Katekyo Hitman Reborn! Fan Fiction ❯ Wounded Pride ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Title: Wounded Pride

Summary: Ever since Gokudera reached the future it'd just been one beating to his pride after another and now Yamamoto apparently wanted to join the party.

Warnings: Angst, Lime, Gokudera's Mouth, and Yamamoto's Dogged Persistence Where Any Normal Human Being Would Have Conceded Defeat.

Disclaimer: Do you really think I'd make someone so resistant to being slashed as Gokudera; you have no idea how long it took me to force him into that final scene- why do you think this fic is really this long?

 

Gokudera scowled and bit the inside of his mouth unhappily.

He was sitting on the bottom bunk of the bed in the room he was forced to share with the baseball-idiot. On a cabinet beside him was a steaming bowl of water, a small, brown bottle- its contents lying unassumingly in his palm- and a large roll of bandages.

The bottom of his left trouser leg was stiff with blood and where it had dried it had adhered the fabric to the deep cuts left by the mandibles of his sister's scorpions. Training with Bianchi had become one unacceptable failure after another but Gokudera was too proud to admit it out loud which was why he was now holed up in his room like an injured animal that had retreated to its den to lick its wounds.

Gokudera glared down at his leg and then looked back at the three small, white pills in his hand. He swallowed them dry as he wondered when would be the best to time to sneak into the medical room to steal some more. Usually, considering the base's lack of an official doctor, it would have been easier than breathing to slip in and take a single bottle of painkillers but recently Gokudera had grown a tail. For some reason Yamamoto had made it his mission to foist his presence onto the displeased genius whenever possible and Gokudera was frighteningly close to just sticking dynamite under his bed in the middle of the night.

Gokudera grit his teeth as he gripped the edge of his black trousers (though not practical in a desert the colour was useful for hiding blood from anyone who wasn't looking too closely) and, after a few seconds readying himself with deep breaths, he yanked it over his knee.

The recently formed scab was ripped away from his wound and Gokudera found himself muffling an agonised cry behind his tightly pressed lips as a fresh flow of blood splattered over his bare foot and onto the floor where it pooled grotesquely.

He watched it spread, a vivid reminder of yet another failure to the tenth- what use was he as a right-hand man if he couldn't even advance in his training? He bet the baseball idiot wasn't having these problems. He was always strolling around with that god-awful grin upon his face, looking for all the world as though he didn't even understand the meaning of the word `problem'.

Gokudera pulled his eyes away from the ugly puddle to study the damage the scorpion had managed to inflict and pulled a face at the messy wound. Dried blood still clung stubbornly round the edge the jagged holes on either side of his calf and the fluid pouring thickly out of them made Gokudera's stomach roll nauseatingly. With an irritated sigh Gokudera leaned over to grab a rag that had been floating in the steaming water beside him and squeezed out the excess as he lifted his foot onto the edge of bed so he could reach his injury more easily. The blood was already starting to slow as a new delicate membrane started to form over the top but it was growing around small pieces of sand, grit and dust that had managed to stick to the wound.

It was going to have to get worse before it got better.

Gokudera cleaned the outside first, clearing away the macabre stain settling itself on tender skin whilst doggedly avoiding the painful wounds until there was absolutely nothing else left. Gokudera folded the cloth over and resolutely pressed it against the first gash.

It burned. It burned and stung and made Gokudera want to throw the rag to the furthest side of the room without a second thought; but he didn't.

Gokudera hissed helplessly through his teeth, refusing to admit yet another defeat that day by jerking away. Stubbornly, with Yamamoto's bed sheets crushed desperately beneath his free hand, he wiped it clean, tearing away the patchy, dirty scab that had been trying to form and releasing new rivers for him to soak up with his already saturated rag.

It didn't work and Gokudera scowled as the blood, instead of being cleared away, just began to smear across his shin. He unceremoniously dumped his rag back into the bowl of water with a displeased “che”. He swilled it around the warm water with a finger, watching as the water first turned a hazy orange and then deepened until it was almost as though he'd taken the water straight from the Nile during the first plague of Egypt.

“There shall be blood throughout the whole of Egypt, blood even in their wooden bowls and jars of stone,” Gokudera quoted in sarcastic Italian, a rare show of his Christian upbringing. The steam continued to rise from the bowl unperturbed and as he watched its spiralling tendrils Gokudera refused to liken its appearance to cigarette smoke.

Gokudera's scowl deepened as he felt his hands itch.

He grabbed his rag angrily from the bloody water and applied it very deliberately to his second wound. It hurt. Jesus Christ it fucking hurt. But at least he wasn't thinking about smoking anymore. Gokudera gritted his teeth as he wiped away the last of the old blood from the hole and took some satisfaction in the wet spot on the bed sheets below him from the surplus water he hadn't bothered to squeeze from his rag. (1)

He just hoped it had soaked through enough to still be there when the baseball-idiot decided to go to bed.

Gokudera smirked a little, briefly contemplating adding more water beneath the duvet before the trickle of crimson from his sealing wounds reminded him he still had a job to finish. Flopping the rag back into the water he grabbed the dressing from beside the bowl and wrapped a quick first later around his leg to catch the welling blood, tying it off at the top as a makeshift tourniquet. The work was shoddy, but it allowed Gokudera to wrap a proper bandage without having to worry about any telltale stains being left on Yamamoto's bed cover. The second layer of gauze was more methodically applied, wrapped in a tight spiral until his calf was covered in a thick, snowy binding from knee to ankle.

