[fic] Wine
Title: Wine
Pairing: 8059/5980
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: underage drinking and sex
Prompt: 5drunkfics Confessions; khrfest III-10. Yamamoto/Gokudera - confessions; "so you can take on an army but chicken out when it comes to confessing your love?"
Word Count: 2,500~
Summary: Yamamoto had promised himself that he would tell Gokudera about his feelings on his birthday, and despite his fear of rejection, he knew that he needed to come clean.
A/N: I’m finally finished with my 5drunkfics card! \o/ If you need a refresher, or you’re new to the series, you can check the other fics/chapters out here:
1. Punch (PG)
2. Vodka (PG-13)
3. Sake (NC-17)
4. Beer (PG-13)
The day of reckoning had finally come. He’d had a month and a half to prepare for this, plenty of time to psych himself up and do enough image training to make him a star at Spring Koushien, but Yamamoto was still not sure if he was quite ready to take the plunge. Nevertheless, he had promised himself that he would tell Gokudera about his feelings on his birthday, and despite his fear of rejection, he knew that he needed to come clean. After his epiphany in Sasagawa’s kitchen, it was as if he was living in Technicolor. Everything seemed brighter, clearer, warmer-all because he was in love. He was in love with Gokudera, and he couldn’t have felt more ridiculous. His tongue stumbled over words, his face burned scarlet, his heart did cartwheels in his chest, and if Gokudera had suspected he was an idiot before, he must have no doubts now.
Which was why Yamamoto needed to come clean with Gokudera. He was sure that once he got everything out into the open, he’d be able to get past this awkward, schoolgirl-ish phase-whether with Gokudera or without him. Yamamoto prayed to whatever gods who might be listening that Gokudera would reciprocate his feelings, but it was just as likely, if not more, that he’d be left to pick up the pieces of his heart alone. Rejected.
He pushed that possibility from his mind because negative thoughts could affect even the most seasoned sportsman’s performance. Instead, as he zipped up his slacks and straightened his shirt collar in the mirror, he imagined what it would feel like to kiss Gokudera while sober. Then he bounded down the stairs, calling out a greeting to his father at the bottom.
“Ah, there’s the birthday boy! Your friends are already here, Takeshi,” his father said, nodding towards the table where Tsuna, Bianchi, the little ones, Reborn, and of course, Gokudera sat. Everyone wished him well with bright smiles except Gokudera, who mumbled, “Happy birthday, moron,” while avoiding his eyes. Yamamoto’s heart was playing hopscotch in his chest, but he just plastered a grin on his face and thanked everyone for coming.
Tsuna pressed an envelope into his hands. “It’s a gift certificate to that sports store downtown.”
“Thanks, Tsuna!” Yamamoto replied, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders.
Then Bianchi turned to him. “Yamamoto Takeshi.” She drawled, staring him down. “I made you a cake, but Hayato fainted on top of it.” Gokudera scowled, and Yamamoto had to fight down the butterflies in his stomach.
“That’s okay, haha! It’s the thought that counts, right?”
Gokudera muttered something about giving his gift later, so Reborn took the opportunity to reveal his offering: a bottle of Chianti.
“Direct from Italy,” the Arcobaleno explained. “I hope Yamamoto-san doesn’t mind?”
“Not at all! One glass shouldn’t hurt anyone. Besides, a special occasion like this should be celebrated properly,” Yamamoto Tsuyoshi said, setting a platter of sushi on the table. “I can’t believe my little Takeshi is all grown up. Eighteen!” He wiped a tear from his eye while Yamamoto laughed in mock embarrassment.
They chatted for a while, everyone except Gokudera, who spent the time glaring at the table, enthusiastically supporting everything Tsuna said, guzzling wine, and sneaking surreptitious glances at Yamamoto from the corner of his eye-although that could have just been Yamamoto’s overactive imagination playing tricks on him. With each sip of wine that disappeared down Gokudera’s throat, Yamamoto’s hopes for the evening withered. He resigned himself to spending the next couple of hours watching Gokudera get drunk and wondering when he would get up the nerve again to actually talk to Gokudera about how he felt.
That was, of course, until Gokudera keeled over backwards in his seat with a gurgling shout. Bianchi feigned ignorance, but the fumes trailing from Gokudera’s navel told a different story.
