gear. When he comes out of the bathroom, he immediately asks the question that’d been brushed off too many times.
“What the hell was going on with you?”
“Oh, Tsuna texted me three days ago that the poison would run out in a week so I wouldn’t have to worry about passing out again.”
“Poison? What does poison have to do with anything?!” Why was talking to Yamamoto like squeezing a camel through the eye of a needle?
“The baby and that Lambo were fighting again, so I guess they were trying to hurt each other with my sushi? Anyway, I ate something Bianchi made and started sleeping in school and waking up in weird places. I had some hilarious dreams though!”
Suddenly Squalo feels the innate urge to hit his head against the wall. Everything about the Vongola defied human explanation, and suddenly he deeply understands Xanxus’ frustration with Reborn and the mafia if these irresponsible weirdoes were going to take over. The wrinkles between Squalo’s brows grow more and more pronounced as he clutches the towel around his waist in a parody of strangling someone else in the room.
A hand comes out and touches his arm. Squalo lifts his head up to see Yamamoto a foot away, eyes shining with the same thing as that time in the grocery store before things went insane.
“Haha, if you really hated it you would have shoved me away or gutted me.”
Squalo tries hard not to look at the clear, remorseless face, sure that if he stared Yamamoto directly in the eye he would gut him.
“Stop being so damn embarrassing.”
The next morning, Xanxus’ beef was still sitting, forgotten in Yamamoto’s refrigerator.
----------
Sooo that's the 3rd installment of 36 realms. I was super busy doing stuff this week and didn't finish the other one. I don't think I've ever written anything this fantastically out there...even in my Gintama fanfic. I think my brain was already broken when I wrote this XD I don't know what the hell I was thinking but I hope it was funny/the beginning was unexpected? Sorry about the bad porn thrown in there, I'm not really good at it and this is the second try I've had writing it ever >_<
Anyhow, till next week!
Set 4 here
Title: #26: Am I Hallucinating or is that a Dick in a Box?
Author: ember_alda
Rating: R
Characters: Yamamoto, Squalo,
Words: 4,014
Summary: Yamamoto starts having narcoleptic fits where he dreams about Squalo. When he occasionally meets him for real, he starts mixing dream and reality disastrously.
Previous Parts:
I-VI
VII-XI
Note: Some things if you didn't know- wagyu is a breed of beef cows particular to Japan, and Mishima is a type of wagyu.
----------
Am I Hallucinating or is that a Dick in a Box?
26. Yamamoto starts having narcoleptic fits where he dreams about Squalo. When he occasionally meets him for real, he starts mixing dream and reality disastrously.
----------
The disgust in Squalo’s eyes makes him want to sink to the ground and shrink away. The rain falls in grey mist around them on the baseball field, devoid of anyone but the two of them.
“Are you going to just fucking stand there? That thing you have isn’t just a decoration!”
Yamamoto can’t respond as another hit to his face scrapes his jaw, blood from a bitten tongue spilling all over his chin and down his neck, the burning pain ripping away his senses. He clenches his fist, trying to stop the flow with a thin sleeve before glancing across at the silver haired man who looks fed up with this game.
“Unsheathe your damned sword. I’m not going to wait until you decide, you had your chance.”
Yamamoto understands. This is serious, if he can’t make Squalo acknowledge him in this duel now, he’ll never be able to.
Hands ready, they both stare recklessly into each other’s eyes as they unzip their pants for battle.
…
“V-VOIIIIIIIII WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING KID?! ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!”
Yamamoto blinks, looking across at a suddenly indignant and horrified Squalo before his hand stills. His fly is open all the way and underwear already half slipped off, rain already drenching his pants and sliding them down over his half exposed cock.
“I thought we were going to duel?”
A small, panicking gleam inserts itself into Squalo’s eyes.
“WHAT KIND OF DUEL DO YOU THIK THIS IS?!”
