Saturday, May 31, 2014

An England Lemon -- Fever Pitch

Character: England

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: England's sick and needs medication~ =3

Arthur wakes up very warm, wrapped up in a cocoon of sheets and something else, sleepy and apathetic to everything around him.  This apathy is probably why he doesn't think it's important to investigate the tightness that lurches strangely around his waist.  He doesn't think much of its importance at all, in fact, until he feels a sort of shuffling, nudging movement directly behind him.  That's when he starts becoming less apathetic and slightly more concerned.
He groans sleepily, a muffled sort of confused noise that gets wedged into the pillow and shrivels up there.  His hand jerkily pats over the tightness around his waist, and he's further confused until he realizes that it feels almost like an arm.  And that's when everything begins to make sense, unfortunately for him.
His eyes burst open.  He tilts his head to glance behind his shoulder, but all he can see is a bundle of sheets and a few strands of hair poking out of the wrinkled fabric.  It's not much but it's enough.  Enough to make Arthur bolt upright and frantically struggle out of the grip around his abdomen.  By the time he's successfully thrown the arm off of him, the sheets are nothing but a tangled mess around his legs and he's staring down at his companion's form with a look of horror.  This is a very big mistake on his part.
"Mmm…Arthur…?" comes [Name]'s muffled, tired voice.  The pajamas that she's wearing are slipping down her shoulder but she don't seem to notice.  She rolls onto her back, looks up at him, and gives him a pout.  A pout that he swears he can feel, climbing down the back of his spine, giving him the powerful and awful desire to do things that really aren't gentlemanlike at all…
He hides those thoughts with a well placed scowl and turns frowning eyes down at her.  "Should I even ask what you're doing in my bed?  Or how long you've been there?"  Though he probably shouldn't be surprised by this.  [Name] is always getting herself into all sorts of inexplicable situations that make absolutely no sense.
But she only smiles a childish, wide smile and rolls over to face him.  He swallows hard at the sight of the sheet conforming to the curves of her body.  He forces himself to look away but it doesn't really do him any good.  Not that this surprises him, either.  "Don't worry about it, Arthur~" she purrs lightly, like it's no big deal, no great cause for concern.  Like her being in his bed, plastered against him, doesn't effect her at all and so she don't understand why it effects him.  That thought doesn't help him either.  In fact, it makes him a little bit resentful.  What an emotional morning this is turning out to be.
As a result of all this pent up stress, Arthur's voice comes out more ragged than he intends.  "Don't worry about it?" he asks incredulously.  He can feel his face getting a little red, though he's unsure if it's out of anger or some other emotion he is not going to acknowledge.  Instead he just scoffs and crosses his arms and tries his very best to force his body to stop reacting to her.  But it's morning and harder to control all those feverish impulses and he's having a difficult time.  [Name] -- surprisingly, dreadfully -- notices.
"Hmm?  You're face is awful red, Arthur.  Are you that annoyed with me?" she laughs just a little, like a smooth low chuckle that glides through her voice.  Arthur doesn't focus on that so much as the way she says his name, which makes his skin tingle with shivers.  It would be delightful, if he had been in the mood for it.  But all he's really in the mood for is to get away from [Name] before she can see what she's doing to him.  Because Arthur is quite sure that by now, the effect of her presence on him is very visible.
When he doesn't answer her, [Name] frowns and raises her body up onto her forearms.  She reaches out to touch him, sliding her palm across his knee in concern, and watches him flinch.  "Arthur?" she asks, then does to sit up.  "You actually look like you've got a fever or something."  And before he can stop her, she leans forward and pushes the back of her hand against his forehead. 
He swallows thickly and stares at her, at the proximity of her face as it looms near his.  His fingers clench into the sheets tightly, holding them close to his waist.  His blood feels like it's pumping through his veins so quickly that it's making him dizzy.  Dizzy with a blotched sort of need and it doesn't make sense, not really, but he can't properly breathe.