“Put him in your room, Takeshi,” Yamamoto’s father said. “Sleep is always a good remedy for an upset stomach.”
The rest of the evening dragged on for Yamamoto after he had tucked Gokudera under his covers and came back downstairs. Although he felt bad for not paying Tsuna or the little guy as much attention, his mind kept wandering back to Gokudera, sweating and shivering in his bed. When the time came for everyone, yawning and happy, to leave, Yamamoto was grateful for the reprieve. His father shooed him upstairs with a smile and a promise to take care of cleanup on his own.
Inside his room, Yamamoto found Gokudera in an uneasy sleep, nose wrinkled and fingers clutching the sheet covering his stomach. As quietly as possible, he cleared a space next to the bed and pulled the spare futon and blankets from the closet. Gokudera stirred a bit when the cushion knocked over a baseball bat, but he didn’t wake up. Breathing a sigh of relief, Yamamoto lay out the bedding and stripped out of his clothing and into a faded T-shirt.
Though a little tired from the party, he didn’t immediately curl up under the blankets like his body was telling him to. Instead, he tiptoed into the bathroom and returned with a cool, damp washcloth to wipe gently across Gokudera’s forehead and down the exposed skin of his neck. In his sleep, Gokudera muttered something unintelligible and twitched his lip.
Yamamoto set the cloth aside and ruffled Gokudera’s hair affectionately, gently brushing back the damp locks that stuck to the clammy skin. After a few minutes of watching Gokudera’s chest rhythmically rise and fall, he finally tore himself away to crawl under his own covers, the hush of Gokudera’s breath lulling him to sleep.
+++
Yamamoto awoke to the glare of morning sunlight burning against his eyelids and a slight sense of claustrophobia. It took him a few seconds to identify the source of the feeling as the weight of an arm draped over his chest, but when he did, he shot off the futon. Gokudera grumbled under the movement and blearily opened an eye. Yamamoto’s heart raced as he watched his friend yawn and wipe the drool off his chin.
“Haha, good morning, Gokudera,” he said, attempting blissful ignorance. Gokudera grunted in response.
They sat there staring at each other, Yamamoto twitching his lips in and out of a weak smile, Gokudera blinking sleep out of his eyes.
Finally, Yamamoto broke the overbearing silence. “Umm, you must have…”
Gokudera raised an eyebrow and scratched his chest.
“Well, last night you…and then you must have fallen off the bed and…”
“Don’t think too hard, idiot, you might break something,” Gokudera said.
“You were a little tipsy,” Yamamoto replied lamely, as if it was the answer to everything. “and then Bianchi-“
“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Gokudera said, clutching a hand to his abdomen. “My stomach remembers, uggh.”
“Haha, I wasn’t sure if you would. You tend to be forgetful when you’ve had something to drink.”
Gokudera cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I always remember everything when I’m drunk. You’re the one who seems to have memory problems.”
Five whole seconds dragged past, enough time for Yamamoto to feel the implications behind those words slide down his spine like ice. They stared at each other for a moment, and suddenly Gokudera knew that Yamamoto knew.
“Gokudera…I-why didn’t you say anything?” Yamamoto whispered, memories of hot, slick mouths and sappy, heartbreaking smiles flickering across the silver screen of his mind.
“Fuck.” Gokudera moaned, burying his face in his hands. “Jus-just forget it, Yamamoto. We’ll just forget this ever happened.”
“Was it…was it just because you were drunk?” Yamamoto asked. He watched Gokudera’s cheeks flush darker by the second.
“You don’t have to pretend like you’re not disgusted by it. I-I know it’s sick-another guy-”
“I don’t think it’s sick,” Yamamoto said, sitting up straighter, trying to catch Gokudera’s avoidant eyes. “Do you like me?”
Gokudera fidgeted.
“I didn’t know if it was just me.” Yamamoto rubbed the back of his head, chest feeling lighter than it had in months. “I wanted to tell you last night, but I wanted us both to be sober. Umm, so it would be more real, I guess, haha.”
Gokudera stood up. “I should get going.”
