#44 - Photocopy room of an office building
Title: “It’s the same, isn’t it?”
Rating: ♠ = Explicit ( R )
Warning: the rating so yeah.. 8059.. stuff.. And well Gokudera’s mouth xDD
Author: Itsuka
Prompt: #44 - Photocopy room of an office building
Wordcount: 2690
Author’s note:
Seriously guys! I triedddddd to make this… nice? LOL. Or like yeah, quatliy based-good. I recently just finished a con here.. So cosplay and everything was in the way.. BUT I finished this FINALLY. Hopefully it isn’t disappointing. Pronz comes in at page 3 : 3 to``` 7-ish LULZ. Yeah. Enjoy the 8059 8D.
---
It’s late and it’s night. He’s tired, but he has orders.
Tap, tap tap... It’s quiet enough that he can hear his footsteps fall upon the tiled floor. His long white fingers reach for the neck of his dark maroon dress shirt and undoes one button, then loosens his jet-black tie.
He’s older and he’s taller-but pretty much the same, despite wrists not wrapped around with stud bracelets and fingers holding the same amount of rings as they used to. A sigh escapes the valley of his lips and runs a hand through his now more-or-so shortened, grey-silver hair.
“God, I swear if it wasn’t for the Tenth, I would’ve killed that freaking idiot.” And he raises a hand to his mouth, taking a drag from that deadening-stick hanging from his mouth. A puffy grey tail of a dragon flies out and disappears in to the air.
He shakes his head and takes a turn down the hallway. It’s even more so an obtrusive silence here. But there are sounds, that he hears, yes…
From the photocopy room.
It’s even worse when he tries to hold himself down from yelling, accepting those yelps from the room to his ears. But hell, it was why here was here for, right? And so he shouts, breaking that wall of unmoving noise. “Takeshi, you idiot!”
There’s a muffle beyond at slightly-opened door and a crash, then a high-pitched beep. Gokudera knows that it’s Yamamoto. Yes, his Takeshi was older and taller, as well-like himself… but still taller than him-and he was different but still pretty much the same.
“Ah, Hayato, I was hoping that you’d come!” Yamamoto replies desperately beyond the door. Gokudera pushes the metal-plated panel of oak wood, and with his eyes, eyes stares in near disbelief at man who stands before him.
The room is a complete utter mess; with Vongola documents scattered everywhere, photocopy paper splayed across the floor… Gokudera even thinks he sees a light grey smoke coming from the machine.
He’s nearly at a lost for words, as the moment displayed in front of him reminds him of their younger selves, clumsy on just another one of those school days. But he manages and spits out a, “The fuck, happened here?” And Yamamoto opens his mouth to answer but Gokudera lets out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t even see why I’m asking. Don’t answer that.” His legs bring him over to the battered machine and he places a hand upon his surface.
It is hot.
Yamamoto chuckles, while picking up papers and brings Gokudera to his attention. “Funny, isn’t it, Hayato? When we’re alone together, we’re pretty much the same from ten years ago.”
Gokudera snorts. “Hell no. You were here by yourself before I came, and you’ve already screwed up the documents the Tenth asked you to make copies of-nearly destroying the room. Fuck, I don’t even see why he’d ask you in the first place. I could‘ve done the print job for him.”
And all he earns is a laugh. Because Yamamoto knows what his partner says is true.
But Gokudera also knows what he, Yamamoto just said, was also true. And he brings up a hand to the back of his neck and a looks up to the metallic, scheming ceiling. “What are you thinking about?,” asks the darker-haired man out of the two. He’s just crouching there bent over, hand frozen, about to pick up a couple of documents.
Those grey eyebrows knit together from mild frustration and jade orbs fall to the face closer to the floor. He takes in a breath and says, “You know, I admit it. We are pretty much ourselves from ten years ago-when we’re alone.” Yamamoto nearly raises an eyebrow but drops his head, focusing on the floor. There’s a smile that plays upon his lips but he doesn’t say anything.
And slight moments pass, where Gokudera just watches those tanned fingers at work then finally decides that it’s time for him to actually help clean the clutter. Let alone, hopefully get the photocopier fixed soon.
There’s silence in the room among their voices, to the point where Gokudera’s itching to make a scream. And abruptly as if to answer his wish to break the nothingness, Yamamoto says quite calmly, “Do you remember those nights?”
