Fic: More Ways It Could Have Begun
Title: More Ways It Could Have Begun
Characters/Pairing: 8059
Word Count: 462
Excerpt: “It takes a while for Gokudera to notice how hungrily Yamamoto watches him.”
1. “Do you love me?” It’s not so much a plea for assurance as it is an accusation. Yamamoto sighs, rests a hand at the back of his neck and sighs again. He’s been hoping to avoid this particular conversation. Gokudera is chewing on his cigarette - a sure sign of agitation - smouldering and pissy and distinctly unimpressed.
“Well, you baseball bastard? Do you?” he demands, stomping his foot in emphasis. Yamamoto looks down at him and thinks this would all be a heck of a lot easier if Gokudera wasn’t so damned attractive.
“Yeah,” he exhales finally.
“Fuck,” Gokudera swears, glaring at him. Yamamoto shrugs and trails his fingertips across those pretty collar bones. It would probably have been better to lie, he reflects, but he’s not sorry.
“Pervert,” Gokudera snorts. He’s tilting his head unconsciously to give better access though; eyes Yamamoto with a weighty, considering gaze that tells him the issue’s far from over - but he’s willing to be distracted, for the moment.
2. Gokudera likes Takoyaki. The wait is never long and there’s something about the thick sauce and rich flavour that reminds him of Italy. He doesn’t have it very often; the texture of creamy octopus makes him feel like he’s betraying his country. Yamamoto catches on very quickly. He’s around his dad often enough to recognise the enjoyment as Gokudera bites cautiously into the snack, opens his dark mouth to breathe out when it proves too hot and licks his fingers when he’s done. It’s no wonder Gokudera doesn’t usually like sushi, a cold and dainty dish eaten with chopsticks and green tea.
It takes a while for Gokudera to notice how hungrily Yamamoto watches him when he’s having his favourite food. A reluctant offer to share makes him gasp when the other boy leans forward and plunders the taste from his mouth.
3. There are lots of things Gokudera can’t do now. He consoles himself by listing the things he can do, methodologically in his head, because writing is one of the things not on that list, at least until his left hand gets used to it. It is not, to his silent frustration, something that happens immediately through balls and sheer force of will.
Yamamoto is no psychic, but the bad energy that surrounds Gokudera is enough to thin crowds. Walking into a room already occupied by the Storm guardian is like entering a morgue. Everyone has taken to slinking around headquarters, avoiding while doing their best to appear casual.
Yamamoto isn’t the type to make excuses and tiptoe around people. The more Gokudera stands as if surrounded by a pocket of air, the more Yamamoto skates that imaginary line. When he seals their mouths together, Gokudera pants as though he’s punctured a lung, a swimmer breaching the surface of a tremendous sea.
Characters/Pairing: 8059
Word Count: 462
Excerpt: “It takes a while for Gokudera to notice how hungrily Yamamoto watches him.”
1. “Do you love me?” It’s not so much a plea for assurance as it is an accusation. Yamamoto sighs, rests a hand at the back of his neck and sighs again. He’s been hoping to avoid this particular conversation. Gokudera is chewing on his cigarette - a sure sign of agitation - smouldering and pissy and distinctly unimpressed.
“Well, you baseball bastard? Do you?” he demands, stomping his foot in emphasis. Yamamoto looks down at him and thinks this would all be a heck of a lot easier if Gokudera wasn’t so damned attractive.
“Yeah,” he exhales finally.
“Fuck,” Gokudera swears, glaring at him. Yamamoto shrugs and trails his fingertips across those pretty collar bones. It would probably have been better to lie, he reflects, but he’s not sorry.
“Pervert,” Gokudera snorts. He’s tilting his head unconsciously to give better access though; eyes Yamamoto with a weighty, considering gaze that tells him the issue’s far from over - but he’s willing to be distracted, for the moment.
2. Gokudera likes Takoyaki. The wait is never long and there’s something about the thick sauce and rich flavour that reminds him of Italy. He doesn’t have it very often; the texture of creamy octopus makes him feel like he’s betraying his country. Yamamoto catches on very quickly. He’s around his dad often enough to recognise the enjoyment as Gokudera bites cautiously into the snack, opens his dark mouth to breathe out when it proves too hot and licks his fingers when he’s done. It’s no wonder Gokudera doesn’t usually like sushi, a cold and dainty dish eaten with chopsticks and green tea.
It takes a while for Gokudera to notice how hungrily Yamamoto watches him when he’s having his favourite food. A reluctant offer to share makes him gasp when the other boy leans forward and plunders the taste from his mouth.
3. There are lots of things Gokudera can’t do now. He consoles himself by listing the things he can do, methodologically in his head, because writing is one of the things not on that list, at least until his left hand gets used to it. It is not, to his silent frustration, something that happens immediately through balls and sheer force of will.
Yamamoto is no psychic, but the bad energy that surrounds Gokudera is enough to thin crowds. Walking into a room already occupied by the Storm guardian is like entering a morgue. Everyone has taken to slinking around headquarters, avoiding while doing their best to appear casual.
Yamamoto isn’t the type to make excuses and tiptoe around people. The more Gokudera stands as if surrounded by a pocket of air, the more Yamamoto skates that imaginary line. When he seals their mouths together, Gokudera pants as though he’s punctured a lung, a swimmer breaching the surface of a tremendous sea.