Aubade [5927] [Reborn!]
Title :: Aubade
Pairing :: 5927
Rating :: PG-13
Warnings :: Spoilery for TYL arc.
Wordcount :: 1,661
Summary :: Things change, with the Millefiore.
Things change, with the Millefiore.
Mostly, it’s silent - Gokudera moving a cot into Tsuna’s quarters without a word, because now, he does not dare to be away from his boss’ side - but it’s all-encompassing and pervasive and makes Tsuna curl in on himself at night.
Yamamoto sleeps in the room next door, sword resting beneath his pillow, and still there is nothing that feels secure.
All of them sleep in their clothes.
It’s awkward, too. Gokudera keeps his silences in the morning, even when there are dark circles beneath his eyes as though he has only lain awake watching; even when Tsuna attempts to dress and ends up swearing hopelessly at his ties. And he can see the way Gokudera’s lips twitch from the mirror and his own resulting blush - but Tsuna does like the traces of amusement lacing through his voice when he eventually murmurs a Here, Tenth, let me; likes the softslow brush of Gokudera’s fingertips against his throat when he finally comes forward.
Mostly, he likes the way that he can see Gokudera behind him, arms not quite around his shoulders, and smiling a little into his hair.
And it doesn’t take long for the nightmares to begin. They herald the true awkwardness: Tsuna thrashing, jolting himself awake and knowing that his right-hand man is lying helplessly awake and watching; wondering whether he has woken him by crying out his name.
(Tsuna is too afraid to ask, too reluctant to relieve the horrors from his dreams, and knows Gokudera will not volunteer the information regardless. He supposes it’s probably better that way.)
And it does not take long, either, for him to fold.
“Gokudera-kun?” he whispers, untangling himself from his nest of sheets and moving to kneel beside Gokudera’s own bed. “I know you’re still awake, so if you don’t mind…”
Green eyes stare up at him in the dark, narrowed just a bit in confused concentration as if to hide their fear.
“Could I maybe stay here with you?”
Things change after that, too.
Gokudera learns quickly that this is now the only way his boss can properly rest - nestled in close against his side and lulled by the simple motion of his breathing - and that it is less about any sense of safety it may provide and more about simply knowing Gokudera is there. It makes him blush like a schoolboy all over again, but at least there in the dark Tsuna can’t see, and in any case, Gokudera’s face is buried into Tsuna’s hair.
(And if Tsuna can somehow tell, there is only the gentle curve of his smile against Gokudera’s neck, and so Gokudera assumes that he really must not mind.)
And as for Tsuna, he is painfully aware of how many protocols he must be breaking because he still cannot ever stop being silly; but he thinks that’s rather irrelevant, in the end.
Because this is what he has always fought for, after all:
Those little moments where they could be Tsuna and Gokudera instead of boss and right-hand man.
And even as things get progressively worse and worse outside, there are still small bits of comfort to be found here. Gokudera undoes Tsuna’s ties in the evenings without prompting, notes the way he is always so exhausted that his perpetually-gloved hands can do nothing but shake and fumble; takes those hands in his and presses featherlight kisses to their fingertips in hopes of steadying them.
Tsuna leans his head on his shoulder and sighs.
It builds slowly, from there: Tsuna never pulls away from the contact and always curls just a tiny bit closer, and seeing the way it makes his boss finally relax is encouragement enough for Gokudera. He does away with the tie one night, folds and sets it neatly aside as always; and then slowly, so slowly, works his fingers down the buttons on Tsuna’s shirt.
“Mmf?” Tsuna looks up at him, sleepily curious but not particularly seeming to mind, and Gokudera gives him a little smile.
“You can trust me, Tenth.”
And instantly Tsuna nods, allows Gokudera to move him to sit on the bed and kneel behind him; and then slender pianist fingers are on his bare shoulders, seeking out the plethora of knots that have accumulated and carefully kneading them all smooth.
Tsuna bites down on his lip to keep himself from whimpering.
He can feel the calluses on Gokudera’s fingers from years of dynamite and so long working with his C.A.I., can feel the strength in his hands even beyond their precision, and that is as much a reassurance as anything else.
Tsuna thinks, not for the first time, that he is proud.
