[fic] Untold (until now) - Yamamoto, Bianchi, 8059
Title: Untold (until now)
Characters: Yamamoto, Bianchi, mentions of Yamamoto/Gokudera
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Yamamoto is FTM in this story. If you have a problem with this, either don't bother reading or refrain from commenting. I will not tolerate wank in my journal.
Mentions of sexual situations and menstruation-I figured I should warn for the latter since it makes some people squeamish. XD
Word Count: 2,100~
Summary: Yamamoto really wasn't ready for anyone to find out about his secret, but apparently his body had other ideas.
A/N: Written for queer_fest , prompt - any male character, having to out himself as trans to a female friend when his period catches him unawares. In order to make the story work, this takes place in an AU in which the main cast first meet each other when the boys are in high school instead of middle school.
know, and Yamamoto wasn't ready for that.'>“Yamamoto Takeshi, is that what I think it is?”
Bianchi's drawl sent a chill down Yamamoto's spine. please please please
“Ahaha. Gulp. Crap, don't show weakness. “And what do you think it is?”
Bianchi fixed him with a nonplussed stare and a single, elegantly raised eyebrow. “I think there is a blood stain on your pants. Yamamoto Takeshi, why would there be a blood stain on your pants?”
There was a perfectly logical explanation, he was sure. It was just that none came to mind at the moment. Well, at least he didn't go for the old standby of haha, what are you talking about? It was painfully obvious that Bianchi placed no stock in his feigned obliviousness-who knew how she'd react if he played the dumb card straight to her face. He'd already gotten the 'rearrange your face' spiel from her brother; Bianchi would probably follow through on the threat.
Instead he took the easy way out, sidling backwards along the wall and slipping into the restroom down the hall. please please please
Well, even if he'd had an accident, it wasn't as if the first thing she'd suspect was... But still. He shouldn't have had to worry. It had been how many years, and it was late this month so he'd known it could come at any time. Though he usually could tell when it was on its way.
“Yamamoto Takeshi, do you think you can hide from me?”
No. That was just silly. Who thought they could hide from Bianchi? But a man could dream.
“No, just gotta pee. You know. In here. By myself.” He felt a twinge of sympathy for Gokudera.
“I see,” she replied, and Yamamoto had a brief moment of panic in which he imagined that she could somehow see through walls and- Wait. He was being too suspicious. He wondered if she'd somehow slipped something to him earlier that would make him more paranoid, but he remembered that he hadn't eaten anything since he'd come to Tsuna's house. Besides, Bianchi didn't need to physically poison people to make them paranoid. Her mere presence was toxic enough.
Some people thought Yamamoto could be a little, well, spacey at times, but despite Gokudera's insistence, he wasn't stupid. It was just that most people lumped everything and everyone threatening into one category, whereas Yamamoto demarcated them. People like Gokudera were mostly blustery air. People like Squalo just knew how to appreciate an adversary. People like Reborn were crafty but knew where to draw the line. People like Bianchi were... Well, a nice way to put it was that he never wanted to be on her bad side. Ever.
So. Back to the matter at hand. Sure enough, his boxers were ruined, and his pants had a nice, big burgundy blotch in the back. Well, crap. How was he going to make it home without anyone noticing? Maybe he could stretch his T-shirt down just enough to hide it, or maybe he could nick one of Tsuna's jackets to tie around his waist. He wasn't sure how he could do that without anyone noticing, but it wasn't like he'd be stealing it-he could give it back to Tsuna the next time he saw him. No harm done. Right?
Well, he was sure a better idea would come to him. Now he just needed to make sure no more damage was done. He wiped himself off and leaned over to rummage through the cabinet beside the toilet. Extra toilet paper, some floral hand towels, a bottle of toilet cleaner. Shit.
Okay, don't panic. He was good at that, right? He'd just have to think this through logically. Too bad Gokudera wasn't here-he was the logical one (in certain matters, of course)-but that would mean he would know, and Yamamoto wasn't ready for that yet. He considered simply lining his underwear with toilet paper until he had time to find something else, but they were already soaked through, and besides, the flow was too heavy for that.
The cramps were beginning to come on. Really? He could have used the warning a little earlier.
