Confirmation [December 4th] [802759] [Reborn!]
Title :: Confirmation
Prompt :: December 4th, “making love in the temple” [31_days]
Pairing :: 802759
Rating :: R
Warnings :: Allusions to spoilers for TYL arc; literal interpretation of prompt.
Wordcount :: 700
Summary :: He isn’t quite sure what the point of this is - a visible reminder that they’ve won, a show of defiance, a show of faith - but in the end he knows it doesn’t really matter, that that really isn’t the point, and only breathes out a soft sigh of something like contentedness.
There is nothing, now, to mark that date, that future.
The scar on Yamamoto’s chin is gone, was never made; and yet sometimes Tsuna’s fingertips will still trace it anyway, fleeting touches across unmarred skin.
Gokudera has blown up all the calendars in their base, reeking even more strongly of ash as he clings close to Tsuna’s right side. (Not quite close enough to touch, as though he is still somehow afraid; but Tsuna reaches out for them both, wraps gloved hands around his and squeezes tight.)
They don’t need them, to remember.
And they do not need the calendars to know when that day approaches. Gokudera hovers around Tsuna like a shield, eyes narrowed and flashing both fear and fire; and even now there is a part of Tsuna that almost wants to protest, wants to shake his head and say No, Gokudera-kun; I want you to be safe, I want -
Instead, he smiles shakily up at his right-hand man, keeps himself still and breathes in the scent of him; tells himself, You’re all going to be safe now.
Yamamoto slides in, warm callused hands holding on to them both, and amidst all of his gratitude there is no room for second thoughts.
It is Yamamoto, too, who leads them both away when that night falls. There are no words, and Tsuna follows him without question, his hand in Yamamoto’s and Gokudera’s hand in his.
And when they approach a church, none of them need to ask.
Gokudera immediately stiffens, bristles, clutches at Tsuna’s hand as if begging him to turn back, to not let them go inside; and Tsuna only shakes his head, gaze still trained forward.
Things are different, now.
They slip through the doors, all at once and shoulder to shoulder with Tsuna in between, and the incense is suddenly both cloying and heady. Tsuna gasps it in regardless, ignoring the slight dizziness he can feel creeping around his temples, and allows Yamamoto to lead them forward towards the altar.
He isn’t quite sure what the point of this is - a visible reminder that they’ve won, a show of defiance, a show of faith - but in the end he knows it doesn’t really matter, that that really isn’t the point, and only breathes out a soft sigh of something like contentedness.
(He’s not sure that they believe in anything beyond each other, anymore.)
They stand, waiting and watching and flaunting that victory they know that they’ve already won, and Tsuna lifts their conjoined hands, presses kisses to their fingers in both comfort and thanks. And it is then that Yamamoto moves, swinging them around and using his free hand to press Tsuna back against the altar, to tilt his chin gently upwards before covering his mouth with his.
There’s a sharp inhalation from Gokudera before Yamamoto pulls away and Tsuna pulls Gokudera in, loosening the hold on his hand to thread his fingers into his hair instead, and Gokudera needs no more prompting than that. His mouth is as feverish and desperate as Tsuna is gentle, stroking at Gokudera's hair as if to say, Shh, I’m here, I’m here; and Tsuna doesn’t even mind the way his back scrapes harshly against the altar’s wood.
Yamamoto’s mouth has moved to his neck, attached to his pulse and tracing it with his tongue, and Tsuna arches into both their hands, lets those hands shed clothes and seek out skin.
It’s quiet, but the silence of the church is not pervasive - Tsuna can still hear the rustling of cloth, the hisses and guttural exhalations of breath when he moves just so, the way his own breathing hitches and comes hard and fast even as he tries to muffle it against their skin.
And finally, finally, he cries out their names, like an affirmation, like a promise; and they follow in kind, wrapped so closely around him that he cannot tell where any of them end and the others begin.
This, he realises, was what they were missing before - and as Yamamoto drapes himself comfortingly over him while slowly weaving fingers into his sweaty hair and Gokudera brushes kisses over his already-bruised lips, Tsuna knows that he’s come home.
