I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME TODAY.
ATTENTION:
#1 - THIS IS NOT MY FAULT. BLAME roxiezeke. (AND LOOK HOW LONG IT IS; THAT'S ALL YOUR FAULT TOO.)
#2 - ...OKAY, THIS IS MY FAULT. SOB.
Wordcount: 1283 + 548 = 1831
The moment he had heard the wail of the gate's hinges as they closed, he knew he had made a mistake. But the memory of living as a ghost for so long propelled him forward, all the way into the castle's torture chambers. Father said he was useless now, coupling his statements with crippling blows and cold eyes; his disappearance had made the truth behind the rumors about his birth painfully obvious to their famiglia's allies. And he began to forget everything he had fought so hard to learn (the fireworks were gray and white again, no more explosions of color), because it didn't matter, not if father wasn't satisfied.
He stayed until he had almost forgotten what the sun looked like (they'd never left him in there this long for misbehaving as a child), before his father decided he could become useful after all.
Gokudera was sure he couldn't be worth much, but apparently the son of a rich man could sell no matter how tainted his blood was. And he knew better than to disobey, now (it didn't matter how fast he ran, the sin was too deep to ever escape), so he started forward obligingly as he felt the harsh tug on his collar. He closed his eyes, relaxing his body as he let the men shove him on to the platform, opening them again only when prodded. He half-listened to someone he couldn't see read out his starting price, ignoring the cacophony of voices calling out numbers around him.
The mallet came down a final time, and he looked up instinctively as he was shoved into a wall of flesh, body going rigid in surprise at what he saw.
"Lawn head?" and then, "-the fuck are you doing here?!"
He hadn't expected to see any of the Vongola again, not since Tenth had finally gotten his way and abandoned the mafia and he'd gone home to Italy. He choked on the questions forcing themselves involuntarily out of his mouth (he had forgotten he even had the capacity to ask them), his collar digging into his neck, irritating the raised welts there as Ryohei pulled the rope behind him, for once uncharacteristically silent. Gokudera stumbled along behind him, body bumping limply into nearly every obstacle they walked by; he hit the door frame with a painful thump as Ryohei walked in to the back entrance of a nondescript building. Ryohei grabbed his arm, pulling him roughly up two flights of stairs before shoving open the door to room 173. He tugged Gokudera clumsily in after him, sending the Italian sprawling across the floor. Then he turned to Gokudera, panting hard, and looking annoyingly energized.
"That was EXTREMELY creepy TO THE LIMIT," he declared, before finally noticing the state Gokudera was in and nearly falling over himself in an effort to heal the man faster. It took twice as long as it should have with Ryohei panicking, but eventually he extinguished his dying will flame, and Gokudera was able to sit up, his body healed for the first time in months.
His clothing was still in tatters (Gokudera almost laughed at the thought; of course Ryohei couldn't heal that), hanging awkwardly on his underfed frame, and it bound the boxing moron's mouth shut again. He leaned over to Gokudera, frowning as he tugged on the rags before moving back again to punch him in the face.
Taken by surprise, Gokudera didn't even try to dodge; the punch broke his nose as the force slammed his head back into the bedpost behind him (he wondered vaguely how it could hurt after what he had just been healed from).
"OCTOPUS HEAD! How could you so something so TOTALLY UN-EXTREME?!" Gokudera winced at the noise; he had almost forgotten how loud Ryohei could be. But the ringing in his eardrums brought back a spark of defiance; there was no way he would let an idiot like this see him so weak. He held his nose, keeping the blood out of his mouth and felt the irritation mount with an old familiarity.
"It's none of your goddamn business, you fucker!" but the collar still around his neck wasn't made to facilitate talking, and his tirade ended there, cut short as he coughed and gasped for breath. Ryohei eyed him and let out a grunt of satisfaction.
"I told you cigarettes were bad for you," and he looked so goddamn smug that Gokudera could almost remember why he used to get angry so easily.
"Shut up, that's not the problem," he snarled back, only to be completely ignored as the lawn head continued:
"You have to take good care of your body, so you can live life TO THE LIMIT!"
"I can take care of myself," Gokudera grumbled, and swallowed painfully, throat still sore. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so much; too many surprises in the last few minutes and he was exhausted from relieving so much emotion.
"No. You can't. Even Kyoko worried for you, you know?" and then suddenly he was crashing into the wall of flesh again as Ryohei grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, nearly crushing him with his retarded strength.