And Gokudera just stares. He breathes. He looks away.. “What the fuck are you trying to get at… baseball freak?” and blushes, curious what’d it’d lead to if he’d try to bring up scarcely used names for old time’s sake.
A chuckle, again. “How’d you know I still like baseball? I don’t play it anymore.. But-hey! Have you been looking through my floorboards where I keep my baseball collectable cards along with my other stuff that I-”
“Shut up. I don’t know any of that. I don’t want to know what else you have in there.” Gokudera makes a new pile of papers, considering that he’s already finished one. He lifts his eyes from the floor and brings them out in front of himself, only to see that the Japanese man was not there.
Annoyed, Gokudera stands and turns, “Hey-” fingers close over his mouth from behind. He feels a hot breath on the back of his neck and sensitive, the hairs rise.
“You haven’t answered me yet”. They release him.
“What?” He’s slightly dazed and somewhat confused, untaken by the sudden actions Yamamoto gave towards him.
“Those nights, I said earlier. Do you remember them? Yes or no.”
And he nearly can’t speak.
“So?” And he waits. And Gokudera waits.
But they both already know the answer.
Despite that, Gokudera still tries to keep the image up. “You’re here to photocopy the documents that the Tenth asked you to do. And I’m here to check up on you, called in by him, so see if you’re doing okay. We’re not here to-”
Yamamoto laughs deeply. “You know, we’ve done it anywhere we’re we could have, in the past. Why not now?”
Those emerald jaded eyes gawks at him outwardly. “Hey. Don’t get kinky all over me, Takeshi.” But in a way, it just means that he wants it. He doesn’t even have to count to three to have Yamamoto Takeshi come crashing down over him, pinning him to the floor.
There aren’t any second thoughts, since they’ve done this countless times before.
But, still, he growls, “Get the frick off of me-” only to receive a devouring, nearly painful kiss. It’s like nearly eating each others’ tongues out, Gokudera thinks, the kind of mauling at each other where you’re desperate. It’s weird. But he likes it.
There’s not a moment when Yamamoto stops, and his lips feather kisses all over that pale-looking skin, ever once and a while that fleshy, pink tongue leaving trails of saliva. And that silver hair man tries not to moan, already knowing that his probably overheard, heavy breathing is already goddamn embarrassing . Hell, even the freaking door was slightly open.
A kiss lands in the crook of his neck, motioning him to turn his head to the side and he raises his hands, weaving his pale fingers through that dark raven hair, forearms resting on strong, broad shoulders. He closes his eyes and slides his palms languidly down that hard chest.
With sudden, nearly jerky movements, Yamamoto realizes that it’s just his Gokudera trying to rip the fabric open. He chuckles into that crook of a neck but doesn’t protest. “Need help?” he whispers.
“Shut the fuck up. I can do this myself,” comes a reply.
“Your choice.” It doesn’t take that long before the fabric is taken off that smooth tanned skin, or sending the buttons flying to the sides of the room. It isn’t also a minute later before the man pinned beneath him is stripped of anything but his pants either. The ebony stoned floor is cold but there’s still smoke coming from the machine.
Neither of them did forget.
And there’s a crashing of lips to a navel and hitches of breaths around and Gokudera nearly loses when he feels those pearl white teeth biting the hemming of his pants’ waistline. Trails of tingles originates from his palm to his fingertips and he rolls his head back biting his lip. “You’re hard already?” he hears a muffled voice coming from a mouth at his bellybutton. Gokudera’s face is washed with pink and he knows that it’s best to not answer. And obviously it was a apparent.
He nearly yelps out in surprise when I feels a palm at his crotch, applied pressure in that particular spot. And he bites his bottom lip again, trying not to moan. It’s even a more surprise when Yamamoto comes saying to his ear, “Just let it out.” And Gokudera isn’t sure if he meant yelling out his name or that shit that comes out when he came.
Then there’s motions-those circular applied pushes-and he grips those shoulders tighter. “Nnnn..” he breathes sound fully and finally lets out a shaky groan.
It only gets worse when Yamamoto’s palm presses in harder.
He doesn’t want to do it, but it’s a reflex and so his hips bucked forward, back arching and grinding into his lover’s. There’s beads of sweat already and ventilating hot air around them, engulfing their bodies. The floor doesn’t feel cold anymore-even if it is.