Gokudera shifted his foot experimentally. The wounds still stung painfully, and they clearly didn't appreciate movement, but it was endurable. Slowly Gokudera eased himself off the bed, grimacing as his left foot took more weight than he'd planned, and picked up the bowl of now cooled, ruby water before limping over to the sink to pour the contents away.

The rag landed with a squelch in the bottom of the sink and Gokudera squeezed as much of the water out as he could before throwing it in a lidded bin. His trousers followed it as soon as he'd managed to pull them off and he grabbed a spare pair he'd found in the back of the older Gokudera's closet that he'd laid out earlier on the side. They were too long, of course, but it wasn't too noticeable in they were rolled up on the inside.

His leg protested vehemently as the new material pressed against his wounds but Gokudera ignored it with gritted teeth. Instead he turned his attention to the cherry red puddle lying so obviously beside the baseball-idiot's bottom bunk and Gokudera pulled a face as he realised he'd just thrown away his best way to clear it up. He looked down at the bin with a glare, wondering whether to just grab his trousers as quickly as possible and clean up before the idiot got back from training, or whether to risk an excursion outside to find some other old rag.

Unfortunately the sound of someone strolling obtrusively down the hallway outside their room made Gokudera's decision for him and he had barely thrown his ruined trousers over the puddle when Yamamoto whistled happily into the room.

His wounds screamed their protest at how fast he'd managed to cross the room and Gokudera glared at the intruder because, as usual, it was all his fault.

“Oh you came to get changed too!” The idiot grinned vapidly, “I walked past the kitchen on the way here, the girls are making curry again- I hope it tastes as good as it smelled!”

Gokudera's glare deepened but of course that idiot paid no attention as he started to strip. His dark skin shimmered with a heavy sheen of sweat and his hair was even messier than usual as it clumped together wetly. The smell made Gokudera's lip curl and he disdainfully diverted his eyes (and nose) from the source.

“I'm starving too,” the idiot continued, oblivious as always to just how much Gokudera wished he would leave, “I'm going to eat as much as possible so you better get down there quick or there might be nothing left!” He laughed in that stupid way of his as he pulled his trousers over sweat-slicked thighs and grabbed a t-shirt to throw over his head, “I'll see you in a minute yeah?” he asked standing patiently for an answer and Gokudera grunted a reply only because it was the fastest way he knew to get rid of the idiot. “Alright, see ya!” the idiot chirped before strolling back out of the door to the great relief of the room's remaining occupant.

Gokudera knelt down beside his trousers and lifted them up to check how much blood they'd managed to soak up. Only the last vestiges of liquid remained and a few quick swipes left the former puddle just looking like every other stain on the dark floor.

The involuntarily-ex-smoker stood back up with a wince and limped across the room to return his old trousers to the bin. He leant back against the sink and staring over at the door unhappily. His stomach growled urgently, demanding that Gokudera show his face in the kitchen and right now that was the last thing he wanted to do. How was he supposed to face the tenth after another day of failure?

The rumble came again and Gokudera scowled at his traitorous body. The smell of dinner was already starting seep into the room and Gokudera could feel his saliva glands go into overdrive as he tried to remember the last time he'd eaten something- this morning? Or had he skipped and gone straight to training? That idiot would know, seeing as he'd suddenly taken such a keen interest in Gokudera's life.

Gokudera blinked, he'd already gone and told that baseball-idiot he'd be down hadn't he. Gokudera glared at an innocent patch of wall as he realised that he was going to have to walk all the way down to the kitchen on an injured leg and pretend that absolute nothing was wrong. But for the end it was nothing; he rather spend a night in hell than do something as undeserving of the right-hand man position as falling down on his word in front of that guy.

---

Voices drifted through his mind, there were… three? Four? They sounded familiar. He could only hear snippets of their conversation but in his hazy daze he didn't mind.

“…fell asleep before…”

“…3 days…”

“…tired…”

“…Gokudera-san…” he perked up at the sound of his own name, his mind finally deciding to take note of the conversation.

“…I wonder if his wounds are alright.” His wounds? Shit, how did they know? He'd hidden them right? Or were they talking about the bruises and scrapes? He was covered in them after all.

“Leave him be. He's only ashamed of the results of his training.” Gokudera froze; Bianchi, that was definitely Bianchi.

“It didn't go well?” that one was Reborn.

“Yeah… in the span of a minute only two of them… I wonder if this kid really has the determination to do this…” Gokudera bristled, what the hell did she know? He slammed his hands down on the table, taking a little satisfaction in the gasps he heard from Haru and Kyoko, before standing angrily. Pain shot through his leg but he ignored it as he walked to the door with a deliberate lack of speed.

“Reborn-san, I'm going to rest for now. Please give the tenth my greetings.”

As he walked out he slammed the door behind him; barely hearing Reborn's agreement. He had lied of course, he had no intention of going back to the bedroom where he knew that idiot was just going to come bounding in, acting like they were all best mates and expecting Gokudera to actually give a shit.

No, he was going to the medical room first to pick up some more pills- he was going to need them too because the last dose clearly hadn't been strong enough if the throbbing in his leg was anything to go by- and then he was going to hole himself up in the library until he finally managed to figure out this bloody Sistema C.A.I.

---

Maybe it was the black stationary or the small skull motifs on the desk drawers but Gokudera got the feeling that the library had become somewhat of an unofficial office to his older self. He quite liked the arrangement too- it was like his own personal, 6 metre² world where he didn't have to worry about unwanted visitors such as a certain baseball idiot.

