four.
Author: sei_kou_ki
Rating: Teen
Series/Fandom: Hitman Reborn!
Characters/Pairings: Gokudera/Yamamoto
Warnings: mentions of sexing
Summary: The morning after.
Dedications: picnicbird
Gokudera wakes to a lanky arm wrapped around his chest, a bare body pulled close and snuggled -yes, snuggled-- up against him. He lightly scowls at the slow, warm breathes caressing the top of his ear, at the hand that entangles itself in his hair. Yet, he doesn't push away, doesn't move. Yamamoto's warmth is more comforting than he'd like to admit.
“Good morning,” whispers Yamamoto, planting a chaste kiss on the side of his partner's cheek. Gokudera makes a face, but yet again, refuses to take action. His arms are stuck-no, glued to his side; he can't move because the stupid baseball freak is confining him so goddamn much, confining him with goddamn hugs and kisses of all things.
“You sure wake up early,” retorts Gokudera dumbly after a moment, failing rather badly at the forced malice strewed in with his comment.
“Haha, so do you.”
“...Shut up.”
“Okay.”
Yamamoto hugs the smaller man closer, eyes lowered and lips curved up to a blissful smile. Through his healthy blush, Gokudera mutters, “How did it...-I mean, oi, does it hurt?”
At that, Yamamoto scrunches up his eyebrows, face suddenly reddening. “What hurts? You mean-when you-y'know.” The words stumble awkwardly out his mouth, and the memories from last night are quick to return. Gokudera's hands over his, Gokudera inside him, Gokudera moving, and-oh god. “When you put--...yeah.” For a second, his voice cracks.
“Don't strain yourself, baseball freak,” Gokudera huffs, and looks away-- a difficult feat, considering their proximity. Apparently, he remembers a few choice things about their time together, too.
“Oh, well,” Yamamoto shifts and breaks contact from the other man, staring at the ceiling in attempt to vent this new, raw type of mortification. He has lost a couple of fights, has walked out in public with out his pants on, has gone through a multitude of embarrassing things, but never this. Whatever this really was. “It's not... that bad anymore. You were really gentle, I think.”
Gokudera sits up, elbows propped up behind him, and stares incredulously down at Yamamoto's flushed form. “You think I was gentle? You just think, but you don't know!?”
That gets him a nervous laugh. “It aches only a little bit now, if that's what you're asking.”
“...Hmph.” With a sigh, Gokudera plops back down, hair a tangled mess. They both make a point not to touch this time.
A long, pregnant pause.
In an attempt to ease the atmosphere, Yamamoto amiably adds, “Thanks.”
“Don't thank me for that!” Gokudera hisses immediately, pale complexion quickly darkening to match Yamamoto's. “Don't thank me for-for anything! It's weird!”
“Huh?”
“I said-- ugh, never mind.” A melodramatic hand is placed over Gokudera's forehead, fingers harshly rubbing at throbbing temples. “You're so embarrassing.”
Another pause.
“But,” Yamamoto innocently insists, rolling on his side to gently smile at Gokdera's frowning self. “You were really good.”
“WHAT?!” Like an explosion, the bomb expert shoots up in a flurry of blankets and pillows. He's red all the way down to his torso.
“You were... really good, is all I'm saying.” Yamamoto chuckles at Gokudera's overreaction. What a fun guy! “You said a lot of nice sounding things.”
“Ugh.”
“And you were really hot.”
“Will you SHOVE it, baseball freak?!”
“And you made me feel really g--” A pillow smashes into the swordsman's face before he can finish his blatantly honest sentence.
“I said, SHUT UP,” seethes Gokudera, and his face is so hot that he swears he's steaming. “I'm gonna go use your shower. Which better be clean, by the way.”
“It is!” Yamamoto perks up, peeling the battered pillow off his already shining grin. “Are you hungry?”
“...maybe.”