It’s just like the old times. Getting themselves into things like this.
A rhythm, there’s a rhythm, of grinding and breathing. Hands no longer shaky, due to gained experiences, firmly undoes that belt of a waist, followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled down.
And he’s just there, lying on the floor panting, just slick with beads of sweat, silver hair away from his face and resting on the floor. He growls when he stops and urges him to follow through more.
But Yamamoto laughs and he’s annoyed. “What?”
He chuckles.
“I said what?” he’s more flustered this time.
“You-your boxers. They’re cute.” Gokudera’s eyes could only widen. There’s little tiny skulls and splashes of red.
“The hell, Takeshi. Fu-” And well… with that urging earlier before the incident of laughing at boxers, his wish is granted and he receives more.
He doesn’t know why but it’s slightly embarrassing, still-even after being with this Yamamoto Takeshi for over a period of ten years-to have his boxers taken off him by someone else other than himself. So his face glows a darker shade of red and it’s obvious because his skin’s just that pale.
But no one says anything, because Takeshi knows how Gokudera is.
It still amazes him how fast it takes to have the fabric of his boxers being pulled down to his ankles and even more so when he feels flesh over-covering his tip. He throws his head back, no longer being able to hold back a moan, a whisper of his lover’s name leaving his lips.
He pants and tries to breathe, but they come out irregularly, those breaths. “Shit… I think.. I’m going to-nnnn…” Yamamoto slides his tongue slowly from the base and drags it teasingly up to the tip. It’s apparent that it’s enough to send Gokudera moaning his name out loud, stringing his white fingers into this dark onyx hair when engulfing him with his mouth.
And he’s coming, he’s coming.
Gokudera can’t believe that he can feel… that teeth lightly dragging along his-
And he does.
His face burns with embarrassment and he shuts his eyes, turning his face to the side. “Fuck, we’re going to have to clean this all up.” And Yamamoto doesn’t answer him, because he’s busy. And he takes a swallow, wiping his hands on the back of his pants.
“S’ok. Let’s finish this first,” he says unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants.
And Gokudera’s pinned again, pinned to the dark, gleaming floor. He has to admit, it’s no longer cold, all he could feel was warmth. They tangle their arms with each other…
Their hearts beat like one. Or one of them more so faster.
Lips fall to the edge of that colourless ear, “I’m going to enter you now. Can you-”
“Shut up, just do it. Even after all these fucking years you still ask me?”
“I..” And he breathes. The Italian-Japanese man slithers his hands down along his lover’s back and doesn’t even hesitate to stop at the hem of the boxers. He pulls them down.
“Shit, you’re hard,” his voice calls out muffled against lips crashing against his.
And Yamamoto doesn’t reply back because he’s been told he doesn’t have to ask. It’s been a while since he’s actually done this. He helps him, helps him lift his legs to wrap around his tanned, built waist.
And he enters.
There’s a jerk and a small cry of pain. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve done it, it always hurts at the beginning but the pain even made it more so daring. And he’s growling, biting hard into his sun-kissed neck, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
And they pick up a rhythm they both could follow, hearts beating in their ears.
It isn’t so long until they’re both moaning and bawling each others names. They’re sweating.
Yamamoto pushes in harder, picking up the pace and earns a chain of long defeating groans with side catches of his name being sputtered. “Ahh… more.. Takeshi-” he gets grounded into the floor.
And he wants it too, so Yamamoto gives it to him.
---- OMAKE.
“Tsuna, I’m worried something is going on in the photocopy room.. I mean-well the situation, here, is that we just need a few documents copied. I don’t understand why it’s taking a long time.” Sasagawa Ryohei scratches the back of his neck. “If I can help.. I wouldn’t mind checking up on them and see if they’re okay? Because I honestly don’t want to send some subordinates to check up on those two guardians. Last time I did so… the situation of checking if they’re alright, itself.. WAS TOO EXTREME FOR THEM.” He raises a fist in the air at the last spout of his words.
Sawada Tsunayoshi backs up into his leather seat. He’s sure he’s not scared… it’s just the “extremity” of Ryohei was something he still hasn’t gotten used to yet.
He raises a hand. “It’s ok, Ryohei. I’ll go check them up myself.”
