Give and Take
Title: Give and Take
Pairing: 8059
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Depictions of sex, language, kind of a PWP, college AU
Disclaimer: Amano Akira owns Katekyoushi Hitman Reborn and all of its characters. I gain no profit from writing about them.
AN: This is one plot bunny that morphed from something completely innocent into something utterly filthy, with the help of a KHR kinkmeme 2 prompt I spied and incorporated. It wouldn’t go away…so here it is, in all its vivid, uncompromising glory. Enjoy.
Loud music disrupts the quiet of the dorm’s living room. Gokudera is oblivious to the array of dirty looks his indiscreet headphones are attracting, intent on the mess of notes, textbooks, and notebooks splayed across the table he has commandeered. He has been working diligently on his schoolwork for well over an hour, as has Yamamoto, surprisingly enough.
Even more unexpectedly, Yamamoto has managed to keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself all day long! This has not gone unnoticed by Gokudera, who even now, throws a glance at his study partner in anticipation of the moment he breaks and tackles him to the elegantly tiled floor (it wouldn’t be the first time). When Yamamoto sees this glance, however, all he does is smile and continue to read his text.
Thoroughly paranoid, Gokudera removes his headphones and asks, “What are you plotting?”
Yamamoto looks up with as innocent an expression as ever, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why have you emulated a normal, sane college student all day, rather than being the retarded spaz you usually are?”
“Hahaha, Gokudera is so mean. I’m not retarded,” he laughs. Unconvinced, Gokudera glares at him until he attempts to explain himself. “I don’t know…I guess I’ve just been thinking.”
“Thinking,” he deadpans. “Tch. If only you thought more often.”
“Haha, so mean.”
“Well?”
“What?”
“What’s so engaging that you’ve been thinking about it all day?”
“Different stuff…like how long it’s been since I practiced Shigure Souen…” he admits with a hopeful look.
“Yeah? That’s funny, ‘cause I’ve been thinking I’d like to try my latest prototype against a close-range fighter.” He mostly sounds thoughtful, but Yamamoto knows a threat when he hears it (he’s seen Gokudera’s “prototypes”). Apparently Gokudera is in no mood for indulging Yamamoto’s whims.
“Ah, come on, Gokudera! You never spar with me anymore,” he pouts.
“Who has time for sparring with idiots?”
“I’m sure Squalo-san wouldn’t mind-”
“That’s because long-hair is also an idiot,” Gokudera snaps, suddenly annoyed. “Besides, there’s no way that freak would be a match for one of the Tenth’s guardians.”
“You think so? Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s-”
“Probably fall over ten minutes into it, the weak old geezer,” he grumbles.
Detecting a definite undertone of jealousy, Yamamoto turns the conversation towards himself in a ploy to extract one of Gokudera’s ultra-rare compliments. “Wow, I didn’t know you thought so highly of me, Gokudera.”
“You wish, baseball freak! You still have a ways to go before you get anywhere near my level.”
“Haha, but I definitely beat you a couple of times.”
“Like hell! That was just me being nice.”
Yamamoto loves him like this, passionate and unwavering like the drive of a hurricane. Loves to face it just to see if he’ll come out the other side in once piece. And he’ll do everything he can to get to that rush.
“Nice, huh? Are you sure? Because I thought one of those was when Tsuna wanted to see whether my sword or your bombs were more suited-”
Gokudera’s eyes narrow, his fists clench, and Yamamoto stops talking in preparation for a blow that never lands. Rather than hurt him, it seems Gokudera is more in the mood to use him. He grabs Yamamoto’s shirt and yanks him forward, biting his bottom lip in reproach before kissing him with all the fervor of a dying man. Yamamoto falls right into it, mentally thanking Gokudera’s organic chemistry teacher for rescheduling their next exam two weeks early and putting enough stress on his boyfriend to require a little relief in its simplest form.
Yamamoto is more than happy to oblige.
While he would love nothing more than to make out with Gokudera on the couch for hours on end, this isn’t exactly the place. He hears someone from across the room clear their throat rather loudly and pulls back just enough to whisper a suggestion.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
Gokudera stands, dragging Yamamoto by the shirt in response.
They burst into their shared room, all hands and mouths and heavy breaths. Yamamoto smirks a distinct challenge when they separate and hastily deposit bags, shoes, and hoodies around the room.
“You won’t make it five minutes,” Gokudera growls.
“Wanna bet?” Grabs Gokudera’s shirt front and slips black buttons from their little holes. “I’m sure I could last longer than you.”
“Hah! What do you have that I could possibly want?” Unbuckles Yamamoto’s belt and yanks it out, flings it onto the floor.