He wondered if Tsuna was finished running errands yet. Maybe he could sneak out of the house before he came back and run home without anyone on the street seeing him. There was the matter of getting past Tsuna's mom, which shouldn't be too difficult, and Bianchi-
Bianchi. please please please
“Bianchi-san?”
“Yes?”
Damn.
“You know,” she continued. “We don't keep the feminine products in there. They're in the closet down the hall.”
It took a few moments for her words to sink in, but once they did, they immediately festered into a nightmarish numbness in his gut and a dizzying haziness at the edges of his vision and no, no, there's no way this is happening -
“Do you need a tampon?”
A small part of his sanity died. He wished it had been the entire thing; then he wouldn't actually have to care anymore.
“Yamamoto-?”
“Yeah,” he responded, far too timidly for his own liking.
“I didn't catch that.”
“Yes,” he said a little louder. “I need a...a. You know, what you said before.”
When she didn't answer after that, he wondered if she was still standing on the other side of the door in silent disgust, contemplating how to best wipe his unnatural existence from the planet, but then there was a single rap against the wood.
“Here,” she said. “Just crack the door open.”
He followed her instructions with cautious movements, and in the space that appeared, a finger-shaped package was thrust. He grabbed it without a word and shut the door without resistance. As he was putting it in, Bianchi cleared her throat.
“Do you need to borrow some pants?” she asked. “My hips are a little bigger, but they should be fine until you can get your own.”
As if in a trance, Yamamoto pulled his soiled undergarments and pants up and opened the door fully. Bianchi was standing before him in the hall with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't look as repulsed as he'd imagined. He followed her to the guest bedroom where she'd taken up residence and stood in a corner of the room with his back the walls while she dug through the dresser, pulling out a few pants.
“My underwear's...” he mumbled when she dropped the clothing in his arms.
“If they're so stained that they're going to make a mess of my pants, don't wear them,” she said. “I'll wash my stuff anyway when you return them, but at least I won't have to worry so much about stains.”
She turned around so he could try the first pair on. They were too tight in his thighs.
“Umm, Bianchi-san...”
“Does my brother know?”
He cringed a little as he wrangled that pair off and reached for the next ones. “No. Please don't tell him.”
“He deserves to know,” she replied.
“And I deserve to be the one to tell him.”
He wasn't sure how to interpret her shoulder shrug but hoped it was a concession. The next pair of pants were a little short but otherwise fine.
“These fit,” he said. “Thanks.”
When she turned around, her eyes raked up and down his body with a little too much of a prying air for his comfort. He almost backed out of the room (Survival Rule 57: don't show your back to a dangerous animal), but apparently she wanted to continue their conversation.
“Hayato does not take deception well, especially when it's from people he loves.”
His heart fluttered a little at the implication that she knew Gokudera loved him, but that wasn't the point here.
“Hey now, I'm not deceiving anyone. That's not what this is about.”
“How do you think Hayato will see it?” she countered.
Not well, Yamamoto thought, which was exactly why he wasn't ready to tell him. But Bianchi had a point. He remembered the one time a few months ago when they had been making out, and Gokudera's fingers slid just the slightest amount beneath the waistband of his jeans, and Yamamoto had shot to the other side of the bed like his skin was on fire, his heart torn between racing a million miles per minute and stopping completely because of the dejected look clouding Gokudera's face. That sting of rejection had been exactly what Yamamoto was dreading from Gokudera, and here he'd gone and dumped it on him. Still, Yamamoto was there to rest his chin in the crook of Gokudera's neck-ignoring the held breath and tense muscles-immediately afterward, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. No one had been left alone. No one had been beaten for it. No one had been cut down with words of disgust. Not that he expected Gokudera to do any of that to him.
But. He might. So Yamamoto wasn't ready for him to find out.
His own sanity didn't appear to be on board with the plan, though. Yamamoto wanted to have sex with his boyfriend, and it didn't help his restraint that his boyfriend seemed to want the same thing. It seemed like every other night he dreamed about it, and lately he'd been drifting off more and more often during class, hoping no one would read too much into his glassy stare and slack jaw. At least he didn't have to worry about hiding boners all the time, he reminded himself, but that was really just his way of trying to look on the bright side of the situation.
He wanted Gokudera. He wanted Gokudera to want him despite their differences. He wanted to be normal. He wanted...
He just plain wanted.
Was it all really too much to ask?