And Sasagawa just drops his eyes blinking down at the Tenth Generation Vongola Mafia Boss. He lowers a bandaged-wrapped fist, “I… uh, ok,” and bows. “Excuse me, then.”
Sawada admits he’s honestly afraid of approaching the photo copying room himself. But he sighs and leaves the room as well.
He’s walking down those hallways. And it’s late… and quiet. He takes a turn down the hallway and stops abruptly by the wall. Those dark brown eyes of his swiftly, and quickly look over his shoulder.
No one is there.
But he hears something.
And it’s…
It’s…
It’s…
Moaning!? he thinks, quite baffled. He runs to the door and bolts into the room, swinging the door open. And he’s just standing there, eyeballs about to pop out of his head. “Y-ya-yamamo-moto!? Go-g-goku-de-dera!”
He pants, breathes irregular and raging. He manages to sputter a few words. “TENTH-this isn’t what it looks like! I-” despite how satisfying it feels, he tries his best to push Yamamoto off his body with his limp hands. That dark-haired Japanese just rubs his forehead and falls back onto his rear. “I-” embarrassed, he takes his suit and covers the lower half off his body, he throws Takeshi’s to him as well. “Tenth, I was just-”
It isn’t a surprise that Sawada’s face was red like blood. Those hands of his cover his face, and Yamamoto can tell that his eyes are even shut tight as well. He’s trying to get out of the room, sliding his foot out, passed the doorframe and he yells out to a wall because of not particularly looking at the naked pair on the floor, “IT’S OK… JUST.. I’ll-JUST GET THOSE DOCUMENTS PHOTOCOPIED WHEN YOU’RE DONE.”
And he leaves.
Yamamoto laughs. “It’s just like the old times, isn’t it?”
Flustered, Gokudera sighs, running fingers through his hair. “Fuck you.”
---
end notes: Ummmm so there it is 8D. Sorry if I bore you T_T. I tend to "not get into things" RIGHT AWAY. LOl.. Takes me forever. Hopefully the pronz made up for the slow pace.
Seriously guys, like I posted somewhere else here before but...//writing this wearing your Gokudera cosplay?? IT DOES THINGS TO YOU LOL,, I CANNOT DO IT AGAIN..
yep : 3
Rating: ♠ = Explicit ( R )
Warning: the rating so yeah.. 8059.. stuff.. And well Gokudera’s mouth xDD
Author: Itsuka
Prompt: #44 - Photocopy room of an office building
Wordcount: 2690
Author’s note:
Seriously guys! I triedddddd to make this… nice? LOL. Or like yeah, quatliy based-good. I recently just finished a con here.. So cosplay and everything was in the way.. BUT I finished this FINALLY. Hopefully it isn’t disappointing. Pronz comes in at page 3 : 3 to``` 7-ish LULZ. Yeah. Enjoy the 8059 8D.
---
It’s late and it’s night. He’s tired, but he has orders.
Tap, tap tap... It’s quiet enough that he can hear his footsteps fall upon the tiled floor. His long white fingers reach for the neck of his dark maroon dress shirt and undoes one button, then loosens his jet-black tie.
He’s older and he’s taller-but pretty much the same, despite wrists not wrapped around with stud bracelets and fingers holding the same amount of rings as they used to. A sigh escapes the valley of his lips and runs a hand through his now more-or-so shortened, grey-silver hair.
“God, I swear if it wasn’t for the Tenth, I would’ve killed that freaking idiot.” And he raises a hand to his mouth, taking a drag from that deadening-stick hanging from his mouth. A puffy grey tail of a dragon flies out and disappears in to the air.
He shakes his head and takes a turn down the hallway. It’s even more so an obtrusive silence here. But there are sounds, that he hears, yes…
From the photocopy room.
It’s even worse when he tries to hold himself down from yelling, accepting those yelps from the room to his ears. But hell, it was why here was here for, right? And so he shouts, breaking that wall of unmoving noise. “Takeshi, you idiot!”
There’s a muffle beyond at slightly-opened door and a crash, then a high-pitched beep. Gokudera knows that it’s Yamamoto. Yes, his Takeshi was older and taller, as well-like himself… but still taller than him-and he was different but still pretty much the same.
“Ah, Hayato, I was hoping that you’d come!” Yamamoto replies desperately beyond the door. Gokudera pushes the metal-plated panel of oak wood, and with his eyes, eyes stares in near disbelief at man who stands before him.