“Wait, what?” Yamamoto stood as well; there was no way he was letting Gokudera just walk away at this point. When he tried to grabbed his friend’s hand, the other boy jerked away but not without biting the inside of his cheek.
“You like me,” Yamamoto prodded with a hopeful heart.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
Gokudera grimaced. “I can’t-guys can’t lo-I mean, it’s just hormones.”
“Hmm, I don’t think so.” Yamamoto hummed thoughtfully.
“You’re such a girl,” Gokudera accused, backing up into the bed. Yamamoto followed him, trapping him between his thighs as he knelt on the mattress.
“Haha, not at all,” he said, running a hand up Gokudera’s bare arm. “Can I kiss you? Please?”
When Gokudera raised his hands to Yamamoto’s shoulders and gripped hard at the muscles there while mumbling something that could equally have been ‘whatever’ or ‘fuck off’, Yamamoto took his chances.
It was just a closed mouth kiss, trepidatious and curious, the sort of thing breathless kids with skinned knees do after chasing each other around the playground. Then, almost as an afterthought, Gokudera opened his mouth under Yamamoto’s and nipped at his lip. He tasted of stale wine and fish, and Yamamoto briefly wondered if it would have been better to wait for this until after they had both brushed their teeth, but that would have meant stopping-an inconceivable notion.
As a hand reached between them to ruck up his T-shirt, Yamamoto pulled away to look into Gokudera’s eyes.
“I need to know how you feel about me,” he said.
“Bastard. Do I have to say it?”
“Yeah. I like you.” Yamamoto’s voice trembled slightly with pent up energy. “Now it’s your turn; don’t be scared, haha.”
“Who’s scared, moron?” Gokudera growled. He looked thoughtful for a moment before leaning into Yamamoto’s ear and whispering, “I don’t mind doing this kind of thing with you.”
Yamamoto laughed again and started to protest, but he was cut off when Gokudera’s tongue flicked out and swiped along the soft skin behind his ear. With a few scoots and some grappling for space, Gokudera ended up in the middle of the bed with Yamamoto squirming on his lap. The minute rocking of Yamamoto’s hips rubbed their groins together, drawing harsh pants from their throats. Yamamoto shucked off his shirt and tried to help Gokudera with his, but only succeeded in tangling it around the other boy’s elbows. Growling, Gokudera slapped his hands away and took care of it himself, sitting up straighter to press their chests together once they were bare. Then, Gokudera slid his fingers under the waistband of Yamamoto’s boxers, pushing them past slim hips and strong thighs. They wriggled around until Yamamoto could toe the shorts off completely before kneeling on the bedspread, completely naked. There was hardly time for him to feel embarrassed because less than two seconds later, Gokudera had his boxers off, too, and was pulling Yamamoto onto his lap again. Yamamoto’s eyes watered from the sudden contact of their erections, and he had to battle hard with himself not to come so quickly. He squinted down at Gokudera.
Gokudera was beautiful-not like a girl, but perfect nonetheless, all hard plains and sharp edges with a hint of elegance. Yamamoto was pretty sure he would get a black eye for such an observation, so he showed Gokudera how he felt instead, stroking his hands in never ending motion against Gokudera’s chest, and back, and thighs, and neck, and, and, and…
Meanwhile, Gokudera had his hands busy as well. The calluses on his palm and fingers felt delicious against the sensitive skin of Yamamoto’s cock, and the combination of his grip on both of their erections and his teeth on Yamamoto’s throat made something Yamamoto’s chest rumble. Yamamoto’s hands joined his, playing over his knuckles, sifting through his coarse pubic hair, and slipping below to prod at Gokudera’s balls.
All too soon, Gokudera’s body stiffened, and he choked on a gasp. The feel of his partner coming against him sent Yamamoto over the edge as well, heat flashing through his veins and sparking in his nerve endings. Sapped of strength, he spilled himself over Gokudera’s hands and the covers, eyes struggling to stay open because he did not want to miss a second of this. When it was all over, Gokudera slumped to the side, dragging a sticky, grinning Yamamoto down with him.
“Best birthday present ever,” Yamamoto mumbled happily into Gokudera’s hair.