“I've got it under control,” he lied, “so please don't tell him-or anyone, for that matter.”
She didn't say anything.
“Bianchi-san.”
Sighing, she bent down to gather the unneeded clothes from the floor. “Fine,” she said, “but I don't like it.”
He wanted to tell her that it didn't matter whether she liked it or not, but that would have been a Very Bad Idea.
“Thanks,” he said instead because, well, she really hadn't made as big of a scene as he had expected, and he was appreciative. Then again, Bianchi was Bianchi, and he never really knew what to expect from her. She'd probably have the same reaction if he'd come out to her as an alien.
She shrugged again and held his pants and underwear out of reach when he tried to grab them from her. “Don't worry, I can take care of these,” she explained, pushing past him out the room, which was probably his cue to follow her.
Tsuna was just coming up the stairs with Gokudera tailing close behind, when they stopped outside Tsuna's bedroom.
“Sorry for making you wait,” Tsuna called out. “Mom had a lot more stuff than I'd expected. Oh, but Gokudera's here.”
“What the hell are you wearing?” Gokudera demanded as soon as he saw Yamamoto. “Are those...” He wrinkled his nose. “Are those my sister's pants?”
“Haha, well...”
“I spilled some sauce on his,” Bianchi interrupted. “So he's borrowing mine.”
Gokudera and Tsuna both blanched at her explanation, and Yamamoto knew they were probably imagining horror-scenarios involving Bianchi's 'special' cooking and his skin being eaten away.
“It's alright, guys,” he assured them. “No harm done.”
When Bianchi bumped into him on her way past, he wondered if it was meant to be a threatening gesture or a supportive one. Maybe both? Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe she didn't realize how much the past ten minutes meant to him, how frightening and how liberating it felt not to have to hide himself from someone.
Then she whispered something meant just for his ears.
“If it's true love, you'll be fine.”
It was so Bianchi-esque that he almost laughed aloud (another Very Bad Idea), but he knew he was in no position to judge because he had plenty of his own Yamamoto-isms, and besides, it was-
In all its cliché glory, it was true. As he watched Gokudera bristle when his sister squeezed his shoulder, Yamamoto knew that, in spite of his reservations, he would tell him soon. He wasn't ready yet, but...soon.
Characters: Yamamoto, Bianchi, mentions of Yamamoto/Gokudera
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Yamamoto is FTM in this story. If you have a problem with this, either don't bother reading or refrain from commenting. I will not tolerate wank in my journal.
Mentions of sexual situations and menstruation-I figured I should warn for the latter since it makes some people squeamish. XD
Word Count: 2,100~
Summary: Yamamoto really wasn't ready for anyone to find out about his secret, but apparently his body had other ideas.
A/N: Written for queer_fest , prompt - any male character, having to out himself as trans to a female friend when his period catches him unawares. In order to make the story work, this takes place in an AU in which the main cast first meet each other when the boys are in high school instead of middle school.
know, and Yamamoto wasn't ready for that.'>“Yamamoto Takeshi, is that what I think it is?”
Bianchi's drawl sent a chill down Yamamoto's spine. please please please
“Ahaha. Gulp. Crap, don't show weakness. “And what do you think it is?”
Bianchi fixed him with a nonplussed stare and a single, elegantly raised eyebrow. “I think there is a blood stain on your pants. Yamamoto Takeshi, why would there be a blood stain on your pants?”
There was a perfectly logical explanation, he was sure. It was just that none came to mind at the moment. Well, at least he didn't go for the old standby of haha, what are you talking about? It was painfully obvious that Bianchi placed no stock in his feigned obliviousness-who knew how she'd react if he played the dumb card straight to her face. He'd already gotten the 'rearrange your face' spiel from her brother; Bianchi would probably follow through on the threat.
Instead he took the easy way out, sidling backwards along the wall and slipping into the restroom down the hall. please please please
Well, even if he'd had an accident, it wasn't as if the first thing she'd suspect was... But still. He shouldn't have had to worry. It had been how many years, and it was late this month so he'd known it could come at any time. Though he usually could tell when it was on its way.
“Yamamoto Takeshi, do you think you can hide from me?”
No. That was just silly. Who thought they could hide from Bianchi? But a man could dream.
“No, just gotta pee. You know. In here. By myself.” He felt a twinge of sympathy for Gokudera.