His started when a hand slipped in to his pants as he was pushed down, Ryohei's weight nearly crushing him. He froze in shock at the first touch, before he relaxed, accepting. He'd been expecting something like this to happen, anyways; father had said to be prepared (it was the only reason anyone would buy someone so dirty).
But Ryohei was panting hot and heavy in his ear, and his warm weight was strangely comforting. He grabbed Gokudera's cock too hard at first, but eased up at the small discomfited sound he made.
Gokudera's eyes widened, his body arching off the bed into the hand now stroking him. He could feel the calluses and scars from years of boxing, adding friction as Ryohei fisted him, hand moving steadily up and down. Then his thumb caught the sensitive underside of his cock, and his vision blurred with pleasure; he was barely able to see Ryohei's sudden smirk at the moan he was unable to suppress.
"See?" Ryohei smirked, his voice much quieter now as he panted out the words, "you can't even take care of this."
Gokudera narrowed his eyes, furious for a reason he could no longer name, and rose to meet the challenge. He groped at Ryohei's pants, the buttons uncooperative in his shaking fingers.
Ryohei jerked him faster, making it considerably more difficult, but finally the idiot's pants were out of the way, and Gokudera shoved his hand past the waistband of his (pink, really, why would he wear something so girly) boxers, wrapping his fingers around Ryohei's already half-hard cock and smearing the precome leaking from the head. His breath caught as Ryohei moaned, deep and gravelly, into his ear, his hand squeezing Gokudera a bit too hard.
The pressure built up and they moved faster, panting and red-faced and desperate to finish; Gokudera came first, nearly blacking out with the stress on his body after being healed. Ryohei brought his hand down to take care of himself, a triumphant grin at outlasting Gokudera glowing on his face even as he made a mess of his pants.
Gokudera closed his eyes and felt the weight move off of him. He didn't bother to open them even as he felt Ryohei pick him up and toss him gently on to the bed before leaving to the bathroom to clean himself off. There wasn't any need to open them; for once he could see the sun even with his eyes closed.
It seemed impossible after all he had lived through, but really, all it took was a stray bullet during a fight, and suddenly their friend was dead. Red spilled across the pavement; his heart turned traitor as it pumped blood out of his body. Chrome and Gokudera froze; Chrome's face still a placid mask, Gokudera obviously stunned. The bullets mowed the mist guardian down next; she died instantly, no time for Mukuro to save her again. Her blood sprayed across Gokudera's face and he seemed to wake up, the sound of explosions echoing violently in the alleyway. Not that Yamamoto had been able to pay much attention to it, his vision tinting red as he dispatched as many men as possible, forgetting to use the blunt side of his sword in the surge of emotions.
When it was done, even Tsuna's body was nearly unrecognizable, charred and cut and bruised under the rage of his guardians. Ryohei had been the only one with enough courage to approach it, picking up the small corpse, ignoring the bloodstains soaking into his shirt, too busy wondering what he would tell his sister. Even Hibari had stayed with them until they reached Tsuna's house, before returning to wander Namimori's halls, scowl more pronounced than usual. Somewhere along the way, someone had lifted Chrome's body on to Yamamoto's back (or maybe he had done it himself, he couldn't remember).
The rest of the night was a blur, and he remembered wondering vaguely if he had gone blind again, before repeatedly bruising his head on a wall until his father was forced to pull him away at the realization that he had lost something far more important.
Gokudera had left shortly after, not even bothering to say goodbye; gone home, the kid said, to Italy.
Yamamoto hadn't heard from him since then, and he was too listless to put much effort into contacting him; he had enough trouble keeping himself from bumping in to walls, and he had long since quit baseball. Later (he couldn't tell how much later, he didn't know any more) Shamal had written him a letter. Gokudera had been tracking down the men who killed Tsuna, but he hadn't made it. Fallen off a cliff, defiant until the end. He vaguely remembered the letter saying something about it being quick and painless, but he knew better than to expect his friend would make it easy for himself. He saw it, sometimes, when he was sleeping, saw Gokudera, bloodied and struggling at the bottom of the cliff, dragging himself over sharp rocks, desperate to take out just one more target. He wouldn't have made it but halfway to the water's edge, of course, even Gokudera's stubbornness had limits, but it certainly wouldn't have stopped him from trying.
He knew this wasn't what either of them would have wanted (though Gokudera would have denied it vehemently), but he had never been as strong as either of them. And there was some kind of poetic justice, dying where he should have the first time, if he was destined to be this useless. But there wasn't a Tsuna to save him this time, or a Gokudera to challenge him to live, and there wouldn't be, ever again.
