Sunday, October 13, 2013

A Takeshi Yamamoto Lemon -- Outfield

Character: Takeshi Yamamoto

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: TYL!

Takeshi remembers, sometimes, what it had felt like as a boy.  The carefree attitude he had carried, the way he thought everything had been a game.  Just a game.  He is a man now, with responsibilities, and he knows that life is not a game.  But sometimes he still wishes, yearns to feel the lighthearted cascade of youth. He is not old but he often feels like he is.  Like his very bones are disintegrating with every step he takes.  Like his memories are crashing, burning at his feet.
His shoes crunch on gravel as he walks a familiar pathway.  School has been let out but teachers still linger here and there.  When he passes one of them, he stops to chat and to reassure them that he was once a student here, and just wants to see the changes that the years have brought on.  His genuine smile, the uplifting expression on his face makes them trust him immediately, and after a few minutes Takeshi continues on his way.  His destination rises up before him like metal traps.  Except they don't represent a cage, but rather freedom itself, something that Takeshi hadn't truly felt in a long time.
There is no one on the baseball diamond.  But it is late, and they sky is turning a dusky bluish orange.  The teams have no doubt gone home for the day.  He steps into the field and the moment he does, Takeshi is relieved.  He isn't sure why.  It isn't an emotion that can be explained.  He is only happy to be around something familiar, in a place that he had spent so many hours as a youth.
For a moment, he just stands there, wistfully looking around at the diamond, the bleachers, the locker rooms, the dugout.  Then he steps forward, slowly but with increasing enthusiasm.  Soon he is jogging down the familiar dusty stretch that marks the bases, boyishly grinning.  Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he sincerely hopes that no one is witnessing this.
He makes it to the locker rooms and peeks inside at the red painted lockers.  The upkeep is messier than he remembers.  There is a slight scratching of mud on the floors and the air is heavy with sweat.  Still, he spends a few moments standing in the threshold, suddenly remembering when he'd been on the team and had sat on that very bench, tugging on his uniform and getting ready to play the game.  Takeshi scratches the back of his neck idly, his mouth twitching upward into a half smile.  Everything had been a game to him back then. 
He walks slowly back outside, stopping only to curl his hand around a bat that is laying against the locker rooms.  It has been over a year since he has held a bat, and the familiar grip makes him almost giddy.  His heart thuds with just the beginning traces of adrenaline.  He meanders to the dugout and slides onto the bench, the old red splinters brushing against the pant legs of his expensive suit.  Then he leans forward, bat upright before him, and rests his chin against the hands that fold over the top of it.  His sharp eyes travel the length of the field, again and again as he remembers endless shards of boyhood.
That is where you find him near to an hour later.  Sitting there, eyes closed, chin on hands and bat pressed into the ground before him.  His pristine suit has gotten slightly dusty but it doesn't really matter.  He looks good with his hair mussed and his expression relaxed.  You almost don't want to interrupt whatever sort of memories he is no doubt reflecting on, but it is getting late and the others had been worried. 
You step forward, and you must have been making enough noise to alert him to your presence, because suddenly his eyes careen open and he blinks at you, as though in confusion.  And then he grins, tilts his head, and you smile.  "Hello," you tell him, leaning against the other side of the dugout, fingers slipping into the interlocked metal mesh that had been nailed there.  Takeshi chuckles, stands, and sets the bat down on the bench.  Then he murmurs a gentle, "Hello," back and slips his fingers over yours, leaning his forehead against the mesh.
You dare to do the same, and soon he is grazing his mouth against your lips and cold metal, smiling crookedly when he pulls away.  You laugh a little and whisper, "Tsuna was worried about you.  He sent me to collect you and bring you to dinner."  And Takeshi's eyes glitter down at you, as though in challenge.  You grin.
"Did he now?" he wondered, taking a step to the right, towards the entrance to the dugout.  You follow, one step at a time, and you can hardly wait until the metal barrier between you is gone. 
"Yes," you tell him, simply to keep the conversation going.  "Though I think it would be acceptable if we took our time."  Your voice molds into something low, something dark that makes Takeshi's grin turn edgy and sinful.  You are one stop away from the entrance now.  Just one step and you will feel his arms around you, his lips on yours.  But the moment drags on and on as you wait for him to move.  The game he is playing makes you impatient but you wait for him, wait for him to ease to the side so that you can follow.  He smirks and mutters, "I'm glad you think so."  Very glad indeed.  After another drawn out moment, Takeshi finally emerges from the dugout and, quick as lightening, is pulling you against him.
You laugh when he kisses you in a series of long pecks that travel from your mouth to your cheeks to your forehead and back.  And finally, when he has at last settled down and his kisses are for your lips only, they turn hot and molten like liquid fire.  You make a soft noise against his mouth and slip your hands up his back, over his expensive suit, feeling the warmth of him erupt along your fingertips.