"I'm fine," he finally says, shoving her hand away.  [Name] glowers at him but she's used to his sometimes pouty, tsundere attitude.  She bounces back quickly, sits up, and crosses her arms.  The movement momentarily draws Arthur's attention to her chest before he darts his eyes away, embarrassed.  Thankfully, [Name] doesn't notice the glance, because she's too busy looking him over.  It makes Arthur so nervous that he starts to back away from her intense eyes.  "W-what?" he stutters out, clenching the sheet tight in one hand and easing backward with the other.
[Name] gives him a childish look and says, "You just look really flustered.  Your skin is all red too."  Her eyes dip over his bare chest (why didn't he wear a shirt to bed last night?) and [Name] jostles forward, following him in his quest to move away.  Her eyes are worried but slightly amused, probably because of his failed attempts to put some space between them. 
"It's just hot, that's all," he insists, annoyed.  Why is she so interested in figuring out what's wrong?  He makes a mental note to remember to lock his bedroom door at night in order to avoid this situation in the future, and glares at the curtained window.  [Name] raises her eyebrows and looks down at the sheets bundled up around his waist.
"If it's so hot, why don't you lose the blankets?" she asks, tilting her head to the side.  She looks innocent but Arthur can see a sliver of sharpness infiltrating that gaze of hers, and he splutters because even though she's usually quite annoying, she's actually making a lot of sense right now.  Except her suggestion is totally out of the question.  He's about to inform her of this when suddenly everything falls apart.  [Name] gracefully jerks forward and pushes his shoulders down, forcing him onto his back.  She slips one leg over his waist and hovers above him, blinking down at his now very red face.  He's lucky for one reason and one reason only: there's still quite a bit of space between their lower bodies.
"W-w-what are you doing?" he hisses, trying to mask his desire into anger.  But his eyes are not blown from annoyance, they're dilated because having her above him like this is like seeing all his dreams come to life in the rawest of ways.  And suddenly he can't breathe at all, only stare at her and clench his fists into the sheets and try not to give into all the heady temptations that he feels.
[Name], whether she's actually this na├»ve or just overlooking the truth of the situation, doesn't appear to even notice his dilemma.  She just pushes her hand against his forehead again and brushes his hair back.  He tries not to think about how nice that feels, how he'd like for her to keep touching him.  But his mind and his body are two very separate entities at the moment and they both yearn for different things.  To be close and to be far away.  He chooses the latter, because it is familiar and comforting.
Arthur drags his body up, pulling himself out from beneath [Name] in his desperate quest to move away from her.  This move turns out to be a bad one, though.  Apparently she's grown tired of his constant attempts at running away from her.  She glares at him and does the one thing that utterly mortifies Arthur: she sits herself down on top of him to stop his escape.  And that is when everything stops.  Everything.
Arthur stops moving because he's too busy cringing from horror and trying not to admit that the heat and friction of this moment feels ridiculously amazing on his lower body.  [Name] stops breathing and just stares down at him, shock coating her expression.  She watches the man she (won't admit she) loves start blushing like no tomorrow, reds spreading over his cheeks and ears and down his neck.  She watches him look away from her in shame and close his eyes.  And that's when [Name] realizes the strange feelings she has in her chest, and the way they're making her body feel like it's on fire.  And she decides that she quite likes this fire, and she quite likes the blushing sight of this man beneath her, and she quite likes the feel of that hard split of desire running between their lower halves.  So she decides to do something about it.
Arthur, who is far too busy trying to melt into the mattress and never open his eyes again, naturally doesn't see the amused-passionate-mischievous expression on [Name]'s face.  So he isn't able to prepare for her next move, and what a move it is.  She bites her lip to stop a chuckle, secures her hands over Arthur's head, and then luxuriously drags her hips up over his, wriggling them deliciously over his erection.  And his reaction, the tight gasp, the eyes flying open in shock and desire and arousal, it makes her want to do it again.  So she does.