“Hmm…” His face is a mockery of thoughtfulness as he tugs Gokudera’s over- and under-shirt off of him. “How about…” Begins trailing hot kisses down his neck, causing Gokudera trouble with removing his own shirt. “I’ll give you a blowjob every day for a week.”
Gokudera finally gets the shirt off just as his silly excuse of a boyfriend drops to his knees before him, unbuttoning his pants and playfully nuzzling his nose against bare belly. His offer is far too tempting.
“And if you do manage to outlast me?”
“Mm. The same thing?”
Giving head isn’t his favorite thing to do-even though having such total control is always a thrill-but he really doesn’t think Yamamoto can do it. Plus, said idiot’s hands are currently pulling his pants past his knees, warm breath close to a certain area that makes it difficult to think as clearly as he would like.
“You’re on.”
Snatching a necktie, conveniently hanging from his lamp, Gokudera yanks Yamamoto from his kneel and pushes him onto the bottom bunk of their beds, straddling his lap and lifting his arms up to tie his wrists to the bar beneath the top bunk. Yamamoto knows better than to protest these little kinks, even if he doesn’t like them. Fortunately for him, he likes them quite a lot. He lifts his hips to allow his pants and boxers to be pulled off, and before his heart can even begin to slow down, Gokudera is mouthing his length, taking him in and sucking fiercely, tongue swirling fast-slow-fast and sharp teeth hinting an exhilarating threat.
“Ahn! Gokudera…so fast…” He is panting already. Cool fingers and cooler rings press into his hips and hold him still. Gripping the bar his wrists are knotted to, he rests his head against the wall and watches his lover work through half-lidded eyes.
Not even two minutes pass before Yamamoto is groaning, begging Gokudera to stop before they have even properly begun. This is a bet, however, and Yamamoto is nothing if not serious when it comes to challenges. If he is to outlast Gokudera with absolutely no control over the situation, he will really have to push his limits. The kind of limits that he just came alarmingly close to reaching.
Luckily, Gokudera takes pity (or gets bored) and releases him with a final lick to the sensitive head. He kicks out of his pants and underwear, pulls out one of their handy bottles of lube and perches on tanned thighs, smirking all the while.
“Already about to lose it, huh? What does that say for this amazing stamina you’re so eager to brag about?”
“What can I say?” he smirks right back, “You’re just damn good at sucking me off.”
Nipping an ear as punishment for talking back, Gokudera gets right on the task of working himself open. It’s the kind that warms and tingles, the kind he demanded Yamamoto buy, so it doesn’t take too long before he’s ready to go. Once again, lucky for Yamamoto, who enjoys the sight of turned-on Mafioso preparing himself in his lap just a little too much.
“Are you ready for this?” he murmurs, slick hand coating Yamamoto with a practiced flourish.
“Yeah,” he breathes. Leans forward for a kiss as Gokudera shifts into position and slowly settles himself onto Yamamoto’s cock. Fists tighten on the bar and teeth grit against the pleasure. As he slides in, Gokudera’s tongue slithers its way between his lips.
When they first started doing this, it would only have taken two. Two times with Gokudera’s lean body arching up, one hand braced on the wall and the other clenched in the metal springs above, eyes shut tight and kiss-red mouth hanging open on a groan. As it is, Yamamoto has to maintain a degree of focus akin to that of battle just to keep up with his immediately fast, erratic pace. Gokudera slams himself down, pulls up, then back down again and again. Yamamoto’s entire body tenses as he concentrates on delaying his orgasm.
Gokudera laughs, a low, breathy sound. “I knew you were all talk.” Tilts his head back to give Yamamoto one of his favorite views: his exposed throat, sweat-beaded and just waiting to be sucked and bitten. “This won’t take long at all.” Yamamoto groans and leans forward to mark that pale column, but Gokudera pushes him back, knocking his head against the wall. “I don’t think so. This is my game, remember?”
“Fuck, if you’re not the biggest tease sometimes,” Yamamoto laughs breathily.
Yamamoto’s thoughts begin to muddle and scatter, feeling the pulse of Gokudera’s body squeezing around him with each upward stroke. He likes to do that purposely to make Yamamoto snap, flip him over and hammer into him like it’s their last time together, just the way Gokudera loves it. He feels his body ache to do just that and mentally scowls at the tie preventing any such idea.
“Nn!” A particularly fierce squeeze almost ends the whole thing, and his eyes snap open to see a knowing smirk.
“Come on,” Gokudera mutters seductively, a tone that never fails to set him on fire. “You know you want it. Come for me, Takeshi.”