And when they finally move to curl into one another and give in to sleep, Tsuna shifts to try and brush a delicate kiss to his forehead, breath caressing skin more than lips but the intent there all the same.
“Goodnight, Hayato,” he murmurs, voice heavy with exhaustion or affection or maybe something else that Gokudera can’t yet quite define, and his eyes close too quickly for him to see the expression flickering across Gokudera’s face.
Tsuna insists on returning the favour, and will not be dissuaded. (“I’ll sleep better if I know that you are too, Gokudera-kun, so just let me, all right?”)
His hands are still small, so much smaller than Gokudera’s own, and the material of the X-Gloves feels strange slipping over his skin; but he still cannot stop himself from shivering uncontrollably at the contact, and hears Tsuna laugh for the first time in days.
“I never knew you were so ticklish.”
Gokudera doesn’t even think to correct him. Instead, he opens his mouth intending to compliment the Tenth, tell him how talented he is, how kind for even bothering in the first place - and accidentally moans.
Tsuna’s hands falter, flutter; and there is a terse heartbeat before he laughs again, perhaps a little high and flustered but real.
“Oh, good; I was worried I was going to suck at this.”
“The Tenth could never-” he begins, but then Tsuna’s hands move just so, and he fails to choke back yet another strangled noise.
Tsuna buries his face in the back of Gokudera’s neck to stifle his giggles, and his cheeks are flaming against Gokudera’s skin, and neither one of them really cares.
It becomes a nightly ritual. Gokudera’s hands are careful and focused, not quite daring to touch any more of his Tenth’s skin than he thinks will be helpful, and hover mostly near his shoulders and neck. Tsuna’s hands wander, stroking and petting gently over old and new scars alike as though he wishes he could heal them with just his touch, knit him back together flawless and whole; and his quiet sighs make Gokudera feel far less awkward about his own noises made in answer.
It’s just the two of them, here.
“Where did you get this one?” Tsuna whispers, perched before him and leaning in close to run an oh-so-careful fingertip along a random scar on his collarbone.
Gokudera pauses, tries to think, tries to return his focus to anything else at all that is not his boss’ touch. “The Storm Battle,” he says finally, thickly, and before he can even cringe at the memories there is - something. A new sensation, one that catches him so shamefully off-guard that at first he does not even have any idea what it is.
And then he realises:
Tsuna’s lips are truly on his skin, a slow trail of kisses up and down and back again.
“I was so proud of you that day,” he says, words low and fervent and hot against that scar, a benediction that he needs to say almost as much as Gokudera needs to hear. “And you know that I still am, don’t you?”
Gokudera lowers his head, his own lips almost brushing Tsuna’s hair, and he shakes, and he shakes.
This becomes part of their ritual, too.
(And Gokudera imagines that Tsuna is mapping him out, purposely redrawing every line and scar with his own hands and lips and tongue, so that all the broken bits and pieces are now rearranged to read nothing more than Mine, mine, mine.)
Tsuna can’t decide whether or not any of this is strictly sexual - there’s still always enough space in between them that he cannot quite tell if Gokudera-kun is hard, and if his own hips occasionally jerk and twitch at Gokudera’s touch, then perhaps a ticklish spot is simply being moved over - and in the end he supposes that he doesn’t really care.
It’s not as though it could change things between them, either way.
He knows now is not the time - not the time for want, not the time for anything; not here, not in this world - but the look in Gokudera’s eyes still says yes and please and stay and yours, and when he looks at him the ache in Tsuna’s chest will not go away.
He wonders if it’s a sign of things to come and smothers his own answers against Gokudera’s skin, where he hopes they will be stifled and internalised all at once.
And the night before he goes to speak with the Millefiore, Tsuna arches up and kisses him fully on the mouth.
Gokudera goes painfully still and then jumps, nearly jerks away with the force of it, but Tsuna’s hands are gentle on the sides of his face, and he doesn’t let go.
“Shh, Hayato,” he breathes against his lips, pad of one thumb stroking slowly along his cheekbone and the other hand sliding up into his hair. “Just let yourself; it’s okay. It’s okay.”
And Gokudera’s arms finally curl around his waist and cling, and he does not allow himself to think that maybe this is goodbye.
The lie feels at least a little lighter, strung out and caught and shared between them, and Tsuna wishes that the chains of it could support him.