So why the hell was he suddenly being subjected to that never-changing, vapid grin?

“What do you want?” Gokudera demanded in a voice he knew was as scalding as boiling water. He knew that was what it sounded like because he'd spent the last seven years of his life making sure it sounded just like that.

Of course it was wasted on Yamamoto, “I just though I'd come and make sure you were okay. You always seem to come down here when you're especially angry.”

Gokudera glared at him for knowing something that was so obviously had nothing to do with him, “Great, now piss off.” He replied dismissively before turning back to the puzzle before him. He bit the inside of his lip as set aside the four he knew he could open and frown down at the remaining twelve, maybe it was something to do with order?

“Is that a new bottle?” Gokudera froze.

“What?” he answered with a clipped tone.

“Those pills, are they new?” Yamamoto repeated, he sounded almost as amiable as normal but Gokudera could hear something under-cutting those words that made his eyes narrow. He finally looked up from the box weapons, his eyes glancing to the small brown bottle he'd naively left at the front of the desk, before moving his gaze back up to Yamamoto's waiting face.

“Didn't I tell you to piss off?” Gokudera asked warningly.

“So they are.” Yamamoto's face curled into something that was almost a frown and Gokudera suddenly found his body tense for a fight because that was an expression he'd never seen on Yamamoto out of a battle.

“So what?” He replied guardedly.

“So, we were only given the last one two days ago. There's enough in one of them to last a week, how many are you taking a day?” Yamamoto's frown deepened with worry and Gokudera decided he'd had enough of this idiot trying to nose his way into his life.

“How has this got anything to do with you, idiot? Do I look like I want your concern?” Gokudera spat.

“You don't have to want it, it's given freely- that's what friends do.” Gokudera gritted his teeth as he stuck Yamamoto with his sharpest glare. He was tired, in pain and pissed off, he did not deal with the baseball-idiot's attempts at a friendship.

He swore. Vehemently.

“You just don't stop trying, do you?” Gokudera declared rhetorically.

“Nope,” a slight shadow of Yamamoto's dopey smile curved across his lips and Gokudera scowled at it. Yet another dense expression on an equally dense head.

The genius gritted his teeth angrily and briefly entertained the thought of just lighting all 67 pieces of dynamite that he currently had hiding on his person and blowing the damn bastard to pieces there and then. He didn't. But only because he got the feeling that Tsuna would (as much as he loathed to admit it) be very upset.

Getting no answer from his would-be-murderer, Yamamoto seemed to think it was a good idea to continue talking, “So? Because mine had a least twenty tablets in it so that's got to be at least ten a day and you're only meant to take four.” He said conversationally, “Your wounds are worse then you say they are aren't they? I thought they were, you were even more beat up than me after the fight with Gamma, but you refused to stay in bed once I got up.” Suddenly he grinned, “You know, I think you might be the most stubborn person I've ever-”

“Shut up!” Gokudera exclaimed, cutting sharply across the rambling teenager with an annoyed, slightly exasperated, expression. “Yes I take ten a day and yes I know I should only take four. Yes I still have fucking holes in my chest from electricity burns and now I've got some nice shiny new ones in my leg because as usual, I am not goddamn good enough! There, are you fucking happy now?” He added with a blazing glare and, despite hissing out every major failure he'd managed since he'd reached the future, he still took some twisted satisfaction in the startled expression he'd pulled across the other's face.

“Why- why didn't you say anything?” the idiot asked and Gokudera glowered at him for being so stupid.

“Oh yes, because they're exactly the kind of things you'd want to admit to.” He replied sarcastically, “very befitting of a right-hand man.”

Yamamoto gave him a look of surprise, “A right-hand man is still just human isn't he? He makes the same sort of mistakes as everyone else.”

Gokudera's angry features turned ugly at those words and that feeling; that feeling he always stamped out because it wasn't acceptable; that feeling that wasn't acceptable because that stupid, vacant, baseball-obsessed idiot would not make a better right-hand than him; started to rise in his gut like bile and made him want to vomit.

The words came out before he could stop them, “Everyone other than you, you mean,” he replied darkly.

The idiot was too stunned to reply and Gokudera found himself surging ahead; angry, bitter words spilling out of his mouth.

“Yamamoto Takeshi, the baseball star of the middle-school league; one of the only two people on the planet to know the most `flawless' sword technique in the world and who learnt the whole fucking thing in under a week. Do you know how long it took me to learn how to throw dynamite?”

Oh God, what was he saying? And to him?

“12 goddamn months of practice every goddamn day and I still couldn't hit the fucking aeroplanes. But you, you just- just… walk straight in and do whatever the fuck you want- you pass the initiation test; you hit a ball from thirty yards away into a bull's eye at 130 kilometres per hour; you fight a member of Varia and not only get out alive, you fucking win!” Gokudera dug his fist into his temple and snarled viciously at the table, “So now we've sorted out exactly who's really the best fucking right-hand man around here, will you finally just piss off!”

And then suddenly the only noise he could hear was the sound of his own rattling, angered breaths.

The silence stretched across the room as Gokudera relived his humiliating confession in his head and his pride died. He watched it burn and then a thick, dark shame oozed over the smouldering ashes like slime.

“Gokudera…” Yamamoto's voice was no more than shell-shocked whisper and Gokudera squeezed his eyes shut as though it would make the whole situation disappear.

It didn't.