Automatically, Yamamoto’s eyes glue themselves to Squalo’s crotch, which appeared to be completely covered and zipped tight. As soon as he sees the sword strapped to the other man’s arm, it clicks in.
“Ohhhh, haha. Sorry.” Hiking up his pants and underwear, Yamamoto grabs his fallen katana from the ground with his other hand, situating himself before swinging the blade out, pointed towards the other man like nothing was wrong and he hadn’t just started stripping in a muddy field after Squalo attacked him unawares.
Yamamoto couldn’t mess up now, not especially since Squalo came here looking for him. It was rare that he got to see the other man at all, this was serious.
“‘HAHA’? 'HAHA?!’ WHAT THE FUCK?”
There’s no time to recover, Squalo can only dumbly defend himself as Yamamoto cheerfully rushes towards him, blade steady and eyes focused on the fight.
When Yamamoto defeats him, Squalo absolutely refuses to believe that he legitimately lost.
-0-
He doesn’t know why but the silky smooth feeling rubbing against his nipples makes Yamamoto open his eyes. Across the horizon there’s a blotch, right across the sun. He tries to lift his hand up to block the glare, but against the smooth skin of his wrist, a vine, prickly with thorns, binds his arm down to the earth. Funny, he didn’t remember falling asleep in the grass, much less on at least twenty pounds worth of tea rose petals. He didn’t remember being naked, either, but then again he forgot about Lambo’s pork rind allergy so he guesses it’s not such a big deal.
The figure in the distance gets bigger and bigger, and from his supine place Yamamoto can only squint to see the lashing flames of a creature’s mane and a hand tightly holding a whip.
In the brilliant outline of a sun, a fan of long silver hair billows out on the jewel green horizon reveals a man set atop a flaming horse with a delicate, spiraled horn. He can’t see the other’s face but his breath shortens as Yamamoto cries out when he tries to get up, the thorns starting to prick into his leg as he wriggles his way out. He’s about to shout out to them to hurry up because the thorns are getting awfully uncomfortable, especially the ones poking against his bu-
“Wake up you fucking idiot! Mr. Oshida’s passing back out our tests.”
Smack dab in the idle of the classroom, awakened by a pissed off whisper and shove, Yamamoto blinks his eyes and nearly falls out of his chair, the bang of half his books clattering to the ground excessively loud in an attentive classroom.
Half the students turn around to look at him.
“Haha…just too excited about those test results!”
Another punch jabs him in his arm.
“Ow. Gokudera…you know you don’t have to punch me to wake me, right?”
“Learn not to sleep in class.”
Yamamoto scratches the back of his head, not feeling any need to lower his voice even though everyone else around them was silent.
“You’re probably right; maybe I’ll be naked less often in my dreams, then.”
Mr. Oshida gives the two of them detention for disrupting the class after Gokudera topples over his entire desk. Distantly, Yamamoto is disappointed he didn’t get to finish his dream. It seemed like it had been going somewhere.
-0-
“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”
Yamamoto tries not to blink as a swath of white hair is flipped directly into his eyes by Squalo whirling indignantly around. A finger points down to a lavishly spread meal of sushi set delicately on bamboo leaves.
“Sushi?”
The simple answer only garners deeper vees of frustration in Squalo’s brows as his mouth opens for a deafening shout down. “I didn’t ask for fucking sushi, this is pathetic is what it is.”
With another rage filled arm he sweeps a contingent of maki rolls to the floor. Yamamoto can’t help but feel disappointed in himself, these had be especially made for the swordsman and he didn’t want Squalo’s first experience with his sushi to be bad.
“I’m sorry. What can I do to help fix your meal, sir?” Yamamoto tries not to nervously fiddle with his handlebar mustache, but with the way the man was raging about he couldn’t help it.
“GET ME SOME DAMN WASABI, I’LL NEED IT TO EAT THROUGH THIS TRASH.”