The room is a complete utter mess; with Vongola documents scattered everywhere, photocopy paper splayed across the floor… Gokudera even thinks he sees a light grey smoke coming from the machine.
He’s nearly at a lost for words, as the moment displayed in front of him reminds him of their younger selves, clumsy on just another one of those school days. But he manages and spits out a, “The fuck, happened here?” And Yamamoto opens his mouth to answer but Gokudera lets out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t even see why I’m asking. Don’t answer that.” His legs bring him over to the battered machine and he places a hand upon his surface.
It is hot.
Yamamoto chuckles, while picking up papers and brings Gokudera to his attention. “Funny, isn’t it, Hayato? When we’re alone together, we’re pretty much the same from ten years ago.”
Gokudera snorts. “Hell no. You were here by yourself before I came, and you’ve already screwed up the documents the Tenth asked you to make copies of-nearly destroying the room. Fuck, I don’t even see why he’d ask you in the first place. I could‘ve done the print job for him.”
And all he earns is a laugh. Because Yamamoto knows what his partner says is true.
But Gokudera also knows what he, Yamamoto just said, was also true. And he brings up a hand to the back of his neck and a looks up to the metallic, scheming ceiling. “What are you thinking about?,” asks the darker-haired man out of the two. He’s just crouching there bent over, hand frozen, about to pick up a couple of documents.
Those grey eyebrows knit together from mild frustration and jade orbs fall to the face closer to the floor. He takes in a breath and says, “You know, I admit it. We are pretty much ourselves from ten years ago-when we’re alone.” Yamamoto nearly raises an eyebrow but drops his head, focusing on the floor. There’s a smile that plays upon his lips but he doesn’t say anything.
And slight moments pass, where Gokudera just watches those tanned fingers at work then finally decides that it’s time for him to actually help clean the clutter. Let alone, hopefully get the photocopier fixed soon.
There’s silence in the room among their voices, to the point where Gokudera’s itching to make a scream. And abruptly as if to answer his wish to break the nothingness, Yamamoto says quite calmly, “Do you remember those nights?”
And Gokudera just stares. He breathes. He looks away.. “What the fuck are you trying to get at… baseball freak?” and blushes, curious what’d it’d lead to if he’d try to bring up scarcely used names for old time’s sake.
A chuckle, again. “How’d you know I still like baseball? I don’t play it anymore.. But-hey! Have you been looking through my floorboards where I keep my baseball collectable cards along with my other stuff that I-”
“Shut up. I don’t know any of that. I don’t want to know what else you have in there.” Gokudera makes a new pile of papers, considering that he’s already finished one. He lifts his eyes from the floor and brings them out in front of himself, only to see that the Japanese man was not there.
Annoyed, Gokudera stands and turns, “Hey-” fingers close over his mouth from behind. He feels a hot breath on the back of his neck and sensitive, the hairs rise.
“You haven’t answered me yet”. They release him.
“What?” He’s slightly dazed and somewhat confused, untaken by the sudden actions Yamamoto gave towards him.
“Those nights, I said earlier. Do you remember them? Yes or no.”
And he nearly can’t speak.
“So?” And he waits. And Gokudera waits.
But they both already know the answer.
Despite that, Gokudera still tries to keep the image up. “You’re here to photocopy the documents that the Tenth asked you to do. And I’m here to check up on you, called in by him, so see if you’re doing okay. We’re not here to-”
Yamamoto laughs deeply. “You know, we’ve done it anywhere we’re we could have, in the past. Why not now?”
Those emerald jaded eyes gawks at him outwardly. “Hey. Don’t get kinky all over me, Takeshi.” But in a way, it just means that he wants it. He doesn’t even have to count to three to have Yamamoto Takeshi come crashing down over him, pinning him to the floor.
There aren’t any second thoughts, since they’ve done this countless times before.
But, still, he growls, “Get the frick off of me-” only to receive a devouring, nearly painful kiss. It’s like nearly eating each others’ tongues out, Gokudera thinks, the kind of mauling at each other where you’re desperate. It’s weird. But he likes it.