Instead there was the sound of a first hesitant step forward, and then a more confident one, and then another and another until suddenly Yamamoto was two foot away from him with only dark, varnished wood between them.

Gokudera panicked, “I said get out! What part of that did you not understand you baseball-freak?” He yelled quickly, pushing his chair away from the desk. Yamamoto said nothing and Gokudera quickly rose to his feet, ignoring the stab of pain from his left leg. “Out!”

“No.” The word was decisive and there was not even the subtlest hint of a smile on Yamamoto's face now. Gokudera stared at him as walked round the desk, stuck between wanting to fight and wanting to run and wanting to do neither; the first for Tsuna's sake and the second in the name of his resurrecting pride.

Then suddenly Yamamoto was right in front of him and Gokudera was staring at him like an idiot.

“Gokudera…” Yamamoto repeated but the rest of his sentence seemed to fail him.

“Somigli un idiota, idiota.” Gokudera informed him scathingly and it was only the bemused expression he got in return that made Gokudera realise he'd slipped back into Italian. “You look like an idiot, idiot” he rephrased in Japanese and glared at the boy even harder.

“Hey, that's a bit harsh isn't it?” said boy replied, the hints of an old smile twitching up between his lips. Slowly the world started to right itself as Gokudera rebuked and Yamamoto ignored, just like always.

“No,” The scowl was starting to make Gokudera's head ache just behind the eyes and he squashed the urge to press the heel of his hands against them.

“I was just a bit surprised,” the idiot continued as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “I thought you didn't like me.”

“I don't like you,” Gokudera ground out and as that trademark grin started to spread across the baseball idiot's face he had to hold back a second urge for his dynamite.

“But isn't jealousy a form of flattery?”

Gokudera gaped speechlessly for a second before his pride finally revived itself and took over, “I'm not jealous!” He objected vainly.

“You sounded jealous.”

“Well I'm not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Gokudera gritted his teeth irately.

“Good,” the idiot smiled, widely and stupidly.

“Tch.” Gokudera crossed his arms defensively and glared off to the side.

The idiot backed off, the first intelligent thing he'd done all evening, and rested himself against Gokudera's desk, “besides, I think a right-hand man needs to be clever and that's definitely more you then me,” he laughed stupidly and Gokudera glared at him.

“Of course, because you're an idiot,” he replied smartly.

“Hmmm, I liked it better in Italian, it sounded nicer,” the baseball-freak told him, smiling lightly.

Gokudera stared at him, “idiot, how can someone insulting you sound `nice'?”

The baseball- freak shrugged and continued to smile.

“Deficiente,”* Gokudera muttered under his breath darkly.

“What?” the idiot asked but Gokudera wasn't in the mood to become a translator.

“Move,” he ordered instead, “you're in the way.”

“In the way?” the idiot asked, but he did push away from the desk, “what are you doing?” he glanced over his shoulder down at the weapons scattered across the table, “that's a lot of boxes,” he commented curiously.

“None of your business,” Gokudera retorted but the idiot still didn't get the hint.

“What are these things on the table; are they from the boxes?”

“What part of `none of your business' did you not understand?”

“I was just asking,” the baseball-idiot replied sticking his hands up in the air innocently.

“Yeah ,well don't.” Gokudera waited for the baseball-idiot to move but yet again he was ignored.

“You should really go to bed; you can work on this in the morning.”

Gokudera bristled, “don't tell me what I should do! I'll go to bed when I want to; what do you think I am, a five year old?”

“I didn't say that,” the idiot replied defensively, “it's just you've been training all day and you're injured. You fell asleep at dinner as well.”

“I'm fine,” Gokudera spat, “just leave me alone.”

“You're not going to go back to training with Bianchi-san are you,” the baseball-idiot stated, uncharacteristically insightful.

“I can't do that unless I do this.” Gokudera made a sweeping gesture towards the objects on his desk. “Unlike some people's weapons this takes a bit more then waving it around to make it work.”

“Have you told Tsuna?”

“No.”

“He's going to worry.” Yamamoto warned

“Not if nobody tells him,” Gokudera retorted.

“Bianchi-san will.”

Gokudera pulled a face, “yeah, well there's no point in telling him if I can't figure it out.”

A silence followed those muttered words and Yamamoto tilted his head to look at him speculatively

“You know, I heard what Bianchi-san said.” He started slowly, “about your determination.”

Gokudera's hands clenched into fist and he opened his mouth to tell the idiot exactly how little that had anything to do with him but the swordsman had already started talking again.

“I reckon she was wrong though. I mean, really, out of all of us, except for maybe Tsuna because sometimes he can-”

“Why do you always feel the need to butt in where you're not wanted?” Gokudera snarled through the idiot's ramble, “whatever my sister says about me, it's got nothing to do with you!” Gokudera glared angrily at him but Yamamoto didn't smile or joke or give any normal response, instead his face suddenly turned serious and he replied very quietly.

“I think that if someone insults a friend then it's your business and it doesn't matter who says it- especially if what they're saying isn't true.” Yamamoto fixed him with a serious stare and, to his embarrassment, Gokudera suddenly found himself speechless, “You've been looking for a Family to take you in for years and now you've finally found one. Ever since I met you all you've done is try to find ways to be useful, better. You never think you're good enough.” Yamamoto shook his head and stepped closer leaving little more that foot's distance between them. “You're injured, you need to rest.” He added as though that was the end of the conversation and Gokudera anger sparked again.