When he comes back with a dish evenly filled with the green paste, Squalo snatches it from his hand. Yamamoto straightens his black bow-tie and apron, standing respectfully to the side with a napkin draped across his arm, ready to wait on his guest while Squalo sits at his meal.
Across from him another unconscious, horizontal Yamamoto, with two hand rolls on his chest and salmon sashimi across his legs, breathes softly while Squalo, with the tip of his sword, spreads a thick green line down his navel and slowly towards his cro-
Vigorous shaking makes the unagi roll oozing on his shirt drop onto the floor.
“...Can I help you?”
Tsuna’s big eyes stare back at him, looking vaguely concerned as he tries to analyze how his friend is doing.
“You fell asleep while me and Gokudera were talking. Your lunch got all over your shirt.”
A clueless blink later, Yamamoto takes in his surroundings at the cafeteria, and considering his non-naked, non-sushi table state, figures out he must be at lunch. He looks down at the mess he made of himself, sheepishly laughing at his own foolishness.
“Must be really tired.”
“I hope it isn’t because Lambo, Reborn and Bianca went over to your house yesterday and kept you up all night.”
“No, they just wanted to have some dinner, they didn’t stay very long. I told them I had a guest coming. They were pretty rowdy but that’s what made it fun.”
Tsuna highly doubted that random explosions, being eaten out of house and home, and poisoning attempts on all sides were all that much fun, but then again laid-back was the mildest description he could think of to describe Yamamoto.
“You should go home and get some rest later today.”
The other boy blinks at the concern. “I’ll sleep some more after school.”
-0-
The vibrating in his stomach jolted Yamamoto from his sleep. His hand quickly scrambled around in the sheets, pinpointing the location of his phone, which he flipped open as he got up, loudly yawning.
“Vooooooooii brat, you’re taking me to the goddamn store.”
He blinks a few times, lifting the phone away from his face while the decibel of Squalo’s voice heightened.
“Um, ok. Sure! Are we going somewhere specific?”
“Just get yourself down here I need this by tonight!”
Yamamoto rolls himself over on his bed, prying open the blinds covering his window to see and extremely irritated Squalo standing in the street with a phone pasted to the side of his face while he scowled so fiercely Yamamoto could tell from the second story.
“You’re a funny guy! I’ll be down in a sec.”
That is how he ended up spending the evening in the supermarket.
-0-
“Haha, why are we doing this again?”
Squalo doesn’t make a sound, he’s too busy not looking at Yamamoto and staring off into the meat section, quantifying all the cuts and grades and not thinking about how stupid and dorky it is for the younger man to be holding an awkward shopping basket on his arm. He didn’t even want to see the other rain guardian after that horrific mash-up of a fight, but Xanxus’ whims forced him into this hopefully short and half-painless (Squalo wasn't an optimist) shopping expedition.
“It’s carapaccio and I’m going to buy some wagyu so the stupid boss doesn’t destroy half of Japan if he’s disappointed so I’m doing you a favor because I AM NOT AN ERRAND BOY.”
Several older women and tiny children stop what they’re doing and stare at him. Yamamoto turns around and apologizes, smiling good naturedly saying that Squalo was just excited by being in the store for the first time, which seemed to work because everyone else went back to doing their business. Who the hell gets excited by going to the store?!
“Maa maa, it’s ok, I don’t mind helping you find a store and pick something out. It’s nice of you to get Xanxus a gift after he got released.”
“I’m not getting that shitty bastard a gift! He’s the one who threw a wine rack at me spewing about yesterday’s stupid dinner.”
Yamamoto pauses by the sirloin; Squalo has to abruptly halt his pace, about to ask what he as doing when the kid turns to look at him.
“I don’t really understand why you follow that guy, but it must have been hard when he was locked up again for three years. I’d miss Tsuna after a week and we’re best friends.”
Squalo opens his mouth, wanting to deny that strangely frank look in Yamamoto’s eyes, the sentiment in his words settling into his bones without an irritating sense of pity, and suddenly Squalo can’t say anything against him.