There’s not a moment when Yamamoto stops, and his lips feather kisses all over that pale-looking skin, ever once and a while that fleshy, pink tongue leaving trails of saliva. And that silver hair man tries not to moan, already knowing that his probably overheard, heavy breathing is already goddamn embarrassing . Hell, even the freaking door was slightly open.
A kiss lands in the crook of his neck, motioning him to turn his head to the side and he raises his hands, weaving his pale fingers through that dark raven hair, forearms resting on strong, broad shoulders. He closes his eyes and slides his palms languidly down that hard chest.
With sudden, nearly jerky movements, Yamamoto realizes that it’s just his Gokudera trying to rip the fabric open. He chuckles into that crook of a neck but doesn’t protest. “Need help?” he whispers.
“Shut the fuck up. I can do this myself,” comes a reply.
“Your choice.” It doesn’t take that long before the fabric is taken off that smooth tanned skin, or sending the buttons flying to the sides of the room. It isn’t also a minute later before the man pinned beneath him is stripped of anything but his pants either. The ebony stoned floor is cold but there’s still smoke coming from the machine.
Neither of them did forget.
And there’s a crashing of lips to a navel and hitches of breaths around and Gokudera nearly loses when he feels those pearl white teeth biting the hemming of his pants’ waistline. Trails of tingles originates from his palm to his fingertips and he rolls his head back biting his lip. “You’re hard already?” he hears a muffled voice coming from a mouth at his bellybutton. Gokudera’s face is washed with pink and he knows that it’s best to not answer. And obviously it was a apparent.
He nearly yelps out in surprise when I feels a palm at his crotch, applied pressure in that particular spot. And he bites his bottom lip again, trying not to moan. It’s even a more surprise when Yamamoto comes saying to his ear, “Just let it out.” And Gokudera isn’t sure if he meant yelling out his name or that shit that comes out when he came.
Then there’s motions-those circular applied pushes-and he grips those shoulders tighter. “Nnnn..” he breathes sound fully and finally lets out a shaky groan.
It only gets worse when Yamamoto’s palm presses in harder.
He doesn’t want to do it, but it’s a reflex and so his hips bucked forward, back arching and grinding into his lover’s. There’s beads of sweat already and ventilating hot air around them, engulfing their bodies. The floor doesn’t feel cold anymore-even if it is.
It’s just like the old times. Getting themselves into things like this.
A rhythm, there’s a rhythm, of grinding and breathing. Hands no longer shaky, due to gained experiences, firmly undoes that belt of a waist, followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled down.
And he’s just there, lying on the floor panting, just slick with beads of sweat, silver hair away from his face and resting on the floor. He growls when he stops and urges him to follow through more.
But Yamamoto laughs and he’s annoyed. “What?”
He chuckles.
“I said what?” he’s more flustered this time.
“You-your boxers. They’re cute.” Gokudera’s eyes could only widen. There’s little tiny skulls and splashes of red.
“The hell, Takeshi. Fu-” And well… with that urging earlier before the incident of laughing at boxers, his wish is granted and he receives more.
He doesn’t know why but it’s slightly embarrassing, still-even after being with this Yamamoto Takeshi for over a period of ten years-to have his boxers taken off him by someone else other than himself. So his face glows a darker shade of red and it’s obvious because his skin’s just that pale.
But no one says anything, because Takeshi knows how Gokudera is.
It still amazes him how fast it takes to have the fabric of his boxers being pulled down to his ankles and even more so when he feels flesh over-covering his tip. He throws his head back, no longer being able to hold back a moan, a whisper of his lover’s name leaving his lips.
He pants and tries to breathe, but they come out irregularly, those breaths. “Shit… I think.. I’m going to-nnnn…” Yamamoto slides his tongue slowly from the base and drags it teasingly up to the tip. It’s apparent that it’s enough to send Gokudera moaning his name out loud, stringing his white fingers into this dark onyx hair when engulfing him with his mouth.
And he’s coming, he’s coming.
Gokudera can’t believe that he can feel… that teeth lightly dragging along his-
And he does.
His face burns with embarrassment and he shuts his eyes, turning his face to the side. “Fuck, we’re going to have to clean this all up.” And Yamamoto doesn’t answer him, because he’s busy. And he takes a swallow, wiping his hands on the back of his pants.
“S’ok. Let’s finish this first,” he says unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants.