The sound of his given name from that proud, stubborn mouth makes his straining muscles begin to tremble. At this point, he would love nothing more than to let go, but there is much more at stake than his own pride or a week of seeing brilliant green eyes looking up from between his legs. Yamamoto wants to prove, in a way that Gokudera can acknowledge, that he will always be willing to put Gokudera’s pleasure before his own. It is something his Italian genius might not get, but it is a gesture that would speak volumes nonetheless.
“Hayato…nnh…” He longs to grip those smooth hips, kiss those full lips, come in that tight body, but he has to wait. Has to see those gleaming teeth bite into that perfect lip, hear that amazing voice call out his name in his most intimate moment, see him scrunch that perfect brow in utter abandon, before he can give in.
Gokudera shifts forward a bit, readjusts his position, and when he falls he jerks and shouts something wordless. Yamamoto grins at that, appreciating, not for the first time, how easy it is to set Gokudera off once he finds his spot.
His body shaking, Gokudera redoubles his efforts. He puts on that determined expression, tainted with the stain of lust, and clenches his jaw as he struggles to keep it together.
“Damn you…tenacious idiot,” Gokudera pants.
He can tell Gokudera wants to slow his pace but he refuses to admit any weakness. Instead, he speeds up, sweat falling in occasional rivulets down his torso as he works. Yamamoto snaps his hips up with each downward thrust, biting his own lip and clenching sore fingers ever tighter on the bar. It will be soon, he thinks, and it will be close.
“Fuck-Fuck! Nnngh…fuck, Takeshi!” Gokudera shouts, blazing green locked onto molten gold as he comes harder than he has in who-knows-when.
“Hayato,” Yamamoto groans, feeling his tension leave him in one quick, extremely pleasant rush. His hips twitch forward with the aftershocks and his eyes slip contentedly closed.
Gokudera reaches up to pull the loop that unravels the entire knot and frees his dazed lover. He then promptly collapses onto his chest, messy stomach and all. Yamamoto’s pleased laughter tickles his ear.
“Looks like I won,” he says with a satisfied grin.
“Yeah, well…” Yamamoto can’t make out everything he mutters, but the phrase, “Stupid sexy bastard,” comes out clearly enough.
After a dizzy moment of slowing breaths, Gokudera makes a sound of disbelief and gives him a skeptical look, one sharp silver eyebrow a high arch.
“You’re still hard.”
“Hahaha, so I am,” Yamamoto grins. “You’re just that damn good, baby.”
Gokudera blanches at the nickname and smacks him. “Shut the fuck up.”
But all Yamamoto sees is the blush he tries to repress. “Guess this means we’re going again?”
“You guess wrong,” Gokudera snipes, immediately moving to get off his warm lap. Even in the best of moods, sexually sated and on the best of terms with his closest friend, he refuses to give up the slightest bit of control. But this is also one of the ways they complement each other, because Yamamoto can always take enough of the power without taking too much.
“‘I don’t think so,’” he murmurs, wrapping arms securely around a slim waist. Before Gokudera can complain or fight back, he is flipped onto his back in one smooth motion, Yamamoto still buried securely and smirking wickedly. “‘This is my game, remember?’”
He would retort with the clever comeback that readily deserves, but Yamamoto is attacking his neck with all the enthusiasm of a ravenous panther and Gokudera loses all of his feigned ire in one surprised moan. This is all the confirmation Yamamoto needs to continue his assault, moving down the fragrant line of his throat, dancing around sensitive nipples, and tracing sides with reverent fingertips as he starts a slow, passionate pace with his hips.
Here is the intimacy Gokudera equally fears and desires; the love Yamamoto gives wholly and unconditionally is most obvious in these moments when he claims the control for himself. It is always more intense than he wants to handle, more intense than he used to be able to handle. It had once been a source of conflict between them, but it has long since become one of their favorite pastimes.
“God, you’re gorgeous!”
Yamamoto keeps it steady, even when the wet feeling of his come in the man he loves makes it so hard to hold back. It brings out a possessive side to himself that he rarely experiences anymore. Not since he’d finally heard Gokudera’s feelings in that phrase Yamamoto probably uses far too much. He dips his head and whispers it into his ear, “I love you so much, Hayato.” His hands, splayed under the points of wing bones, feeling the muscles relax as Gokudera relinquishes the last of his hesitation.
“Takeshi,” he moans, wanton but still stubbornly aggressive. He digs his nails into Yamamoto’s shoulders and snaps his head up to bite and pull his lip.
“Nn.” Somewhere between a growl and a purr, Yamamoto makes one of those sounds that burns Gokudera like the sweetest flame.
Slowly, achingly, until it’s finally too much, and Yamamoto stills, tense and shuddering, face buried in sweaty silver hair. Gokudera jerks his hand once, twice and he groans, long and low.
“Hayato…” he whispers, a soft, familiar lullaby.