Prompt :: December 4th, “making love in the temple” [31_days]
Pairing :: 802759
Rating :: R
Warnings :: Allusions to spoilers for TYL arc; literal interpretation of prompt.
Wordcount :: 700
Summary :: He isn’t quite sure what the point of this is - a visible reminder that they’ve won, a show of defiance, a show of faith - but in the end he knows it doesn’t really matter, that that really isn’t the point, and only breathes out a soft sigh of something like contentedness.
There is nothing, now, to mark that date, that future.
The scar on Yamamoto’s chin is gone, was never made; and yet sometimes Tsuna’s fingertips will still trace it anyway, fleeting touches across unmarred skin.
Gokudera has blown up all the calendars in their base, reeking even more strongly of ash as he clings close to Tsuna’s right side. (Not quite close enough to touch, as though he is still somehow afraid; but Tsuna reaches out for them both, wraps gloved hands around his and squeezes tight.)
They don’t need them, to remember.
And they do not need the calendars to know when that day approaches. Gokudera hovers around Tsuna like a shield, eyes narrowed and flashing both fear and fire; and even now there is a part of Tsuna that almost wants to protest, wants to shake his head and say No, Gokudera-kun; I want you to be safe, I want -
Instead, he smiles shakily up at his right-hand man, keeps himself still and breathes in the scent of him; tells himself, You’re all going to be safe now.
Yamamoto slides in, warm callused hands holding on to them both, and amidst all of his gratitude there is no room for second thoughts.
It is Yamamoto, too, who leads them both away when that night falls. There are no words, and Tsuna follows him without question, his hand in Yamamoto’s and Gokudera’s hand in his.
And when they approach a church, none of them need to ask.
Gokudera immediately stiffens, bristles, clutches at Tsuna’s hand as if begging him to turn back, to not let them go inside; and Tsuna only shakes his head, gaze still trained forward.
Things are different, now.
They slip through the doors, all at once and shoulder to shoulder with Tsuna in between, and the incense is suddenly both cloying and heady. Tsuna gasps it in regardless, ignoring the slight dizziness he can feel creeping around his temples, and allows Yamamoto to lead them forward towards the altar.
He isn’t quite sure what the point of this is - a visible reminder that they’ve won, a show of defiance, a show of faith - but in the end he knows it doesn’t really matter, that that really isn’t the point, and only breathes out a soft sigh of something like contentedness.
(He’s not sure that they believe in anything beyond each other, anymore.)
They stand, waiting and watching and flaunting that victory they know that they’ve already won, and Tsuna lifts their conjoined hands, presses kisses to their fingers in both comfort and thanks. And it is then that Yamamoto moves, swinging them around and using his free hand to press Tsuna back against the altar, to tilt his chin gently upwards before covering his mouth with his.
There’s a sharp inhalation from Gokudera before Yamamoto pulls away and Tsuna pulls Gokudera in, loosening the hold on his hand to thread his fingers into his hair instead, and Gokudera needs no more prompting than that. His mouth is as feverish and desperate as Tsuna is gentle, stroking at Gokudera's hair as if to say, Shh, I’m here, I’m here; and Tsuna doesn’t even mind the way his back scrapes harshly against the altar’s wood.
Yamamoto’s mouth has moved to his neck, attached to his pulse and tracing it with his tongue, and Tsuna arches into both their hands, lets those hands shed clothes and seek out skin.
It’s quiet, but the silence of the church is not pervasive - Tsuna can still hear the rustling of cloth, the hisses and guttural exhalations of breath when he moves just so, the way his own breathing hitches and comes hard and fast even as he tries to muffle it against their skin.
And finally, finally, he cries out their names, like an affirmation, like a promise; and they follow in kind, wrapped so closely around him that he cannot tell where any of them end and the others begin.
This, he realises, was what they were missing before - and as Yamamoto drapes himself comfortingly over him while slowly weaving fingers into his sweaty hair and Gokudera brushes kisses over his already-bruised lips, Tsuna knows that he’s come home.