Pairing :: 5927
Rating :: PG-13
Warnings :: Spoilery for TYL arc.
Wordcount :: 1,661
Summary :: Things change, with the Millefiore.
Things change, with the Millefiore.
Mostly, it’s silent - Gokudera moving a cot into Tsuna’s quarters without a word, because now, he does not dare to be away from his boss’ side - but it’s all-encompassing and pervasive and makes Tsuna curl in on himself at night.
Yamamoto sleeps in the room next door, sword resting beneath his pillow, and still there is nothing that feels secure.
All of them sleep in their clothes.
It’s awkward, too. Gokudera keeps his silences in the morning, even when there are dark circles beneath his eyes as though he has only lain awake watching; even when Tsuna attempts to dress and ends up swearing hopelessly at his ties. And he can see the way Gokudera’s lips twitch from the mirror and his own resulting blush - but Tsuna does like the traces of amusement lacing through his voice when he eventually murmurs a Here, Tenth, let me; likes the softslow brush of Gokudera’s fingertips against his throat when he finally comes forward.
Mostly, he likes the way that he can see Gokudera behind him, arms not quite around his shoulders, and smiling a little into his hair.
And it doesn’t take long for the nightmares to begin. They herald the true awkwardness: Tsuna thrashing, jolting himself awake and knowing that his right-hand man is lying helplessly awake and watching; wondering whether he has woken him by crying out his name.
(Tsuna is too afraid to ask, too reluctant to relieve the horrors from his dreams, and knows Gokudera will not volunteer the information regardless. He supposes it’s probably better that way.)
And it does not take long, either, for him to fold.
“Gokudera-kun?” he whispers, untangling himself from his nest of sheets and moving to kneel beside Gokudera’s own bed. “I know you’re still awake, so if you don’t mind…”
Green eyes stare up at him in the dark, narrowed just a bit in confused concentration as if to hide their fear.
“Could I maybe stay here with you?”
Things change after that, too.
Gokudera learns quickly that this is now the only way his boss can properly rest - nestled in close against his side and lulled by the simple motion of his breathing - and that it is less about any sense of safety it may provide and more about simply knowing Gokudera is there. It makes him blush like a schoolboy all over again, but at least there in the dark Tsuna can’t see, and in any case, Gokudera’s face is buried into Tsuna’s hair.
(And if Tsuna can somehow tell, there is only the gentle curve of his smile against Gokudera’s neck, and so Gokudera assumes that he really must not mind.)
And as for Tsuna, he is painfully aware of how many protocols he must be breaking because he still cannot ever stop being silly; but he thinks that’s rather irrelevant, in the end.
Because this is what he has always fought for, after all:
Those little moments where they could be Tsuna and Gokudera instead of boss and right-hand man.
And even as things get progressively worse and worse outside, there are still small bits of comfort to be found here. Gokudera undoes Tsuna’s ties in the evenings without prompting, notes the way he is always so exhausted that his perpetually-gloved hands can do nothing but shake and fumble; takes those hands in his and presses featherlight kisses to their fingertips in hopes of steadying them.
Tsuna leans his head on his shoulder and sighs.
It builds slowly, from there: Tsuna never pulls away from the contact and always curls just a tiny bit closer, and seeing the way it makes his boss finally relax is encouragement enough for Gokudera. He does away with the tie one night, folds and sets it neatly aside as always; and then slowly, so slowly, works his fingers down the buttons on Tsuna’s shirt.
“Mmf?” Tsuna looks up at him, sleepily curious but not particularly seeming to mind, and Gokudera gives him a little smile.
“You can trust me, Tenth.”
And instantly Tsuna nods, allows Gokudera to move him to sit on the bed and kneel behind him; and then slender pianist fingers are on his bare shoulders, seeking out the plethora of knots that have accumulated and carefully kneading them all smooth.
Tsuna bites down on his lip to keep himself from whimpering.
He can feel the calluses on Gokudera’s fingers from years of dynamite and so long working with his C.A.I., can feel the strength in his hands even beyond their precision, and that is as much a reassurance as anything else.
Tsuna thinks, not for the first time, that he is proud.