“That wasn’t your gift, moron.” Gokudera said, pulling the short hairs at the nape of Yamamoto’s neck. “It’s in my jeans pocket-tickets to a Tokyo Yakult Swallows/Hanshin Tigers game.”
“Really?” Yamamoto asked, craning his neck to find the jeans in question.
“Don’t look for them now, moron,” Gokudera said with a scowl. “Stay here. It’s warm.”
“Thanks, Gokudera.” Yamamoto planted a soft kiss against his temple. “Let me at least pull up the covers-you know, in case my dad checks on us.”
“Fuck. On second thought, let me get dressed.”
“It’s okay, Dad likes you.”
“He’s okay with me sleeping with you?” Gokudera rolled his eyes. “I doubt your dad would be very happy to find you naked in bed with your boyfriend.”
He gasped for breath when Yamamoto ecstatically crushed him to his chest.
“I love you too!”
Despite Gokudera’s squawk of protest, he didn’t put up too much of a fight when Yamamoto drew him in for another kiss. If he couldn’t quite put words to his feelings yet, so be it. They had already waited almost a year to get to this point, a little longer would hurt no one.
~Omake~
At ten o’clock in the morning, Yamamoto Tsuyoshi decided it would be irresponsible to let the boys waste the day away any longer. He stepped into his son’s room ready to rouse them from their slumber only to stop short at what he found: Takeshi and Gokudera-kun tangled together and snoring on the bed with the covers bunched around their waists. His eyes flicked to the soiled sheets, and he briefly noted that he would have to wash the laundry sooner than expected that week. Then, he quietly exited the room and shut the door before he could do anything rash, chuckling halfheartedly at how irritated the foreign boy looked even in his sleep, and wondering if he should have made sure his son was paying more attention when they had The Talk. For now, they could rest a little longer. In the meantime, he could be found in the kitchen, slicing tuna with a little too much maniacal fervor. Let no one say he was not an open-minded father.
Fin
----------------
A/N: I’d like to thank everyone for their support with each chapter of this series. Sorry it took so long to get the last section up, but I decided to use a khrfest prompt as a motivator, so I had to wait for that deadline. I feel like Yamamoto is OCC in this one, but meh, I’m just glad this is finished. orz
Pairing: 8059/5980
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: underage drinking and sex
Prompt: 5drunkfics Confessions; khrfest III-10. Yamamoto/Gokudera - confessions; "so you can take on an army but chicken out when it comes to confessing your love?"
Word Count: 2,500~
Summary: Yamamoto had promised himself that he would tell Gokudera about his feelings on his birthday, and despite his fear of rejection, he knew that he needed to come clean.
A/N: I’m finally finished with my 5drunkfics card! \o/ If you need a refresher, or you’re new to the series, you can check the other fics/chapters out here:
1. Punch (PG)
2. Vodka (PG-13)
3. Sake (NC-17)
4. Beer (PG-13)
The day of reckoning had finally come. He’d had a month and a half to prepare for this, plenty of time to psych himself up and do enough image training to make him a star at Spring Koushien, but Yamamoto was still not sure if he was quite ready to take the plunge. Nevertheless, he had promised himself that he would tell Gokudera about his feelings on his birthday, and despite his fear of rejection, he knew that he needed to come clean. After his epiphany in Sasagawa’s kitchen, it was as if he was living in Technicolor. Everything seemed brighter, clearer, warmer-all because he was in love. He was in love with Gokudera, and he couldn’t have felt more ridiculous. His tongue stumbled over words, his face burned scarlet, his heart did cartwheels in his chest, and if Gokudera had suspected he was an idiot before, he must have no doubts now.
Which was why Yamamoto needed to come clean with Gokudera. He was sure that once he got everything out into the open, he’d be able to get past this awkward, schoolgirl-ish phase-whether with Gokudera or without him. Yamamoto prayed to whatever gods who might be listening that Gokudera would reciprocate his feelings, but it was just as likely, if not more, that he’d be left to pick up the pieces of his heart alone. Rejected.
He pushed that possibility from his mind because negative thoughts could affect even the most seasoned sportsman’s performance. Instead, as he zipped up his slacks and straightened his shirt collar in the mirror, he imagined what it would feel like to kiss Gokudera while sober. Then he bounded down the stairs, calling out a greeting to his father at the bottom.
