Fanfic: Silk
Title: Silk
Author: saying_sooth
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 585
Prompt: Yamamoto/Gokudera - "Undercover for a mission involves dressing in drag"
A/N: Urk, came out a little more sophisticated than ‘drag,’ but it does involve a crossdressing Gokudera.
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Yamamoto was captivated by the back of Gokudera’s neck, which, ghost white and delicate, was one of the few views not concealed by Gokudera’s kimono. The swordsman walked a set distance behind Gokudera, playing at being a bodyguard while his partner played at being a geisha. Yamamoto should’ve been paying attention to the people who talked and flirted around them, memorizing the faces of the principals at this distinguished party. Instead, he was distracted by the juxtaposition of silk and skin, wanting to know if Gokudera’s face - accented by charcoal eyebrows and blood red lips - was as enticing as the countenance his imagination readily supplied.
He could picture himself pushing Gokudera up against a wall, cornering him and making that expression turn to anger and to breathless anticipation. He would turn Gokudera and untie his obi slowly, tease him with kisses and promises of the things to come. The layers of silk would loosen, fall, and Yamamoto would slip his hand in without impediment.
That image was much too vivid - Yamamoto could feel his blood pulsing in his veins, and he tried to suppress the machinations of his mind. He thought of Gokudera’s withering glare, which was all Yamamoto would see if the Storm Guardian found out what had run through his imagination. A woman’s kimono would not make Gokudera docile, nor would makeup - or, for that matter, affection. Gokudera would smoke and curse and call Yamamoto an idiot until the day he died.
That made it all the more surprising that the beautiful, meek, soft-spoken geisha in front of him was his very own Gokudera. The original plan had been for Bianchi-san to go on this mission, but something had come up at the last second. (Yamamoto still didn’t know what that was, but maybe Bianchi-san had finally eloped with Reborn-san?) Gokudera had been the one to inform Yamamoto of the change of plans, coming into his room with a kimono and a sour look.
“I’m thin enough to pass as a woman,” he’d said with more than a touch of annoyance. “And this mission is crucial, so I don’t trust anyone else to carry it out. Stop gaping, idiot.” Then he’d gone back to his rooms, to apply his makeup and to put on his wig.
Now that Gokudera wasn’t going to chastise him for looking, Yamamoto found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away. What attracted him wasn’t Gokudera’s sudden meekness, or the way his bare skin was emphasized with everything that was covered up. Geisha were butterflies of the night - refined, beautiful, and untouchable. They were not prostitutes to be pawed at; they were treasures to be valued. Yamamoto had placed Gokudera on a pedestal like that long before this mission, but now Gokudera was dressed for the part. Now he made Yamamoto as tongue-tied as he’d ever been when they were teenagers, when his crush on Gokudera had been huge.
Yamamoto snapped back to attention as Gokudera threw a sudden look over his shoulder, his smile knowing. Yamamoto smiled back sheepishly, and then tried to look stern like a bodyguard should. He followed Gokudera through the party faithfully, doing his hardest to help with the mission. But Gokudera forgave him, when Yamamoto later confessed that he didn’t remember anything except for the curve of Gokudera’s spine and the ripple of silk.
When Yamamoto got up from bed the next day, it was the first and the last time he found lipstick stains marking his skin. He chuckled a bit before washing them away.
Author: saying_sooth
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 585
Prompt: Yamamoto/Gokudera - "Undercover for a mission involves dressing in drag"
A/N: Urk, came out a little more sophisticated than ‘drag,’ but it does involve a crossdressing Gokudera.
-----
Yamamoto was captivated by the back of Gokudera’s neck, which, ghost white and delicate, was one of the few views not concealed by Gokudera’s kimono. The swordsman walked a set distance behind Gokudera, playing at being a bodyguard while his partner played at being a geisha. Yamamoto should’ve been paying attention to the people who talked and flirted around them, memorizing the faces of the principals at this distinguished party. Instead, he was distracted by the juxtaposition of silk and skin, wanting to know if Gokudera’s face - accented by charcoal eyebrows and blood red lips - was as enticing as the countenance his imagination readily supplied.
He could picture himself pushing Gokudera up against a wall, cornering him and making that expression turn to anger and to breathless anticipation. He would turn Gokudera and untie his obi slowly, tease him with kisses and promises of the things to come. The layers of silk would loosen, fall, and Yamamoto would slip his hand in without impediment.
That image was much too vivid - Yamamoto could feel his blood pulsing in his veins, and he tried to suppress the machinations of his mind. He thought of Gokudera’s withering glare, which was all Yamamoto would see if the Storm Guardian found out what had run through his imagination. A woman’s kimono would not make Gokudera docile, nor would makeup - or, for that matter, affection. Gokudera would smoke and curse and call Yamamoto an idiot until the day he died.
That made it all the more surprising that the beautiful, meek, soft-spoken geisha in front of him was his very own Gokudera. The original plan had been for Bianchi-san to go on this mission, but something had come up at the last second. (Yamamoto still didn’t know what that was, but maybe Bianchi-san had finally eloped with Reborn-san?) Gokudera had been the one to inform Yamamoto of the change of plans, coming into his room with a kimono and a sour look.
“I’m thin enough to pass as a woman,” he’d said with more than a touch of annoyance. “And this mission is crucial, so I don’t trust anyone else to carry it out. Stop gaping, idiot.” Then he’d gone back to his rooms, to apply his makeup and to put on his wig.
Now that Gokudera wasn’t going to chastise him for looking, Yamamoto found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away. What attracted him wasn’t Gokudera’s sudden meekness, or the way his bare skin was emphasized with everything that was covered up. Geisha were butterflies of the night - refined, beautiful, and untouchable. They were not prostitutes to be pawed at; they were treasures to be valued. Yamamoto had placed Gokudera on a pedestal like that long before this mission, but now Gokudera was dressed for the part. Now he made Yamamoto as tongue-tied as he’d ever been when they were teenagers, when his crush on Gokudera had been huge.
Yamamoto snapped back to attention as Gokudera threw a sudden look over his shoulder, his smile knowing. Yamamoto smiled back sheepishly, and then tried to look stern like a bodyguard should. He followed Gokudera through the party faithfully, doing his hardest to help with the mission. But Gokudera forgave him, when Yamamoto later confessed that he didn’t remember anything except for the curve of Gokudera’s spine and the ripple of silk.
When Yamamoto got up from bed the next day, it was the first and the last time he found lipstick stains marking his skin. He chuckled a bit before washing them away.