“Don't tell me what I need to do!” he objected vehemently before spitting, “I'm fine!” and storming past the rain guardian to his desk. Angrily he started to shove the useless weapons back in their boxes, “Clearly I can't even get away from you here so I'm going somewhere else and don't even think about following me!”

“Goku-”

“Shut up!”

“I'm just-”

“I don't care!”

“Gokudera!” Yamamoto grabbed hold of one of Gokudera's arms from behind and swung him around.

Gokudera stared up at him in shock; not so much from the face he found a breadth's width away or the harsh way he was pressed against the desk, the sharp edge digging painfully into his lower back; but more because it was the first time he'd ever heard Yamamoto shout at him.

“Why do you always have to be so argumentative? I'm just worried about you; you're trying to push yourself too hard- as usual. You need to rest Gokudera, I'm not saying that just to dent your pride or something, I just don't want to see you end up back in that hospital bed.”

Yamamoto was frowning again; only this time the expression was barely inches from his face forcing him to count the small wrinkles in his brow (four between the eyebrows and one running faintly across his forehead); to notice the steely glint in dark eyes; and to trace the downturn lines of his lips with his eyes.

The hand still wrapped around his wrist felt hot and heavy, keeping him close, tangible.

Yamamoto's gaze dropped suddenly and to Gokudera's horror it seemed to linger on his mouth before flicking back up again, “Gokudera, I…” the idiot's face dipped lower and Gokudera's brain got a very violent kick start. He wrenched his hand away from the sweaty palm and shoved the idiot into the chair still standing innocently behind him. Yamamoto slammed against the back and promptly toppled it over before crashing to the ground.

His graceless sprawl stretched him across the chair, one leg spayed over an arm, and onto the carpet where his messy black hair was crushed against the floor. Yamamoto stared up at Gokudera with a stunned expression as though he still hadn't quite registered what had happened, “Gokudera, wha-?”

“Don't touch me!” the dynamite-user cut across him loudly, still pressed up against the desk. He watched Yamamoto's expression swim between astonished and bewildered before finally settling somewhere in the middle of two.

“But I was just...” This time Yamamoto cut himself off and his eyes narrowed into a glare that made Gokudera's fingers start to itch again. “What is your problem?” the swordsman eventually asked.

“I should be the one asking you that! You're always so touchy-feely like some kind of girl! Can't you just keep your hands to yourself?”

What do you think I'm going to do? Give you a disease?”

Gokudera seethed inwardly, his hands clenching as he considered telling the boy he knew exactly what he was about to do before realising he couldn't even stutter out the whole sentence in his own head. Instead he went for the more scathing, “More like pass on some of your stupidity!”

Yamamoto groaned in frustration and let his head loll back against the rough carpet as though suddenly zapped of energy. “What did I do, `Dera?” he asked unhappily and Gokudera blinked just as much at the sudden nickname as he did at the strange question. “You say that for some reason you're jealous of me...”

“I didn't say I was jealous!” Gokudera argued hotly but to his chagrin he was neatly ignored.

“But what did I do to make you hate me?” Gokudera froze, caught by the honest, open face gazing up at him. “'Dera-”

“Who said you could call me that?” Gokudera demanded, “Stop it.”

“I like it,” Yamamoto replied stubbornly and finally slid off the chair to climb to his feet.

“Well I don't and it's my name.” Gokudera retorted childishly.

“So?”

Gokudera crossed his arms petulantly as he realised he was forced to look up to glare at the idiot, “so that means you can't use it.”

“Who came up with that rule?”

“I did.”

“Then my rule is to be able to call anybody anything I like, Dera.” Yamamoto stated, mimicking Gokudera's folded arms.

Gokudera's lip curled into a sneer, “what is your obsession with acting like we're such good friends.” He demanded irately.

“Because.”

Gokudera's hands clenched into angry fists at the finality in the idiot's voice, “Bastard,” he hissed harshly. (2)

“Maybe.”

Gokudera growled as he physically felt the conversation hurtling downhill, “So your idiocy's finally reduced you to one word answers then?” He taunted but this time the idiot just shrugged. For some reason that small gesture finally snapped Gokudera's already strained patience. A fist flew towards the idiot's stupid face, smashing him smartly in the mouth and sending the idiot stumbling back. Wide eyes stared back at him as Yamamoto pressed a hand to his injured mouth.

“Bastard!” Gokudera reiterated, already feeling the run of adrenaline starting to lace through his blood as Yamamoto very seriously pulled away his cradling palm to take in the flashes of red that had dripped from his bitten tongue.

He hit back.

The next thing Gokudera knew he was stumbling back into his desk, a hand pressed to an injured cheek. He tried to retaliate but Yamamoto grabbed hold of both of his hands and kicked his knees out from under him. Gokudera slammed onto his back, the wind flying from his lungs as Yamamoto lorded over him. Through his wheezing Gokudera aimed an upper-cut at the left side of the swordsman's jaw but Yamamoto neatly evaded it by shoving the storm guardian back into the floor.

Gokudera cried out as the pushing hand connected solidly with his still-healing burns and he tried to jerk away only to find the legs on either side of hips keeping him fixed in place.

Trapped, Gokudera squeezed his eyes shut against the dizzying rush of pain. He tried desperately to focus on something else and he vaguely registered the sound of someone talking. It was that idiot, his mind reported, he was apologizing.

“-rry Gokudera, I didn't mean to!” Gokudera wanted to frown, scowl and tell him that that didn't help anything, but he was still struggling with his breath. “Was it- did I-?”