“I don’t know what the hell carapuchi is but I know how to pick out some good meat!”
The beaming smile on Yamamoto’s face is undeniable as he turns vigorously to inspect the cuts of wagyu at the open butchery. Stewing silently, trying to fight off the uncomfortable effects of the brat’s words, Squalo tries to distract himself by picking out random things.
“What about this one?”
“Mishima? That’s a good choice, you can’t really get it anywhere else.”
“No, the one next to it.”
The butcher takes one out to show them. Squalo, weighing it in his hand, tries to look like he knew what he was doing in judging it- he wasn’t going to lose to some fucking kid.
“Oh, that’s rare. Are you sure you know how to prepare beef testicles?”
A spark erupts in the swordsman’s eye as he looks down at Yamamoto, voice growling out in offense as he squeezes the balls in his hand. Was he judging his competency?
“I know how to prepare anything you throw at me.”
Yamamoto hails down the butcher again to take up the Mishima sirloin, admiring the marbling of the meat in his hand. “I don’t know, those are some pretty exotic pieces of beef you have. Are you sure you don’t want to try something more standard?”
He feels the press of glass against his back as Squalo pushes him into the display, one arm braced near Yamamoto’s head, beef in his hand as he bites into the raw flesh, eyes never leaving the younger man’s face.
“Don’t be boring, brat.”
Another tilt and their hips jut into each other, the cut of steak pressed between their abdomens coldly smearing across as Yamamoto rubs into the other man before their open mouths-
“STOP RUBBING AGAINST ME WE’RE IN PUBLIC WHY ARE YOUR EYES ALL GLASSY?!”
“Huh.” Yamamoto looks at the plastic wrapped package of wagyu in his hand, already shoved a good five feet away from a screaming Squalo who had by then, scared everyone else around them away.
“I guess this means you want the beef testicles?”
“WHAT?!” When had that ever come up?! One minute Yamamoto was perfectly fine, irritating and being his mushy clueless self, but fine, and then he’d stopped again in the middle of the display and dropped his basket. His eyes started blanking and he wasn’t responding to anything Squalo was saying and then he took up a chunk of meat and disturbingly rubbed it into Squalo’s abdomen! What kind of sickness made people do things like this?
“No? We should check out then. Oh look, ramun! Let’s buy some for the way back.”
He wasn’t worried, Squalo would never fucking worry because he was always in control so there was nothing to worry about, but this was pretty far out of the realm of his experience. It was understandable that he was shocked, right? Yamamoto happily skipping towards the checkout with his credit card and his beef like everything was ok was something Squalo didn’t have a solution to, all he could do was follow along and hope he could leave for the sanity of the Varia relatively soon.
-0-
Yamamoto’s pretty sure he’s awake but he can’t be one hundred percent certain.
“Then after you smeared the glitter on your chest I fucked you on that giant lobster statue in front of the Ginza mall.”
Ramun sprays onto Yamamoto in a shower mingled copiously with spit. His hair is sticky with the soda and his face is sticky and Squalo’s hair is sticky because the older man just poured the entire can in his hand onto his own chest.
“WEREN’T YOU YAPPING ON ABOUT BASEBALL OR SOMETHING WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!”
“Oh. Haha, I guess this means it’s real.”
“WHAT?!”
Yamamoto pats Squalo’s back good naturedly, gladly smiling because he’s pretty sure that the other swordsman is really there, now. This should be enjoyable, he doesn’t get to see Squalo often.
“Did you want to go to the park and feed the ducks?”
Before he can turn around a pair of hands clamp down hard on his shoulders, forcibly anchoring him in place as Squalo confronts him.
“What are all these weird sexually ambiguous comments? Why are you so fucking creepy?! I mean you unzipped your pants-” Squalo cuts himself off, that was one moment in time he never wanted to relive and no, he was not going to challenge Yamamoto to a duel until he knew that shit wasn’t ever going to happen again.