“Ah, there’s the birthday boy! Your friends are already here, Takeshi,” his father said, nodding towards the table where Tsuna, Bianchi, the little ones, Reborn, and of course, Gokudera sat. Everyone wished him well with bright smiles except Gokudera, who mumbled, “Happy birthday, moron,” while avoiding his eyes. Yamamoto’s heart was playing hopscotch in his chest, but he just plastered a grin on his face and thanked everyone for coming.
Tsuna pressed an envelope into his hands. “It’s a gift certificate to that sports store downtown.”
“Thanks, Tsuna!” Yamamoto replied, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders.
Then Bianchi turned to him. “Yamamoto Takeshi.” She drawled, staring him down. “I made you a cake, but Hayato fainted on top of it.” Gokudera scowled, and Yamamoto had to fight down the butterflies in his stomach.
“That’s okay, haha! It’s the thought that counts, right?”
Gokudera muttered something about giving his gift later, so Reborn took the opportunity to reveal his offering: a bottle of Chianti.
“Direct from Italy,” the Arcobaleno explained. “I hope Yamamoto-san doesn’t mind?”
“Not at all! One glass shouldn’t hurt anyone. Besides, a special occasion like this should be celebrated properly,” Yamamoto Tsuyoshi said, setting a platter of sushi on the table. “I can’t believe my little Takeshi is all grown up. Eighteen!” He wiped a tear from his eye while Yamamoto laughed in mock embarrassment.
They chatted for a while, everyone except Gokudera, who spent the time glaring at the table, enthusiastically supporting everything Tsuna said, guzzling wine, and sneaking surreptitious glances at Yamamoto from the corner of his eye-although that could have just been Yamamoto’s overactive imagination playing tricks on him. With each sip of wine that disappeared down Gokudera’s throat, Yamamoto’s hopes for the evening withered. He resigned himself to spending the next couple of hours watching Gokudera get drunk and wondering when he would get up the nerve again to actually talk to Gokudera about how he felt.
That was, of course, until Gokudera keeled over backwards in his seat with a gurgling shout. Bianchi feigned ignorance, but the fumes trailing from Gokudera’s navel told a different story.
“Put him in your room, Takeshi,” Yamamoto’s father said. “Sleep is always a good remedy for an upset stomach.”
The rest of the evening dragged on for Yamamoto after he had tucked Gokudera under his covers and came back downstairs. Although he felt bad for not paying Tsuna or the little guy as much attention, his mind kept wandering back to Gokudera, sweating and shivering in his bed. When the time came for everyone, yawning and happy, to leave, Yamamoto was grateful for the reprieve. His father shooed him upstairs with a smile and a promise to take care of cleanup on his own.
Inside his room, Yamamoto found Gokudera in an uneasy sleep, nose wrinkled and fingers clutching the sheet covering his stomach. As quietly as possible, he cleared a space next to the bed and pulled the spare futon and blankets from the closet. Gokudera stirred a bit when the cushion knocked over a baseball bat, but he didn’t wake up. Breathing a sigh of relief, Yamamoto lay out the bedding and stripped out of his clothing and into a faded T-shirt.
Though a little tired from the party, he didn’t immediately curl up under the blankets like his body was telling him to. Instead, he tiptoed into the bathroom and returned with a cool, damp washcloth to wipe gently across Gokudera’s forehead and down the exposed skin of his neck. In his sleep, Gokudera muttered something unintelligible and twitched his lip.
Yamamoto set the cloth aside and ruffled Gokudera’s hair affectionately, gently brushing back the damp locks that stuck to the clammy skin. After a few minutes of watching Gokudera’s chest rhythmically rise and fall, he finally tore himself away to crawl under his own covers, the hush of Gokudera’s breath lulling him to sleep.
+++
Yamamoto awoke to the glare of morning sunlight burning against his eyelids and a slight sense of claustrophobia. It took him a few seconds to identify the source of the feeling as the weight of an arm draped over his chest, but when he did, he shot off the futon. Gokudera grumbled under the movement and blearily opened an eye. Yamamoto’s heart raced as he watched his friend yawn and wipe the drool off his chin.
“Haha, good morning, Gokudera,” he said, attempting blissful ignorance. Gokudera grunted in response.