"Ah!" Arthur pants, his back arching up just a little as [Name] drags her hips back down.  His breath comes out in sharp little gasps and his hands tumble over the sheets, drag fistfuls into the air, try to quell the fierce need to touch her and buck his hips and greedily search for pleasure.  It is like nothing, nothing he's ever experienced, this heart clenching, feverish, erotic excitement.  And it surpasses the fog of simple arousal, because this is [Name], and thrill of it all very nearly suffocates him dry.
But still it isn't right.  Arthur can't just accept a moment like this, a moment that he's been secretly dreaming about for so long.  That it's actually coming true is also a dream, or a mistake, he's sure of it.  And that's why he struggles to get a grip on himself, to stop shuddering, to catch his breath.  When he finally chokes out a stuttered, "W-what are y-you do…doing?", he's feeling slightly masochistic, preparing to be rejected and in fact searching for it.
[Name] frowns a little bit, tilts her head, and pauses those delicious movements.  They stare at each other for a long moment.  It is a moment filled with many things, but [Name] doesn't like to feel the burden of secrets and so she brushes them all away one by one.  Locks them up in a tight box and throws it away.  Then smoothes her hand over the bareness of Arthur's chest and shrugs, glancing up at him with pouty, flirty eyes which make him feel so very exposed.
"You don't like this?" is all she asks.  Her voice sounds almost too innocent, too unsure and virginal.  But Arthur knows her well enough to see the glint in her eyes, that little catch of light illuminated with impishness.  And he knows that this is her way of teasing him, which is why he huffs and looks away from her and says, "Of course not," in a surprisingly clear voice.
He is very proud of his clear voice, of his brusque denial, until [Name] smirks and rolls her hips against his again.  And the way he immediately loses that clarity makes him dreadfully embarrassed.  The moan that spills unbidden from his lips really doesn't help the matter.  His face turns into a tomato and [Name] actually starts to laugh, lightly like she knows it'll upset him but can't help it.
It does upset him, very much.  He glowers at her and she immediately backs down, stops chuckling, and says softly, "Don't be like that, Arthur.  I'm just surprised, that's all.  This entire morning is one enormous surprise."  It really is, for him as well.  But still he fights, because it is the only thing he knows.
"Surprise?" he asks dryly, his eyes angry with embarrassment and shame.  He looks away and mutters, "It's a complete nightmare.  Now get off of me."  When she doesn't, Arthur's glower turns into a glare.
His brittle personality often hurts her, and their fights are epically dramatic and very terrible sometimes.  But this morning, [Name] will not give in.  She knows that is she does, it will only be extremely awkward for them both later on.  She will brave the storm of his anger, even though his words have hurt her, just a little.  Because this isn't a nightmare for her, at least.
"No," she whispers, her eyes serious for once.  It is this seriousness that catches Arthur's attention.  He turns to her, searching her eyes with his, confused and upset.  But there is a very slight glimmer of hope in that gaze of his, and [Name] holds onto it as she leans into him and very softly presses her mouth against his.  This time, she's the one waiting for his rejection.  But she doesn't receive it.  Instead, Arthur just lays there in utter shock, his body straight and stiff and unyielding beneath hers, staring at her and not responding.  It takes an extra moment for him to move his lips with hers.  When he finally does, [Name] knows that he's on the path to forgiving her and that she's nearly home free.  She also knows that kissing him is possibly the most addictive thing she's ever done.
Anger is a funny emotion, really.  It starts out hot and furious, breathing through veins and words and thoughts like a catastrophic wave that doubles back on a beach.  But when you add other emotions to it, like passion or frustration or nervousness, it changes the entire chemical makeup of it.  And the way [Name]'s kiss impacts Arthur is a sight to see.