“Well you unzipped your pants too so I thought it was understood. Anyway, I don’t think ducks are a good idea, I’m kinda sticky. Who knew you could spray so far? Try to swallow it next time, or you’ll have to take another shower.”
His hands go numb. Apparently he’d unzipped his pants. Apparently it was perfectly normal for Yamamoto to make double entendres about soda and stickiness and swallowing. Apparently rubbing a cut of beef on Squalo’s abdomen in the middle of the fucking supermarket was completely acceptable. Apparently Squalo was going batshit insane and was oscillating on some strange, alternate universe where katana-brats made unsubtle come-ons that apparently never existed in the first place!
Yamamoto slips from his grip, perfectly unaware of the mental blender whirring in Squalo’s head about to explode.
“I’m bad at thinking of things we could do.” An idea brightly pops into his head. “Hey, maybe we should have a re-match?”
No. No fucking way. “VVVVVVOOOOOOOOOOOOIIIIIII WE ARE NOT HAVING ANOTHER REMATCH THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A REMATCH EVER BETWEEN US YOU WEIRD EXHIBITIONIST!”
Yamamoto never hears the hysterical tone rising in Squalo’s screaming, opting to instead, obliviously sling an arm around him, bringing them hip to hip as they walk.
“Haha, that’s ok. We can go to my house and you and I can clean up. That ramun is really uncomfortable, you know?”
Having Yamamoto’s crazy arm full of his craziness touching Squalo’s perfectly sane arm is most definitely more uncomfortable. The warm, expectant look in that pair of brown eyes freezes Squalo in his place, though. He can’t bring himself to say that out loud and it’s right then and there that he’s afraid for his life because maybe Yamamoto’s crazy naked innuendo disease has already started to form inside him.
Squalo has the sinking feeling that he’s been propositioned and there’s nothing he can do about it.
-0-
There’s nothing ever to do but think when in the shower, and Squalo was determinedly scrubbing at the syrup stuck in his hair trying to avoid that very thing. After he grabs the shampoo (generic, apple scented shit, how the hell did Yamamoto live using this stuff?) he vigorously massages the ends, concentrating on every individual hair. His roots were getting pretty dry, and was that the beginning of a split end?
Fuck! He can’t stop fucking thinking about those ridiculous comments ‘Who knew you could spray so far? Try to swallow it next time, or you’ll have to take another shower.’ and then when Yamamoto unzipped his pants, and that space out in the store. Weirdly enough Squalo’s...not worried because why the hell would he care about that dipshit, but- curious- about that glassy look in the kid’s eyes when he dropped his sword in the middle of a fight. Not just that time but random times and always resulting in the most insane scenarios he wouldn’t even tell Xanxus if he’d asked him, they were so freakishly weird and embarrassing.
What the hell was wrong with Yamamoto?
What the HELL was wrong with Yamamoto why was he walking in here?!
The bathroom door was still wedged open, steam curling out the crack in the door as the younger man comes in completely ignoring the fact that someone else was using the bathroom, naked, and about to NOT scream because Squalo wasn’t a girl even if this situation warranted shrieking.
The frosted glass from a fogged shower door slides aside when Yamamoto steps next to Squalo in an impromptu attempt at bathing while fully clothed.
“VOOOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! WHY ARE YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES ON, I MEAN- DON’T YOU HAVE ANY MANNERS BRAT I’M TRYING TO TAKE A SHOWER!”
It doesn’t matter how loud the yelling is, Yamamoto seems determined to make his way to the other man, who for some reason was reflexively crushed into a corner, trying to stay as far away from the madman as possible. There’s the slight dull look in Yamamoto’s eyes again this time and suddenly Squalo wasn’t going to take this lying down- standing up- whatever anymore. He squeezes an arm out about to throw a bottle of conditioner and chuck it at the glass-
“…”
However when a deft hand suddenly wraps around his cock, there’s really nothing Squalo can do but stand frozen in the shower as he decides that this all must be some crazy surrealistic dream-nightmare.