“I see,” she replied, and Yamamoto had a brief moment of panic in which he imagined that she could somehow see through walls and- Wait. He was being too suspicious. He wondered if she'd somehow slipped something to him earlier that would make him more paranoid, but he remembered that he hadn't eaten anything since he'd come to Tsuna's house. Besides, Bianchi didn't need to physically poison people to make them paranoid. Her mere presence was toxic enough.
Some people thought Yamamoto could be a little, well, spacey at times, but despite Gokudera's insistence, he wasn't stupid. It was just that most people lumped everything and everyone threatening into one category, whereas Yamamoto demarcated them. People like Gokudera were mostly blustery air. People like Squalo just knew how to appreciate an adversary. People like Reborn were crafty but knew where to draw the line. People like Bianchi were... Well, a nice way to put it was that he never wanted to be on her bad side. Ever.
So. Back to the matter at hand. Sure enough, his boxers were ruined, and his pants had a nice, big burgundy blotch in the back. Well, crap. How was he going to make it home without anyone noticing? Maybe he could stretch his T-shirt down just enough to hide it, or maybe he could nick one of Tsuna's jackets to tie around his waist. He wasn't sure how he could do that without anyone noticing, but it wasn't like he'd be stealing it-he could give it back to Tsuna the next time he saw him. No harm done. Right?
Well, he was sure a better idea would come to him. Now he just needed to make sure no more damage was done. He wiped himself off and leaned over to rummage through the cabinet beside the toilet. Extra toilet paper, some floral hand towels, a bottle of toilet cleaner. Shit.
Okay, don't panic. He was good at that, right? He'd just have to think this through logically. Too bad Gokudera wasn't here-he was the logical one (in certain matters, of course)-but that would mean he would know, and Yamamoto wasn't ready for that yet. He considered simply lining his underwear with toilet paper until he had time to find something else, but they were already soaked through, and besides, the flow was too heavy for that.
The cramps were beginning to come on. Really? He could have used the warning a little earlier.
He wondered if Tsuna was finished running errands yet. Maybe he could sneak out of the house before he came back and run home without anyone on the street seeing him. There was the matter of getting past Tsuna's mom, which shouldn't be too difficult, and Bianchi-
Bianchi. please please please
“Bianchi-san?”
“Yes?”
Damn.
“You know,” she continued. “We don't keep the feminine products in there. They're in the closet down the hall.”
It took a few moments for her words to sink in, but once they did, they immediately festered into a nightmarish numbness in his gut and a dizzying haziness at the edges of his vision and no, no, there's no way this is happening -
“Do you need a tampon?”
A small part of his sanity died. He wished it had been the entire thing; then he wouldn't actually have to care anymore.
“Yamamoto-?”
“Yeah,” he responded, far too timidly for his own liking.
“I didn't catch that.”
“Yes,” he said a little louder. “I need a...a. You know, what you said before.”
When she didn't answer after that, he wondered if she was still standing on the other side of the door in silent disgust, contemplating how to best wipe his unnatural existence from the planet, but then there was a single rap against the wood.
“Here,” she said. “Just crack the door open.”
He followed her instructions with cautious movements, and in the space that appeared, a finger-shaped package was thrust. He grabbed it without a word and shut the door without resistance. As he was putting it in, Bianchi cleared her throat.
“Do you need to borrow some pants?” she asked. “My hips are a little bigger, but they should be fine until you can get your own.”
As if in a trance, Yamamoto pulled his soiled undergarments and pants up and opened the door fully. Bianchi was standing before him in the hall with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't look as repulsed as he'd imagined. He followed her to the guest bedroom where she'd taken up residence and stood in a corner of the room with his back the walls while she dug through the dresser, pulling out a few pants.
“My underwear's...” he mumbled when she dropped the clothing in his arms.
“If they're so stained that they're going to make a mess of my pants, don't wear them,” she said. “I'll wash my stuff anyway when you return them, but at least I won't have to worry so much about stains.”
She turned around so he could try the first pair on. They were too tight in his thighs.
“Umm, Bianchi-san...”
“Does my brother know?”
He cringed a little as he wrangled that pair off and reached for the next ones. “No. Please don't tell him.”
“He deserves to know,” she replied.
“And I deserve to be the one to tell him.”