“I can go make us breakfast then!” He stretches and yawns, muscles creaking and aching. Little, circular bruises mark their way on his scarred shoulders and on the insides of his thighs, something Gokudera wishes he didn't notice as Yamamoto makes his way totally, stark naked from the bed. “What do you want to eat?”
“Uh,” Gokudera focuses blankly on his hands, a pillow now conveniently placed over his crotch. “Not... that sushi shit, okay? Your dad cooks it alright, but no way in hell am I gonna eat yours.”
Unaffected by the insult to his cooking, Yamamoto laughs while he fetches his boxers. “Yeah, I'm not nearly as good as Dad or the girls, yet.”
Gokudera's attention splits as the other boy bends over. “...That's alright.”
“Oh!” Yamamoto exclaims as he realizes something important, underwear now safely on. It hangs low on his angular hips, the elastic worn and stretched beyond its limits. “Pancakes! You like pancakes, right? They have calcium.”
...really, really low on his angular hips. When did Gokudera leave a mark there--“... Er, sure, I'll eat that.”
“Cool!” Yamamoto stretches again, moving towards the door, notably half naked. “Tell me when you're done with the bath, okay? Dad and I have some laundry in there, haha.”
“Hey, uh, remember to wear an apron, okay?” Yamamoto gives him a bewildered look, one that Gokudera immediately takes offense to. “To protect you from any burns, you idiot! Sheesh.”
“Oh. Okay then.” With a bow and a laugh, Yamamoto exits the room. “I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
Gokudera shrugs from the bed. “Sure, whatever.”
And so Yamamoto closes the door behind him.
“...holy shit,” Gokudera mutters under his breath when Yamamoto is too far to be heard, fist clenched victoriously to his side. He, the Vongola Tenth's right hand man, was no longer a virgin. He had lost it magnificently to the up and coming master swordsman of the family--one not good enough to be as high in position as him, by the way. He had his underlings cooking breakfast for him. Cooking PANCAKES, and wearing aprons and--
He was a man now.
A man.
Awesome.
Rating: Teen
Series/Fandom: Hitman Reborn!
Characters/Pairings: Gokudera/Yamamoto
Warnings: mentions of sexing
Summary: The morning after.
Dedications: picnicbird
Gokudera wakes to a lanky arm wrapped around his chest, a bare body pulled close and snuggled -yes, snuggled-- up against him. He lightly scowls at the slow, warm breathes caressing the top of his ear, at the hand that entangles itself in his hair. Yet, he doesn't push away, doesn't move. Yamamoto's warmth is more comforting than he'd like to admit.
“Good morning,” whispers Yamamoto, planting a chaste kiss on the side of his partner's cheek. Gokudera makes a face, but yet again, refuses to take action. His arms are stuck-no, glued to his side; he can't move because the stupid baseball freak is confining him so goddamn much, confining him with goddamn hugs and kisses of all things.
“You sure wake up early,” retorts Gokudera dumbly after a moment, failing rather badly at the forced malice strewed in with his comment.
“Haha, so do you.”
“...Shut up.”
“Okay.”
Yamamoto hugs the smaller man closer, eyes lowered and lips curved up to a blissful smile. Through his healthy blush, Gokudera mutters, “How did it...-I mean, oi, does it hurt?”
At that, Yamamoto scrunches up his eyebrows, face suddenly reddening. “What hurts? You mean-when you-y'know.” The words stumble awkwardly out his mouth, and the memories from last night are quick to return. Gokudera's hands over his, Gokudera inside him, Gokudera moving, and-oh god. “When you put--...yeah.” For a second, his voice cracks.
“Don't strain yourself, baseball freak,” Gokudera huffs, and looks away-- a difficult feat, considering their proximity. Apparently, he remembers a few choice things about their time together, too.
“Oh, well,” Yamamoto shifts and breaks contact from the other man, staring at the ceiling in attempt to vent this new, raw type of mortification. He has lost a couple of fights, has walked out in public with out his pants on, has gone through a multitude of embarrassing things, but never this. Whatever this really was. “It's not... that bad anymore. You were really gentle, I think.”