Kissing Takeshi brings you to a place which makes the world seem softer, more delicate, more passionate.  His lips shake you down and mold you into something new.  Your entire body rocks into him, plastered against as much of him as you can get, and the heat that radiates into your embrace has him groaning gently, pulling you closer, moving his mouth slower as he tastes the erratic pounding of emotion that splits through you.  It is beautiful, this world of your creation.  It is so beautiful that Takeshi can barely breathe.
So he doesn't even try.  Those needs become suspended in the air around you, which shifts and moves and ebbs, making room for the intensity of building passion.  They are replaced by other needs, other desires which far outweigh the menial tasks of living.  Instead of breathing in air, Takeshi breathes in you.  His heart doesn't beat from the adrenaline of his youthful memories anymore; it beats with the rough desire to curl himself around you and never see the light of day again.
It is only a kiss, at first.  You have a dinner to get to and you don't want to worry Tsuna and the others, especially not to the point of having someone else come looking.  It is only a kiss, a kiss that breaks you nearly in half with its splitting desires, its heady charm, the musky, muddy, fog that goes directly to your head like a drug.  Yes, only a kiss.  Until Takeshi's hands drag beneath your shirt and trace the edges of your pants, fingertips inching up your back, your spine in little circles.  That is when it becomes more than just a kiss.
You gasp and pull away, ready to tell Takeshi that now is certainly not the time.  Tsuna is waiting and besides, you're on your old school's baseball field.  But the mortifying thought of being caught in a public place completely loses its weight when you look into your lover's eyes, which are blown into a pitchy brown that only further drags you down, down, down.  Your willpower shatters into dust, into pebbles.
And then, he whispers in a low voice, a voice you associate with sheets and wine and bold, powerful sex, "Can I tell you a secret?"  A secret.  You stare into those eyes, your mouth parting with soft surprise.  Not because of his expression, not even because of his words, but because of yourself.  Your own body, which has reacted so strongly to him in such a tiny amount of time.  Only Takeshi could make you feel so crazy, so insane with desire that you could feel the remnants of it in the very farthest reaches of your body.  You nod, a shaky sort of nod, and he leans in to press his forward against yours. 
For a moment, he stares down at you with those melted brown eyes.  And then he very softly breathes, "When I was a boy…I used to fantasize about doing this right here…in this very spot."  And his eyes twinkle mischief down on you, watching with amusement as a shiver catches a hold of your form and spins down your spine.  You stare.
His admission, unsurprisingly, has you imagining him as a younger boy back when you were all in school.  Did he really fantasize about this?  Did he fantasize about you?  Your silent question is answered a moment later when he smirks, a triumphant gleam, and takes a step back.  He drags you with him until you are both in the dugout, and then he smirks wider and murmurs, "You were always so bold…"  He chuckles, not looking away from you.  It's as if he's waiting, but for what you can only imagine.  Waiting for you to step away?  Waiting for you to start acting out those fantasies of his?  You find yourself smiling before you can stop yourself, and this time, it is your turn to play the game.
"What did I do in your fantasies?" you wonder, stepping up to him, closing off the space between your bodies.  Now that you think of it, you find it ridiculously erotic to imagine that a younger Takeshi, who'd been so seemingly innocent, had imagined such things.  You are hungry for more information, more knowledge of those daydreams.  Suddenly, you have no desire to go back to Tsuna and the others and you don't even care that you are on a middle school baseball field.  The only thing you want, now, is to learn more.
Takeshi's mouth hovers over yours.  He lowers it just a little, brushing a very light kiss onto your lips before darting to your neck.  He kisses up it, tongue flicking out here and there.  You grip his shoulders and lean into him, your breath suddenly coming out harder as he begins to nibble on your ear.  He takes his time answering you, content with the way your body is coiled up in anticipation.  Then he chuckles lowly, gravelly, and breathes, "I'll show you exactly how they went."  The promise within those low tones have you holding him harder, suddenly wanting much more than just his lips on your skin.
His hands inch over your back, your sides, dipping beneath your shirt and sliding his touch over your bra strap.  His mouth cascades over yours as his hands journey to your shoulders then back down, down to unhook that bra, to brush his thumbs around the fabric and idly trace the revealed flesh.  You arch into that touch, your own hands seeking the similar perfection of skin as you reach up to unbutton his shirt, to smooth that expensive suit jacket off his shoulders.
A small part of you understands that you're still in a public place, and that the liberties of full nudity cannot be taken into account.  But it's alright.  The time and place makes up for it, along with the delicious danger that scorches a hot path through your pressed forms.  The last button of Takeshi's shirt if undone and you push it aside but not away, content with just running your hands over his chest and listening to his breathing grow more and more ragged.  His fingers hook around the belt loops of your pants and he drags you tightly against him, giving you a very clear insight into the state of his lower body.
You pull away from his lips to stare at him, suddenly unsure how to go about this.  Maybe you should just go back to the hotel, sneak in without the others noticing and then meet them for dinner like you'd planned.  But when you look into Takeshi's waiting eyes and feel the way his impatience nearly takes your breath away, you know you will not be leaving this field for a while.  It's unconventional, but there's something about this, something about doing this on a baseball field with Takeshi that you never realized you wanted before now.  So you sigh and then lean into kiss him again, deciding to shed some of your reservation and instead replace it with boldness.  Fierce, untamable boldness.