Gokudera blindly flung a hand in the air and by a stroke of luck managed to find his mark over the idiot's mouth. His eyes cracked open to glare and Yamamoto gazed apologetically over Gokudera's pale hand.

“Arh yhm nmkaym?” The idiot asked and Gokudera threw him a disparaging glower.

“I'm fine idiot, now get off me.”

“Mmtt…”

“No.”

The idiot finally pulled back but, instead of getting off like he should have done, he just sat on his haunches, using Gokudera's lap as an impromptu seat.

“What part of `get off' did you not understand, idiot?” Gokudera exclaimed angrily but the idiot ignored him as usual. A second later the bastard had shoved Gokudera's shirt halfway up his chest and was examining the first bandage spread across his abdomen.

“What the hell are you doing you moron?” He yelled in shock, struggling violently against the weight holding down his thighs and the big hands gently exploring the bandaged area like the idiot actually knew what he was looking for.

“Get off me!” Gokudera repeated and he pushed at the hands as the fingers brushed against his sensitive skin. His hands were grabbed roughly and Gokudera froze as they were pressed to the floor on either side of his head. Suddenly Yamamoto's face was back to being barely inches from his own and Gokudera shuddered as warm air brushed against the side of his mouth.

“I was just trying to help,” the swordsman's breath tickled as it rushed over Gokudera's skin but the storm guardian didn't dare struggle against him with their faces so close together.

“Help do what?” he argued instead, “Since when do you know anything about something that's not related to baseball?” He asked scathingly.

Yamamoto looked offended, “I did a first aid course last year with the baseball team; all the sports clubs had to do it.”

“Not exactly a doctorate, is it?” Gokudera sneered and Yamamoto's fingers squeezed a little tighter around his own.

“It's probably more that you know,” the idiot replied defensively.

“I don't need a stupid course!” Gokudera spat, “I've looking after my own injuries for years without idiots like you sticking your nose in!” He waited for the swordsman's retort but it never came, the idiot just frowned.

“Yamamoto? Yamamoto? Oi idiot, if all you're gonna do is stare into space then get off me!”

“Dera…”

“Don't call me that,” the response was already automatic and was just as automatically ignored.

“I'm just trying to help you,” Yamamoto repeated, emphasising each word as he tried to get the point across.

“Well, I don't want you to.” Gokudera replied in the same tone.

“Why do you always…” Yamamoto cut himself off with a sigh and looked away as though searching for some divine sign.

“Why do I always what?” Gokudera prompted as he tried unsuccessfully to see what Yamamoto found so interesting behind his head.

The rain guardian glanced down and Gokudera caught his eye before the boy let his head drop back down, “You're not on your own anymore.”

“Che?” Gokudera asked in bewilderment.

“That wasn't Japanese, Dera,” Yamamoto pointed out quietly.

“Don't call me that.”

For a minute neither of them said anything and Gokudera fidgeted uncomfortably as the sweat building up between their joined hands made their skin slide together strangely and Yamamoto's t-shirt brushed against the uncovered parts of Gokudera's stomach with every breath.

Yamamoto opened his mouth to say something but what ever it was died before it reached his throat and he closed it again. A tongue darted out to wet dry lips and Gokudera stared at the shine it left behind.

He wished he'd been the one to leave it there.

Gokudera's eyes widen to almost comic proportions and he violently shook his head, rattling off a mantra of `no' in Italian as he struggled to get as far away as possible.

Yamamoto was saying something, or protesting more likely, but the last thing Gokudera wanted to do was listen to him- he didn't even want to be with a mile radius of the idiot. Hell he'd settle for the other side of the library door as long as it wasn't near. Yamamoto shifted, pressing their bodies together in an attempt to make him still, but if anything it made Gokudera double his efforts. “Gokudera calm down!”

All it took was those three words and the struggling teenager froze.

“Dera?” An involuntary shudder ran treacherously down the trapped boy's spine because somehow Yamamoto's mouth had managed to find an erogenous in the crook of Gokudera's neck.

“Dera? You calm yet?” The warm breath from Yamamoto's question washed over the sensitive spot and Gokudera earnestly bit down on his lower lip to keep the moan from coming out, so hard he almost bled, but he failed anyway. The sound hung obscenely in the air and this time they both froze- Gokudera didn't even breathe.

Yamamoto let out a shaky exhale that made Gokudera shudder and then slowly, deliberately, he pressed closer, his mouth pushing against the treacherous spot. Gokudera waited for him to say something but he never did, just pressed closer and Gokudera couldn't pretend that the idiot had no idea what he was doing- not now he wasn't even talking. Gokudera stared at the yellowing ceiling in shock.

“Che cosa fai?”** It was meant to come out as a yell, a roar, a shout, yet somewhere between his brain and his mouth it became nothing but a stunned whisper.

“You're speaking Italian again, Dera,” Yamamoto murmured against his skin and Gokudera didn't even notice the nickname because he was too busy trying to keep his vocal cords from acting up again.

“Why haven't you got the fuck off me already?” Gokudera ground out instead, now shifting his stare to a glare.

The ceiling had never had so much attention.

Yamamoto finally seemed to get the message then because he lifted himself back onto his elbows but Gokudera should have known he was asking too much. He stopped, his eyes searching Gokudera's face for something other than the scowl it found there.

“I just thought that… well…” Yamamoto gazed a little more intently at a spot just above Gokudera's eyebrow and his cheeks flushed a disturbingly attractive shade of pink, “…you liked it didn't you?”