And Gokudera’s pinned again, pinned to the dark, gleaming floor. He has to admit, it’s no longer cold, all he could feel was warmth. They tangle their arms with each other…
Their hearts beat like one. Or one of them more so faster.
Lips fall to the edge of that colourless ear, “I’m going to enter you now. Can you-”
“Shut up, just do it. Even after all these fucking years you still ask me?”
“I..” And he breathes. The Italian-Japanese man slithers his hands down along his lover’s back and doesn’t even hesitate to stop at the hem of the boxers. He pulls them down.
“Shit, you’re hard,” his voice calls out muffled against lips crashing against his.
And Yamamoto doesn’t reply back because he’s been told he doesn’t have to ask. It’s been a while since he’s actually done this. He helps him, helps him lift his legs to wrap around his tanned, built waist.
And he enters.
There’s a jerk and a small cry of pain. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve done it, it always hurts at the beginning but the pain even made it more so daring. And he’s growling, biting hard into his sun-kissed neck, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
And they pick up a rhythm they both could follow, hearts beating in their ears.
It isn’t so long until they’re both moaning and bawling each others names. They’re sweating.
Yamamoto pushes in harder, picking up the pace and earns a chain of long defeating groans with side catches of his name being sputtered. “Ahh… more.. Takeshi-” he gets grounded into the floor.
And he wants it too, so Yamamoto gives it to him.
---- OMAKE.
“Tsuna, I’m worried something is going on in the photocopy room.. I mean-well the situation, here, is that we just need a few documents copied. I don’t understand why it’s taking a long time.” Sasagawa Ryohei scratches the back of his neck. “If I can help.. I wouldn’t mind checking up on them and see if they’re okay? Because I honestly don’t want to send some subordinates to check up on those two guardians. Last time I did so… the situation of checking if they’re alright, itself.. WAS TOO EXTREME FOR THEM.” He raises a fist in the air at the last spout of his words.
Sawada Tsunayoshi backs up into his leather seat. He’s sure he’s not scared… it’s just the “extremity” of Ryohei was something he still hasn’t gotten used to yet.
He raises a hand. “It’s ok, Ryohei. I’ll go check them up myself.”
And Sasagawa just drops his eyes blinking down at the Tenth Generation Vongola Mafia Boss. He lowers a bandaged-wrapped fist, “I… uh, ok,” and bows. “Excuse me, then.”
Sawada admits he’s honestly afraid of approaching the photo copying room himself. But he sighs and leaves the room as well.
He’s walking down those hallways. And it’s late… and quiet. He takes a turn down the hallway and stops abruptly by the wall. Those dark brown eyes of his swiftly, and quickly look over his shoulder.
No one is there.
But he hears something.
And it’s…
It’s…
It’s…
Moaning!? he thinks, quite baffled. He runs to the door and bolts into the room, swinging the door open. And he’s just standing there, eyeballs about to pop out of his head. “Y-ya-yamamo-moto!? Go-g-goku-de-dera!”
He pants, breathes irregular and raging. He manages to sputter a few words. “TENTH-this isn’t what it looks like! I-” despite how satisfying it feels, he tries his best to push Yamamoto off his body with his limp hands. That dark-haired Japanese just rubs his forehead and falls back onto his rear. “I-” embarrassed, he takes his suit and covers the lower half off his body, he throws Takeshi’s to him as well. “Tenth, I was just-”
It isn’t a surprise that Sawada’s face was red like blood. Those hands of his cover his face, and Yamamoto can tell that his eyes are even shut tight as well. He’s trying to get out of the room, sliding his foot out, passed the doorframe and he yells out to a wall because of not particularly looking at the naked pair on the floor, “IT’S OK… JUST.. I’ll-JUST GET THOSE DOCUMENTS PHOTOCOPIED WHEN YOU’RE DONE.”
And he leaves.
Yamamoto laughs. “It’s just like the old times, isn’t it?”
Flustered, Gokudera sighs, running fingers through his hair. “Fuck you.”
---
end notes: Ummmm so there it is 8D. Sorry if I bore you T_T. I tend to "not get into things" RIGHT AWAY. LOl.. Takes me forever. Hopefully the pronz made up for the slow pace.
Seriously guys, like I posted somewhere else here before but...//writing this wearing your Gokudera cosplay?? IT DOES THINGS TO YOU LOL,, I CANNOT DO IT AGAIN..
yep : 3