You are pushing him down onto that worn red bench and straddling his hips a moment later, rubbing your core over the bulge of his pants and grasping his shoulders to steady yourself.  His hands slip around your waist as his head cranes back, his long neck inching back as his eyes lose their focus.  A low noise erupts from his chest and it melts you down, makes you rock faster, makes him drag your hips tight against his.
It's not enough.  You know this and yet you're still just a little hesitant about going farther, bridging the gap between your aching bodies.  It feels wrong but right at the same time, a mixture of two confusing emotions that don't make sense.  But you push them down because you really do want this, more than you'd ever thought possible.  You want to fulfill this particular fantasy of his, you want to leave this field with giddy smiles, you want to remember this moment for years to come.  So your fingers slip between you to fiddle with the buttons of both your pants, and when they are undone, Takeshi eases your jeans and panties down your thighs.
You hope no one will decide to walk in this direction any time soon, because the moment you drag Takeshi's erection out of his pants, you know there's no hope for you any longer.  He clenches his teeth when you touch him, slipping your fingers around his girth and pumping him gently a few times.  His tip is wet with pre-cum and you've never seen him so aroused.  You know it's probably because he is living out one of his desire, and that thought gives you motivation, drive.  You lean in to kiss his cheek, drag your lips to his mouth.  Against them you whisper, "How am I doing so far?"  And the depth of your voice, the way your tongue darts out to jerk against his lower lip, it all forces a deep shudder to twirl down his body. 
His blood pounds against his ears, his head, his cock.  He digs his nails gently into your butt and swallows thickly.  His eyes lock with yours and he smirks a shaky sort of smirk that tells you exactly how much he is suffering.  "Not half bad," he tells you back, and the tremble of his tone, the darkened way it cascades over you makes you press your mouth against his and ease your hips forward.
You're wet, very wet, and you slid over his shaft easily.  You make a few more rounds before Takeshi drags his mouth back and says, "I can't wait anymore."  And you are glad because you can't, either, and you've never wanted to take him as badly as you do now.  In this baseball field, on this old bench, where he'd fantasized about you and him.  You slide him into you and sigh out at the way he splits you apart.
Your vision blurs and then refocuses on Takeshi's expression, which is set in a sort of blazing determination that you often see there.  Except never when he's taking you.  The fact that he's wearing that expression now has a strange effect on your body and you moan out softly, thrusting shaky thrusts, dragging your hips over his, feeling his girth slid over every centimeter of your inner walls.  It is delicious.
Takeshi's hands ease over your bottom and he guides your thrusts, timing them with the way his own hips shake forward just a little, just enough to make shivers explode over your skin.  Your dig your nails into his shoulders and brace yourself, tipping yourself back just a bit and drawing Takeshi's attention to your breasts.  You're still wearing that shirt, but your bra is undone, and he brings one hand around your body to cup your breast over the fabric.  He must decide that it isn't good enough, though, because a moment later he's sliding that same hand beneath your shirt to touch your bare skin.
You lean forward to kiss him, molding your mouth to his for a brief moment before lowering your face against the crook of his neck.  Your thrusts pick up speed and you feel the beginnings of an orgasm begin to uncoil within you.  From the way Takeshi grips you, forcing you faster, you know that he is on a similar wavelength.  It is minutes later, though it only feels like seconds, when you feel yourself shatter entirely.  You're saying Takeshi's name before you even know what's happening, and then your hips are moving faster, faster, your abdomen tenses, your core explodes with warmth and wet fire.
Fire that scorches the length of Takeshi's erection and makes him moan, gripping your harder, pulling your hips vividly against his, leaning in a little as he angles his body around yours.  He is spilling himself within you moments after you come, moaning softly in your ear as he does.
And then he falls back, head thrown back, eyes closed.  You pant against his chest and haphazardly move your hips, but the sharp thrusts of before have faded into messy, erratic movements.  Your breath comes out equally haggard but you don't care.  And then you're stopping your movement altogether and just sinking against him, feeling the heat of his body saturate the clothes that still form barriers between you.
"I can see why you daydreamed about this," you whisper, a smile in your voice.  You feel completely satiated, more so than you've felt in a long, long time.  You can't say exactly why the setting has made such a difference but it does, and you feel Takeshi chuckle as he hums out in agreement.  He drags his arms around your body and hugs you closer, not bothering to take himself out of you just yet.  The moment is too perfect to change.  Too perfect to alter in any way, for now.  For now.
Soon you will go back to the hotel you're all staying in and give some excuse about not being able to find Takeshi, even though in actuality you knew exactly where he'd be.  You'll go down to dinner with the other Vongola and you'll revisit these emotions later that night, along with the luxury of a door and a mattress.  But for now you are content to remain where you are, warm, in love, and surrounded by blistering happiness.