And when they finally move to curl into one another and give in to sleep, Tsuna shifts to try and brush a delicate kiss to his forehead, breath caressing skin more than lips but the intent there all the same.
“Goodnight, Hayato,” he murmurs, voice heavy with exhaustion or affection or maybe something else that Gokudera can’t yet quite define, and his eyes close too quickly for him to see the expression flickering across Gokudera’s face.
Tsuna insists on returning the favour, and will not be dissuaded. (“I’ll sleep better if I know that you are too, Gokudera-kun, so just let me, all right?”)
His hands are still small, so much smaller than Gokudera’s own, and the material of the X-Gloves feels strange slipping over his skin; but he still cannot stop himself from shivering uncontrollably at the contact, and hears Tsuna laugh for the first time in days.
“I never knew you were so ticklish.”
Gokudera doesn’t even think to correct him. Instead, he opens his mouth intending to compliment the Tenth, tell him how talented he is, how kind for even bothering in the first place - and accidentally moans.
Tsuna’s hands falter, flutter; and there is a terse heartbeat before he laughs again, perhaps a little high and flustered but real.
“Oh, good; I was worried I was going to suck at this.”
“The Tenth could never-” he begins, but then Tsuna’s hands move just so, and he fails to choke back yet another strangled noise.
Tsuna buries his face in the back of Gokudera’s neck to stifle his giggles, and his cheeks are flaming against Gokudera’s skin, and neither one of them really cares.
It becomes a nightly ritual. Gokudera’s hands are careful and focused, not quite daring to touch any more of his Tenth’s skin than he thinks will be helpful, and hover mostly near his shoulders and neck. Tsuna’s hands wander, stroking and petting gently over old and new scars alike as though he wishes he could heal them with just his touch, knit him back together flawless and whole; and his quiet sighs make Gokudera feel far less awkward about his own noises made in answer.
It’s just the two of them, here.
“Where did you get this one?” Tsuna whispers, perched before him and leaning in close to run an oh-so-careful fingertip along a random scar on his collarbone.
Gokudera pauses, tries to think, tries to return his focus to anything else at all that is not his boss’ touch. “The Storm Battle,” he says finally, thickly, and before he can even cringe at the memories there is - something. A new sensation, one that catches him so shamefully off-guard that at first he does not even have any idea what it is.
And then he realises:
Tsuna’s lips are truly on his skin, a slow trail of kisses up and down and back again.
“I was so proud of you that day,” he says, words low and fervent and hot against that scar, a benediction that he needs to say almost as much as Gokudera needs to hear. “And you know that I still am, don’t you?”
Gokudera lowers his head, his own lips almost brushing Tsuna’s hair, and he shakes, and he shakes.
This becomes part of their ritual, too.
(And Gokudera imagines that Tsuna is mapping him out, purposely redrawing every line and scar with his own hands and lips and tongue, so that all the broken bits and pieces are now rearranged to read nothing more than Mine, mine, mine.)
Tsuna can’t decide whether or not any of this is strictly sexual - there’s still always enough space in between them that he cannot quite tell if Gokudera-kun is hard, and if his own hips occasionally jerk and twitch at Gokudera’s touch, then perhaps a ticklish spot is simply being moved over - and in the end he supposes that he doesn’t really care.
It’s not as though it could change things between them, either way.
He knows now is not the time - not the time for want, not the time for anything; not here, not in this world - but the look in Gokudera’s eyes still says yes and please and stay and yours, and when he looks at him the ache in Tsuna’s chest will not go away.
He wonders if it’s a sign of things to come and smothers his own answers against Gokudera’s skin, where he hopes they will be stifled and internalised all at once.
And the night before he goes to speak with the Millefiore, Tsuna arches up and kisses him fully on the mouth.
Gokudera goes painfully still and then jumps, nearly jerks away with the force of it, but Tsuna’s hands are gentle on the sides of his face, and he doesn’t let go.
“Shh, Hayato,” he breathes against his lips, pad of one thumb stroking slowly along his cheekbone and the other hand sliding up into his hair. “Just let yourself; it’s okay. It’s okay.”
And Gokudera’s arms finally curl around his waist and cling, and he does not allow himself to think that maybe this is goodbye.
The lie feels at least a little lighter, strung out and caught and shared between them, and Tsuna wishes that the chains of it could support him.