He wasn't sure how to interpret her shoulder shrug but hoped it was a concession. The next pair of pants were a little short but otherwise fine.
“These fit,” he said. “Thanks.”
When she turned around, her eyes raked up and down his body with a little too much of a prying air for his comfort. He almost backed out of the room (Survival Rule 57: don't show your back to a dangerous animal), but apparently she wanted to continue their conversation.
“Hayato does not take deception well, especially when it's from people he loves.”
His heart fluttered a little at the implication that she knew Gokudera loved him, but that wasn't the point here.
“Hey now, I'm not deceiving anyone. That's not what this is about.”
“How do you think Hayato will see it?” she countered.
Not well, Yamamoto thought, which was exactly why he wasn't ready to tell him. But Bianchi had a point. He remembered the one time a few months ago when they had been making out, and Gokudera's fingers slid just the slightest amount beneath the waistband of his jeans, and Yamamoto had shot to the other side of the bed like his skin was on fire, his heart torn between racing a million miles per minute and stopping completely because of the dejected look clouding Gokudera's face. That sting of rejection had been exactly what Yamamoto was dreading from Gokudera, and here he'd gone and dumped it on him. Still, Yamamoto was there to rest his chin in the crook of Gokudera's neck-ignoring the held breath and tense muscles-immediately afterward, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. No one had been left alone. No one had been beaten for it. No one had been cut down with words of disgust. Not that he expected Gokudera to do any of that to him.
But. He might. So Yamamoto wasn't ready for him to find out.
His own sanity didn't appear to be on board with the plan, though. Yamamoto wanted to have sex with his boyfriend, and it didn't help his restraint that his boyfriend seemed to want the same thing. It seemed like every other night he dreamed about it, and lately he'd been drifting off more and more often during class, hoping no one would read too much into his glassy stare and slack jaw. At least he didn't have to worry about hiding boners all the time, he reminded himself, but that was really just his way of trying to look on the bright side of the situation.
He wanted Gokudera. He wanted Gokudera to want him despite their differences. He wanted to be normal. He wanted...
He just plain wanted.
Was it all really too much to ask?
“I've got it under control,” he lied, “so please don't tell him-or anyone, for that matter.”
She didn't say anything.
“Bianchi-san.”
Sighing, she bent down to gather the unneeded clothes from the floor. “Fine,” she said, “but I don't like it.”
He wanted to tell her that it didn't matter whether she liked it or not, but that would have been a Very Bad Idea.
“Thanks,” he said instead because, well, she really hadn't made as big of a scene as he had expected, and he was appreciative. Then again, Bianchi was Bianchi, and he never really knew what to expect from her. She'd probably have the same reaction if he'd come out to her as an alien.
She shrugged again and held his pants and underwear out of reach when he tried to grab them from her. “Don't worry, I can take care of these,” she explained, pushing past him out the room, which was probably his cue to follow her.
Tsuna was just coming up the stairs with Gokudera tailing close behind, when they stopped outside Tsuna's bedroom.
“Sorry for making you wait,” Tsuna called out. “Mom had a lot more stuff than I'd expected. Oh, but Gokudera's here.”
“What the hell are you wearing?” Gokudera demanded as soon as he saw Yamamoto. “Are those...” He wrinkled his nose. “Are those my sister's pants?”
“Haha, well...”
“I spilled some sauce on his,” Bianchi interrupted. “So he's borrowing mine.”
Gokudera and Tsuna both blanched at her explanation, and Yamamoto knew they were probably imagining horror-scenarios involving Bianchi's 'special' cooking and his skin being eaten away.
“It's alright, guys,” he assured them. “No harm done.”
When Bianchi bumped into him on her way past, he wondered if it was meant to be a threatening gesture or a supportive one. Maybe both? Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe she didn't realize how much the past ten minutes meant to him, how frightening and how liberating it felt not to have to hide himself from someone.
Then she whispered something meant just for his ears.
“If it's true love, you'll be fine.”
It was so Bianchi-esque that he almost laughed aloud (another Very Bad Idea), but he knew he was in no position to judge because he had plenty of his own Yamamoto-isms, and besides, it was-
In all its cliché glory, it was true. As he watched Gokudera bristle when his sister squeezed his shoulder, Yamamoto knew that, in spite of his reservations, he would tell him soon. He wasn't ready yet, but...soon.