“Fuck.”
The water was making it really hard to see but even squinting Squalo could see the slight furrow in Yamamoto’s brow as he stares at his hand, slicked wet, as his fingers run along the shaft in one long stroke. Squalo’s hysterically convinced himself by now that Yamamoto thinks he’s polishing a door knob with the odd, concentrated way he focuses himself and the rough, firm way his hand was rubbing back and forth, back and forth…
When his breaths run shallow and Squalo really can’t move because Yamamoto is pressed up against him, chest to chest, head resting some point on his shoulder, his lips dole out very little noise. He tries hard not to startle the man who, literally, had him by the balls.
There’s nothing but the sound of the spray of water trickling around them and the rhythmic beating against his chest of Yamamoto’s heart as Squalo slowly loses his grip on vision and clutches the other man’s hair, hand rubbing the rough patch at the base of the neck. The fingers pause at the tip mid-stroke, a hitch stops the kid’s breathing before it passes, and he feels the gliding pressure against his cock start to move again, faster and harder.
The smooth press of tile against his back cools his heating skin while the soft, silent puffs against his shoulder grow shorter. Deep in his throat he growls into the other man’s ear at the unacceptable pace. Squalo squeezes his eyes shut and shoves Yamamoto closer against him as the quick twist of the kid’s wrist takes him by surprise and he comes with his head banged against the wall.
After Yamamoto steps back there’s a space between them filling up with swirling water, as calm and lucid as the guardian ever was, no longer in that blank state he started in. In his post-orgasmic haze Squalo wonders if this was all some manufactured ploy, that the universe was plaguing him for that one dream, one, he had about the brat after they dueled over ending his stupid baseball phase.
Yamamoto gets out first, leaving Squalo to struggle behind with turning off the water and grabbing a towel as his brain starts kicking into gear. When he comes out of the bathroom, he immediately asks the question that’d been brushed off too many times.
“What the hell was going on with you?”
“Oh, Tsuna texted me three days ago that the poison would run out in a week so I wouldn’t have to worry about passing out again.”
“Poison? What does poison have to do with anything?!” Why was talking to Yamamoto like squeezing a camel through the eye of a needle?
“The baby and that Lambo were fighting again, so I guess they were trying to hurt each other with my sushi? Anyway, I ate something Bianchi made and started sleeping in school and waking up in weird places. I had some hilarious dreams though!”
Suddenly Squalo feels the innate urge to hit his head against the wall. Everything about the Vongola defied human explanation, and suddenly he deeply understands Xanxus’ frustration with Reborn and the mafia if these irresponsible weirdoes were going to take over. The wrinkles between Squalo’s brows grow more and more pronounced as he clutches the towel around his waist in a parody of strangling someone else in the room.
A hand comes out and touches his arm. Squalo lifts his head up to see Yamamoto a foot away, eyes shining with the same thing as that time in the grocery store before things went insane.
“Haha, if you really hated it you would have shoved me away or gutted me.”
Squalo tries hard not to look at the clear, remorseless face, sure that if he stared Yamamoto directly in the eye he would gut him.
“Stop being so damn embarrassing.”
The next morning, Xanxus’ beef was still sitting, forgotten in Yamamoto’s refrigerator.
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Sooo that's the 3rd installment of 36 realms. I was super busy doing stuff this week and didn't finish the other one. I don't think I've ever written anything this fantastically out there...even in my Gintama fanfic. I think my brain was already broken when I wrote this XD I don't know what the hell I was thinking but I hope it was funny/the beginning was unexpected? Sorry about the bad porn thrown in there, I'm not really good at it and this is the second try I've had writing it ever >_<
Anyhow, till next week!
Set 4 here