They sat there staring at each other, Yamamoto twitching his lips in and out of a weak smile, Gokudera blinking sleep out of his eyes.
Finally, Yamamoto broke the overbearing silence. “Umm, you must have…”
Gokudera raised an eyebrow and scratched his chest.
“Well, last night you…and then you must have fallen off the bed and…”
“Don’t think too hard, idiot, you might break something,” Gokudera said.
“You were a little tipsy,” Yamamoto replied lamely, as if it was the answer to everything. “and then Bianchi-“
“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Gokudera said, clutching a hand to his abdomen. “My stomach remembers, uggh.”
“Haha, I wasn’t sure if you would. You tend to be forgetful when you’ve had something to drink.”
Gokudera cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I always remember everything when I’m drunk. You’re the one who seems to have memory problems.”
Five whole seconds dragged past, enough time for Yamamoto to feel the implications behind those words slide down his spine like ice. They stared at each other for a moment, and suddenly Gokudera knew that Yamamoto knew.
“Gokudera…I-why didn’t you say anything?” Yamamoto whispered, memories of hot, slick mouths and sappy, heartbreaking smiles flickering across the silver screen of his mind.
“Fuck.” Gokudera moaned, burying his face in his hands. “Jus-just forget it, Yamamoto. We’ll just forget this ever happened.”
“Was it…was it just because you were drunk?” Yamamoto asked. He watched Gokudera’s cheeks flush darker by the second.
“You don’t have to pretend like you’re not disgusted by it. I-I know it’s sick-another guy-”
“I don’t think it’s sick,” Yamamoto said, sitting up straighter, trying to catch Gokudera’s avoidant eyes. “Do you like me?”
Gokudera fidgeted.
“I didn’t know if it was just me.” Yamamoto rubbed the back of his head, chest feeling lighter than it had in months. “I wanted to tell you last night, but I wanted us both to be sober. Umm, so it would be more real, I guess, haha.”
Gokudera stood up. “I should get going.”
“Wait, what?” Yamamoto stood as well; there was no way he was letting Gokudera just walk away at this point. When he tried to grabbed his friend’s hand, the other boy jerked away but not without biting the inside of his cheek.
“You like me,” Yamamoto prodded with a hopeful heart.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
Gokudera grimaced. “I can’t-guys can’t lo-I mean, it’s just hormones.”
“Hmm, I don’t think so.” Yamamoto hummed thoughtfully.
“You’re such a girl,” Gokudera accused, backing up into the bed. Yamamoto followed him, trapping him between his thighs as he knelt on the mattress.
“Haha, not at all,” he said, running a hand up Gokudera’s bare arm. “Can I kiss you? Please?”
When Gokudera raised his hands to Yamamoto’s shoulders and gripped hard at the muscles there while mumbling something that could equally have been ‘whatever’ or ‘fuck off’, Yamamoto took his chances.
It was just a closed mouth kiss, trepidatious and curious, the sort of thing breathless kids with skinned knees do after chasing each other around the playground. Then, almost as an afterthought, Gokudera opened his mouth under Yamamoto’s and nipped at his lip. He tasted of stale wine and fish, and Yamamoto briefly wondered if it would have been better to wait for this until after they had both brushed their teeth, but that would have meant stopping-an inconceivable notion.
As a hand reached between them to ruck up his T-shirt, Yamamoto pulled away to look into Gokudera’s eyes.
“I need to know how you feel about me,” he said.
“Bastard. Do I have to say it?”
“Yeah. I like you.” Yamamoto’s voice trembled slightly with pent up energy. “Now it’s your turn; don’t be scared, haha.”
“Who’s scared, moron?” Gokudera growled. He looked thoughtful for a moment before leaning into Yamamoto’s ear and whispering, “I don’t mind doing this kind of thing with you.”