“I…I…what?” he stuttered helplessly, unable to even think of a coherent argument, much less say it and to his shame he felt his cheeks heat up to an even darker shade than the one sported by the boy above him.

“Well… when I… did it… you… you…” the pink across Yamamoto's cheeks deepened to a cherry red and Gokudera took a certain amount of vindictive satisfaction that the idiot was now in the same situation as him.

“That wasn't… It wasn't… I was just surprised!” Gokudera protested vehemently, but even to him the argument sounded hollow and he could only hope that for once the baseball-idiot's stupidity would come in handy.

“Oh…” Yamamoto breathed as he shifted above him, and for a moment Gokudera felt the hope that he was finally going to get off rush over him for a second time but then suddenly he had a face buried in the side of his neck again. Yamamoto was talking but the words were muffled by skin and the fog resettling in Gokudera's brain.

Wha…?” Gokudera managed to exhale, and then wanted to hit himself for sounding like such an imbecile

The words came again and, after a few seconds of determined concentration, Gokudera managed to decipher them as “are you sure?” Of course then Gokudera made the fatal mistake of opening his mouth to reply just as Yamamoto decided to say something else. Exactly what the swordsman had decided to say however never made it to Gokudera's brain; what did was the way the words vibrated over his sensitive skin and, with his mouth so conveniently open, the storm guardian was defenceless against the long, low groan they drew from his throat.

Yamamoto shivered and with their bodies pressed so tightly together Gokudera felt every inch of it, “Dera…” The rain guardian's voice was dark, husky and made Gokudera think of things he hadn't even dreamt about.

“Don't call me that.” Gokudera whispered back even as his blood started to rush it little faster. Yamamoto chuckled against his throat and Gokudera felt the sensation shoot down his spine and pool in his groin. He tried to clench his hands only to find Yamamoto's still holding onto them.

“Dera…” Yamamoto repeated and sealed the fate of the boy beneath him as he shifted uncomfortably. He shifted over the semi-hard flesh between Gokudera's legs and the ex-smoker gasped, his eyes wide and glassy as his hips bucked back against the motion.

His cheeks burnt red with embarrassment and he was tried in vain to convince himself that the throbbing between his legs was just circumstantial arousal and nothing to do with Yamamoto at all as he hissed out a reply, “why do you never shut up?”

“But,” Yamamoto mumbled into his skin, “you like it, and that- that- I really like that.” Those hips shifted again and, of course, Gokudera moaned again, but then there was something new pressing down on his lower abdomen. Something new but very identifiable. “Dera, I want to…”

Gokudera never found out exactly what it was Yamamoto wanted because at that point the boy finally gave up on speech and instead swiped his tongue along the spot that had been causing Gokudera so much trouble, which gave him a fair idea. God, it felt good.

“Ngh!” The attention didn't stop at the humiliating sound it wrenched from Gokudera's throat- instead it got worse and Gokudera was trapped beneath a warm body pressing him into the ground as a mouth slowly annihilated his pride with nips, licks and barely-there sucks.

Yamamoto bit at the skin one last time before pulling away to engage their mouths in long, pressing, closed-mouthed kisses, and Gokudera froze completely beneath him.

“Dera…” he whispered between kisses, “Dera, come on- please?”

Please? Please what?

It was as though all of Gokudera's mind processes had gone through a temporary failure and were now trying desperately to get back online only to be thwarted with every rough, coaxing push against his lips.

“It's not just me right? Cuz…cuz you're hard Dera… and that only happens if… if you like it right?”

Gokudera didn't think he's eyes could get any wider until the rain guardian threw out that sentence. He wanted so badly to say `no'; to inform him that at their age it can happen anyway- and he opens his mouth to do it- but then he doesn't.

He doesn't because then it would stop and Gokudera's hard and it's all that stupid idiot's fault.

Of course, as usual, that idiot doesn't understand anything Gokudera wants him to do.

“Shit,” Yamamoto whispered and words ghosted down Gokudera's nose as the taller boy pressed their foreheads together, “shit I'm sorry but I thought- because…” Yamamoto's eyes squeezed tight and he shook his head as though trying to shake an unwanted thought from his mind.

Gokudera stared, “why are you stopping?” he hissed with displeasure and Yamamoto's eyes flew open, wide as dinner plates.

“You mean… but you- you didn't do anything… do anything back I mean.” Oh. So that's what he'd been asking for.

“Let me go,” Gokudera commanded unhappily, trying to pull his hands back.

“S-sorry,” Yamamoto replied, releasing them obediently and Gokudera glared at him for a second as he considered all the things that wouldn't have lead to this predicament if the idiot had been clever enough to do that a quarter of an hour ago.

“Fucking moron,” he cursed and caught two fistfuls of shirt as Yamamoto tried to move away, “now what the hell are you doing?” Gokudera hissed.

“But… you said…” Yamamoto floundered and Gokudera rolled his eyes.

“Idiot,” he growled before yanking the boy down into a crushing kiss.

Three seconds later he had the idiot's tongue in his mouth and he was being forced into the floor again.

Yamamoto's hands raced across the uninjured skin of Gokudera's stomach, taking delight in causing gasps to be captured by the swordsman's hungry mouth and Gokudera found the fingers of one of his hands twisting themselves into the hair at the back of Yamamoto's head whilst the other made short work of burying under the idiot's shirt.

The rough pads of his fingers skirted over perfect muscles as he pitted his tongue against Yamamoto's in a battle of dominance. He found the swordsman gasped and arched when he danced his fingers along the sides but didn't pull away as though it tickled; he found he moaned when he rubbed the base of his spine and ground his hips a little harder (Gokudera liked that response especially); but his favourite was the way teasing a nipple to hardness made him quiver all over and return the favour.