He stepped off the roof once more.
#1 - THIS IS NOT MY FAULT. BLAME roxiezeke. (AND LOOK HOW LONG IT IS; THAT'S ALL YOUR FAULT TOO.)
#2 - ...OKAY, THIS IS MY FAULT. SOB.
Wordcount: 1283 + 548 = 1831
The moment he had heard the wail of the gate's hinges as they closed, he knew he had made a mistake. But the memory of living as a ghost for so long propelled him forward, all the way into the castle's torture chambers. Father said he was useless now, coupling his statements with crippling blows and cold eyes; his disappearance had made the truth behind the rumors about his birth painfully obvious to their famiglia's allies. And he began to forget everything he had fought so hard to learn (the fireworks were gray and white again, no more explosions of color), because it didn't matter, not if father wasn't satisfied.
He stayed until he had almost forgotten what the sun looked like (they'd never left him in there this long for misbehaving as a child), before his father decided he could become useful after all.
Gokudera was sure he couldn't be worth much, but apparently the son of a rich man could sell no matter how tainted his blood was. And he knew better than to disobey, now (it didn't matter how fast he ran, the sin was too deep to ever escape), so he started forward obligingly as he felt the harsh tug on his collar. He closed his eyes, relaxing his body as he let the men shove him on to the platform, opening them again only when prodded. He half-listened to someone he couldn't see read out his starting price, ignoring the cacophony of voices calling out numbers around him.
The mallet came down a final time, and he looked up instinctively as he was shoved into a wall of flesh, body going rigid in surprise at what he saw.
"Lawn head?" and then, "-the fuck are you doing here?!"
He hadn't expected to see any of the Vongola again, not since Tenth had finally gotten his way and abandoned the mafia and he'd gone home to Italy. He choked on the questions forcing themselves involuntarily out of his mouth (he had forgotten he even had the capacity to ask them), his collar digging into his neck, irritating the raised welts there as Ryohei pulled the rope behind him, for once uncharacteristically silent. Gokudera stumbled along behind him, body bumping limply into nearly every obstacle they walked by; he hit the door frame with a painful thump as Ryohei walked in to the back entrance of a nondescript building. Ryohei grabbed his arm, pulling him roughly up two flights of stairs before shoving open the door to room 173. He tugged Gokudera clumsily in after him, sending the Italian sprawling across the floor. Then he turned to Gokudera, panting hard, and looking annoyingly energized.
"That was EXTREMELY creepy TO THE LIMIT," he declared, before finally noticing the state Gokudera was in and nearly falling over himself in an effort to heal the man faster. It took twice as long as it should have with Ryohei panicking, but eventually he extinguished his dying will flame, and Gokudera was able to sit up, his body healed for the first time in months.
His clothing was still in tatters (Gokudera almost laughed at the thought; of course Ryohei couldn't heal that), hanging awkwardly on his underfed frame, and it bound the boxing moron's mouth shut again. He leaned over to Gokudera, frowning as he tugged on the rags before moving back again to punch him in the face.
Taken by surprise, Gokudera didn't even try to dodge; the punch broke his nose as the force slammed his head back into the bedpost behind him (he wondered vaguely how it could hurt after what he had just been healed from).
"OCTOPUS HEAD! How could you so something so TOTALLY UN-EXTREME?!" Gokudera winced at the noise; he had almost forgotten how loud Ryohei could be. But the ringing in his eardrums brought back a spark of defiance; there was no way he would let an idiot like this see him so weak. He held his nose, keeping the blood out of his mouth and felt the irritation mount with an old familiarity.
"It's none of your goddamn business, you fucker!" but the collar still around his neck wasn't made to facilitate talking, and his tirade ended there, cut short as he coughed and gasped for breath. Ryohei eyed him and let out a grunt of satisfaction.
"I told you cigarettes were bad for you," and he looked so goddamn smug that Gokudera could almost remember why he used to get angry so easily.
"Shut up, that's not the problem," he snarled back, only to be completely ignored as the lawn head continued:
"You have to take good care of your body, so you can live life TO THE LIMIT!"
"I can take care of myself," Gokudera grumbled, and swallowed painfully, throat still sore. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so much; too many surprises in the last few minutes and he was exhausted from relieving so much emotion.
"No. You can't. Even Kyoko worried for you, you know?" and then suddenly he was crashing into the wall of flesh again as Ryohei grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, nearly crushing him with his retarded strength.