Yamamoto laughed again and started to protest, but he was cut off when Gokudera’s tongue flicked out and swiped along the soft skin behind his ear. With a few scoots and some grappling for space, Gokudera ended up in the middle of the bed with Yamamoto squirming on his lap. The minute rocking of Yamamoto’s hips rubbed their groins together, drawing harsh pants from their throats. Yamamoto shucked off his shirt and tried to help Gokudera with his, but only succeeded in tangling it around the other boy’s elbows. Growling, Gokudera slapped his hands away and took care of it himself, sitting up straighter to press their chests together once they were bare. Then, Gokudera slid his fingers under the waistband of Yamamoto’s boxers, pushing them past slim hips and strong thighs. They wriggled around until Yamamoto could toe the shorts off completely before kneeling on the bedspread, completely naked. There was hardly time for him to feel embarrassed because less than two seconds later, Gokudera had his boxers off, too, and was pulling Yamamoto onto his lap again. Yamamoto’s eyes watered from the sudden contact of their erections, and he had to battle hard with himself not to come so quickly. He squinted down at Gokudera.
Gokudera was beautiful-not like a girl, but perfect nonetheless, all hard plains and sharp edges with a hint of elegance. Yamamoto was pretty sure he would get a black eye for such an observation, so he showed Gokudera how he felt instead, stroking his hands in never ending motion against Gokudera’s chest, and back, and thighs, and neck, and, and, and…
Meanwhile, Gokudera had his hands busy as well. The calluses on his palm and fingers felt delicious against the sensitive skin of Yamamoto’s cock, and the combination of his grip on both of their erections and his teeth on Yamamoto’s throat made something Yamamoto’s chest rumble. Yamamoto’s hands joined his, playing over his knuckles, sifting through his coarse pubic hair, and slipping below to prod at Gokudera’s balls.
All too soon, Gokudera’s body stiffened, and he choked on a gasp. The feel of his partner coming against him sent Yamamoto over the edge as well, heat flashing through his veins and sparking in his nerve endings. Sapped of strength, he spilled himself over Gokudera’s hands and the covers, eyes struggling to stay open because he did not want to miss a second of this. When it was all over, Gokudera slumped to the side, dragging a sticky, grinning Yamamoto down with him.
“Best birthday present ever,” Yamamoto mumbled happily into Gokudera’s hair.
“That wasn’t your gift, moron.” Gokudera said, pulling the short hairs at the nape of Yamamoto’s neck. “It’s in my jeans pocket-tickets to a Tokyo Yakult Swallows/Hanshin Tigers game.”
“Really?” Yamamoto asked, craning his neck to find the jeans in question.
“Don’t look for them now, moron,” Gokudera said with a scowl. “Stay here. It’s warm.”
“Thanks, Gokudera.” Yamamoto planted a soft kiss against his temple. “Let me at least pull up the covers-you know, in case my dad checks on us.”
“Fuck. On second thought, let me get dressed.”
“It’s okay, Dad likes you.”
“He’s okay with me sleeping with you?” Gokudera rolled his eyes. “I doubt your dad would be very happy to find you naked in bed with your boyfriend.”
He gasped for breath when Yamamoto ecstatically crushed him to his chest.
“I love you too!”
Despite Gokudera’s squawk of protest, he didn’t put up too much of a fight when Yamamoto drew him in for another kiss. If he couldn’t quite put words to his feelings yet, so be it. They had already waited almost a year to get to this point, a little longer would hurt no one.
~Omake~
At ten o’clock in the morning, Yamamoto Tsuyoshi decided it would be irresponsible to let the boys waste the day away any longer. He stepped into his son’s room ready to rouse them from their slumber only to stop short at what he found: Takeshi and Gokudera-kun tangled together and snoring on the bed with the covers bunched around their waists. His eyes flicked to the soiled sheets, and he briefly noted that he would have to wash the laundry sooner than expected that week. Then, he quietly exited the room and shut the door before he could do anything rash, chuckling halfheartedly at how irritated the foreign boy looked even in his sleep, and wondering if he should have made sure his son was paying more attention when they had The Talk. For now, they could rest a little longer. In the meantime, he could be found in the kitchen, slicing tuna with a little too much maniacal fervor. Let no one say he was not an open-minded father.
Fin
----------------
A/N: I’d like to thank everyone for their support with each chapter of this series. Sorry it took so long to get the last section up, but I decided to use a khrfest prompt as a motivator, so I had to wait for that deadline. I feel like Yamamoto is OCC in this one, but meh, I’m just glad this is finished. orz