Gokudera sits up, elbows propped up behind him, and stares incredulously down at Yamamoto's flushed form. “You think I was gentle? You just think, but you don't know!?”
That gets him a nervous laugh. “It aches only a little bit now, if that's what you're asking.”
“...Hmph.” With a sigh, Gokudera plops back down, hair a tangled mess. They both make a point not to touch this time.
A long, pregnant pause.
In an attempt to ease the atmosphere, Yamamoto amiably adds, “Thanks.”
“Don't thank me for that!” Gokudera hisses immediately, pale complexion quickly darkening to match Yamamoto's. “Don't thank me for-for anything! It's weird!”
“Huh?”
“I said-- ugh, never mind.” A melodramatic hand is placed over Gokudera's forehead, fingers harshly rubbing at throbbing temples. “You're so embarrassing.”
Another pause.
“But,” Yamamoto innocently insists, rolling on his side to gently smile at Gokdera's frowning self. “You were really good.”
“WHAT?!” Like an explosion, the bomb expert shoots up in a flurry of blankets and pillows. He's red all the way down to his torso.
“You were... really good, is all I'm saying.” Yamamoto chuckles at Gokudera's overreaction. What a fun guy! “You said a lot of nice sounding things.”
“Ugh.”
“And you were really hot.”
“Will you SHOVE it, baseball freak?!”
“And you made me feel really g--” A pillow smashes into the swordsman's face before he can finish his blatantly honest sentence.
“I said, SHUT UP,” seethes Gokudera, and his face is so hot that he swears he's steaming. “I'm gonna go use your shower. Which better be clean, by the way.”
“It is!” Yamamoto perks up, peeling the battered pillow off his already shining grin. “Are you hungry?”
“...maybe.”
“I can go make us breakfast then!” He stretches and yawns, muscles creaking and aching. Little, circular bruises mark their way on his scarred shoulders and on the insides of his thighs, something Gokudera wishes he didn't notice as Yamamoto makes his way totally, stark naked from the bed. “What do you want to eat?”
“Uh,” Gokudera focuses blankly on his hands, a pillow now conveniently placed over his crotch. “Not... that sushi shit, okay? Your dad cooks it alright, but no way in hell am I gonna eat yours.”
Unaffected by the insult to his cooking, Yamamoto laughs while he fetches his boxers. “Yeah, I'm not nearly as good as Dad or the girls, yet.”
Gokudera's attention splits as the other boy bends over. “...That's alright.”
“Oh!” Yamamoto exclaims as he realizes something important, underwear now safely on. It hangs low on his angular hips, the elastic worn and stretched beyond its limits. “Pancakes! You like pancakes, right? They have calcium.”
...really, really low on his angular hips. When did Gokudera leave a mark there--“... Er, sure, I'll eat that.”
“Cool!” Yamamoto stretches again, moving towards the door, notably half naked. “Tell me when you're done with the bath, okay? Dad and I have some laundry in there, haha.”
“Hey, uh, remember to wear an apron, okay?” Yamamoto gives him a bewildered look, one that Gokudera immediately takes offense to. “To protect you from any burns, you idiot! Sheesh.”
“Oh. Okay then.” With a bow and a laugh, Yamamoto exits the room. “I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
Gokudera shrugs from the bed. “Sure, whatever.”
And so Yamamoto closes the door behind him.
“...holy shit,” Gokudera mutters under his breath when Yamamoto is too far to be heard, fist clenched victoriously to his side. He, the Vongola Tenth's right hand man, was no longer a virgin. He had lost it magnificently to the up and coming master swordsman of the family--one not good enough to be as high in position as him, by the way. He had his underlings cooking breakfast for him. Cooking PANCAKES, and wearing aprons and--
He was a man now.
A man.
Awesome.