His started when a hand slipped in to his pants as he was pushed down, Ryohei's weight nearly crushing him. He froze in shock at the first touch, before he relaxed, accepting. He'd been expecting something like this to happen, anyways; father had said to be prepared (it was the only reason anyone would buy someone so dirty).
But Ryohei was panting hot and heavy in his ear, and his warm weight was strangely comforting. He grabbed Gokudera's cock too hard at first, but eased up at the small discomfited sound he made.
Gokudera's eyes widened, his body arching off the bed into the hand now stroking him. He could feel the calluses and scars from years of boxing, adding friction as Ryohei fisted him, hand moving steadily up and down. Then his thumb caught the sensitive underside of his cock, and his vision blurred with pleasure; he was barely able to see Ryohei's sudden smirk at the moan he was unable to suppress.
"See?" Ryohei smirked, his voice much quieter now as he panted out the words, "you can't even take care of this."
Gokudera narrowed his eyes, furious for a reason he could no longer name, and rose to meet the challenge. He groped at Ryohei's pants, the buttons uncooperative in his shaking fingers.
Ryohei jerked him faster, making it considerably more difficult, but finally the idiot's pants were out of the way, and Gokudera shoved his hand past the waistband of his (pink, really, why would he wear something so girly) boxers, wrapping his fingers around Ryohei's already half-hard cock and smearing the precome leaking from the head. His breath caught as Ryohei moaned, deep and gravelly, into his ear, his hand squeezing Gokudera a bit too hard.
The pressure built up and they moved faster, panting and red-faced and desperate to finish; Gokudera came first, nearly blacking out with the stress on his body after being healed. Ryohei brought his hand down to take care of himself, a triumphant grin at outlasting Gokudera glowing on his face even as he made a mess of his pants.
Gokudera closed his eyes and felt the weight move off of him. He didn't bother to open them even as he felt Ryohei pick him up and toss him gently on to the bed before leaving to the bathroom to clean himself off. There wasn't any need to open them; for once he could see the sun even with his eyes closed.
It seemed impossible after all he had lived through, but really, all it took was a stray bullet during a fight, and suddenly their friend was dead. Red spilled across the pavement; his heart turned traitor as it pumped blood out of his body. Chrome and Gokudera froze; Chrome's face still a placid mask, Gokudera obviously stunned. The bullets mowed the mist guardian down next; she died instantly, no time for Mukuro to save her again. Her blood sprayed across Gokudera's face and he seemed to wake up, the sound of explosions echoing violently in the alleyway. Not that Yamamoto had been able to pay much attention to it, his vision tinting red as he dispatched as many men as possible, forgetting to use the blunt side of his sword in the surge of emotions.
When it was done, even Tsuna's body was nearly unrecognizable, charred and cut and bruised under the rage of his guardians. Ryohei had been the only one with enough courage to approach it, picking up the small corpse, ignoring the bloodstains soaking into his shirt, too busy wondering what he would tell his sister. Even Hibari had stayed with them until they reached Tsuna's house, before returning to wander Namimori's halls, scowl more pronounced than usual. Somewhere along the way, someone had lifted Chrome's body on to Yamamoto's back (or maybe he had done it himself, he couldn't remember).
The rest of the night was a blur, and he remembered wondering vaguely if he had gone blind again, before repeatedly bruising his head on a wall until his father was forced to pull him away at the realization that he had lost something far more important.
Gokudera had left shortly after, not even bothering to say goodbye; gone home, the kid said, to Italy.
Yamamoto hadn't heard from him since then, and he was too listless to put much effort into contacting him; he had enough trouble keeping himself from bumping in to walls, and he had long since quit baseball. Later (he couldn't tell how much later, he didn't know any more) Shamal had written him a letter. Gokudera had been tracking down the men who killed Tsuna, but he hadn't made it. Fallen off a cliff, defiant until the end. He vaguely remembered the letter saying something about it being quick and painless, but he knew better than to expect his friend would make it easy for himself. He saw it, sometimes, when he was sleeping, saw Gokudera, bloodied and struggling at the bottom of the cliff, dragging himself over sharp rocks, desperate to take out just one more target. He wouldn't have made it but halfway to the water's edge, of course, even Gokudera's stubbornness had limits, but it certainly wouldn't have stopped him from trying.
He knew this wasn't what either of them would have wanted (though Gokudera would have denied it vehemently), but he had never been as strong as either of them. And there was some kind of poetic justice, dying where he should have the first time, if he was destined to be this useless. But there wasn't a Tsuna to save him this time, or a Gokudera to challenge him to live, and there wouldn't be, ever again.
He stepped off the roof once more.