Gokudera gasped as two thumbs rubbed over the small nubs again and again even after they were hard, just to tease, and Yamamoto swallowed the sound with his greedy, inexperienced kisses.

This shouldn't be happening.

This shouldn't be happening but Gokudera was still slipping his tongue in and out of the idiot's mouth as he rocked his hips into the body above him. The hand curled in Yamamoto's hair tightened reflexively as the cloth of his underwear rub against his sensitive skin, but he wasn't the only one in this situation. Yamamoto was moaning now; long, sweet sounds that made Gokudera realised why the swordsman liked listening to his so much; and he could feel how hard he was even through all their clothes as he ground against Gokudera's own rigid length.

“Dera,” Yamamoto groaned gratuitously before letting his tongue slip along the lower lip of the boy below him. He kissed the side of his mouth then nipped down the left side of his jaw, following the line down to the neck where he buried his face in the smooth skin and sucked. Gokudera's hips jerked, driving him harder into the crux of Yamamoto's thighs and the taller boy groaned around his mouthful.

“Oh shit,” Gokudera squeezed his eyes shut as though it could control the pleasure shooting down his spine but then Yamamoto scarped a nail over a previous forgotten nipple and thrust a little harder. “Nngh!” Gokudera arched up as pain and pleasure merged and he pressed a hand against Yamamoto's ass, desperate for that harsher, faster pace. Yamamoto was happy to oblige.

The swordsman's mouth never left Gokudera's neck as he drove their hips together ruthlessly and Gokudera was helpless against the onslaught. His hands curled tighter around their respective captives, encouraging the other wordlessly as he tried to bite back moans with rare success.

The curious, curling pressure that signalled an orgasm started to build in his abdomen and Gokudera gasped, arching himself closer into Yamamoto's rocking body. Some small part in the back of his mind calmly informed him that he was about to cum in his pants but it was quickly smothered by the rush of pleasure made by Yamamoto groaning loudly into his neck and keening his name in such an undistinguishable way that Gokudera knew exactly when was happening when the boy's rocking suddenly turned brutal and chaotic.

Hearing the sounds of Yamamoto coming in his ear sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock while the rough thrusts forced bliss to blossom through his bewildered brain like an enormous firework and all the will-power in the world couldn't have saved Gokudera from that combination.

He came so hard he forgot his own name, his head flying backwards as he released a cry that seemed loud enough to wake the dead. (3)

It took approximately 3 minutes for Gokudera's brain to come back online; and it took approximately 3 seconds after that for his blood to burn through Gokudera's cheeks. Sprawled on top of him, his head still buried in the smooth column of Gokudera's neck, Yamamoto panted harshly while his hands curled possessively round Gokudera's waist in a way he should have been pissed off with but Gokudera was just glad the idiot couldn't see his blush.

Then, just as Gokudera wondered if this was going to become one of those awkward silences that becomes harder and harder to break as it goes on, Yamamoto spoke

“Ne, Dera?” The words were murmured carefully, almost like a verbal tap on the shoulder and, even though he'd used that stupid nickname, Gokudera couldn't say anything because the idiot was still hiding in his newly discovered weak spot, “come to bed.”

Yamamoto was very violently shoved into the desk.

“Come to bed?” Gokudera hissed incredulously, now standing on the other side of the room with a very painful leg “just because this happened once does not mean it's happening again!”

“Dera! I didn't mean it like that! I just meant to sleep!” In a rare switch of roles it was Yamamoto that sounded exasperated, “I wasn't expecting anything else…” of course then Gokudera's keen eyes noticed the pink tinge rush into the tips of his ears, “unless... you know… I wouldn't say no…” he started to ramble and the exasperation bounced back across to Gokudera with an almost audible ping.

“Shut up idiot,” he glared. He so desperately wanted to tell said idiot exactly how much he didn't want to go anywhere with him right now but every time he shifted he could feel the sticky aftermath of their… their…the incident starting to dry against his skin. Unfortunately his only real means of fixing this situation lay back in that very room he didn't want to go to. He growled unhappily and upgraded his glare to a scowl as he resigned himself to the fate. “I'm only going because I need new clothes,” He informed the idiot harshly, “don't get any stupid ideas.” But of course Yamamoto was as deaf to that command as he was to any that Gokudera gave and a triumphant grin settled itself across his features.

The itch for dynamite returned.

 

 

(1)- Or the surplus water he hadn't bothered to squeeze from his wig, apparently…

(2)- Is it possible to hiss `bastard' in Japanese?

(3)- And this is where I happened to check my word count only to find I had exactly 8059- to my utter shame; I squealed.

*Deficiente - Moron- more or less

**Che cosa fai?- What are you doing?

 

 

Gokudera twisted the dial and listened as the water battered its way through the pipes before gushing out of the shower head and splattering over the floor. He waved a hand beneath the downpour, just to make sure the temperature was satisfactory, before stepping beneath it. Instinctively his head rose towards the spray, sighing as it rushed gleefully over his skin and through his hair.

Distantly he listened to the sound of a second shower starting and knew that would be Yamamoto; after all he'd followed him all the way down here, chattering away to himself as if nothing had happened. Well something had happened and the evidence of it was smeared from his abdomen to his thighs. Gokudera glared down the white mess even as rivets of water began to gently wash it away.