Immediately, everything changes.  It is a subtle change, like the shifting of leaves or the blossoming of a springtime flower.  But [Name] feels it and identifies it for what it is: acceptance.  The moment Arthur reciprocates the kiss, she feels it run through her body in such a strong manner that she can hardly breathe.  She makes a small, desperate noise against his mouth and suddenly Arthur's anger turns into the most brilliant display of ferocious desire.
His hands finally jerk to her body, running up her thighs and tightly clutching at her waist.  One hand dips down to roughly squeeze at her rear, dragging her hips against him hard.  When she gasps against his lips, he devours the sound and then raises himself up onto one elbow to kiss her harder.  And she sinks against him, into the heat of his body, around the spire of desire that makes her heart thump haphazardly in her chest.
It is almost as if the floodgates of Arthur's control have been opened.  He cannot stop himself from touching her now that he's had a taste.  He can't shut away all of his crazed desires now that he's finally experiencing the one thing he's wanted for so long.  And since [Name] is kissing him so desperately, since she seems to want him just as badly, Arthur doesn't even bother to try.  He just lets his control lurch away from him piece by piece, until it is nothing more than a dusting of nameless, powerless matter against his skull.
"Arthur, I - " [Name]'s words turn into a beautiful moan and Arthur drags her hips against his, bucking his erection against her like he's trying to remind her that it's there.  She moans again as the kiss shatters and Arthur pulls her head to the side, growling a soft but demanding, "Do that thing again…with your hips…"  And [Name] laughs a gasping, passion-filled laugh because this definitely makes any of her previous daydreams look like childish wishes.
"So you did like it," she mumbles against the skin of his neck, grinning.  He catches her eye with a blushing scowl that tells her how much he liked it, but that he won't say it aloud for the world.  And she'd like to laugh again, but that type of enjoyment is pushed away when Arthur bucks his hips slightly.  And she really can't deny him this simple but highly satisfying request, so moments later [Name] is pulling her hips roughly, deliciously over his.
Her lower body is numb with arousal, that kind of pounding throb that makes a person want to feel the raw headiness of touch.  She raises herself up onto her elbows, which are splayed out over Arthur's chest, and she moves her hips rougher, jerking them over his body, dragging a moan from his lips.  His eyes flutter halfway shut and it almost looks like he's trying to hold onto some great phenomenal dream that's tenderly slipping away.  But if anything, that phenomenal dream is only just beginning.
Arthur's fingers slip into the hem of [Name]'s shirt and she shivers.  It is almost as if he is asking for permission, making sure it's okay to go farther.  But it's more than just okay, and [Name] hurriedly lifts her shirt up herself, eager to be rid of the restraint of fabric.  And Arthur just watches, his eyes a little wide because he hadn't expected her to just do that, in that brash manner.  Like it's completely normal stripping down in front of him.  Like she's totally comfortable with doing so.
But when the shirt hits the floor, Arthur can't bother thinking about her peculiar inhibitions.  His eyes are glued to her body and he thinks he's dying a little more inside because she looks so perfect.  And maybe it's his own arousal talking, but he thinks he's never seen a naked woman quite so lovely before.  She's not wearing a bra and so it's just glorious skin from her head to her waist, which are still unfortunately covered by little shorts. 
"Oh fuck," he mumbles.  His hands twitch at his sides but he doesn't raise them up to touch her, even though he desperately wants to.  [Name] gives him a quirky smile and tilts her head curiously, like she's wondering what he's waiting for.  And it's that smile that ultimately forces Arthur into his next move.
Suddenly everything's constricted and it feels like he's suffocating.  His insides are boiling with fervent desire that seems to reach no bounds and he cannot stop himself from grasping her waist and rolling [Name] onto her back.  "A-Arthur -- !" she gasps, having clearly not expected the sudden turn of events.  She lands in a flurry of sheets and pillows and sunshine, her hair haloing out around her head.  She has all of two seconds to stare at Arthur in surprise before he growls headily and presses his mouth against hers.
The kiss is a storm of tangled desperation and an almost lazy indulgence, coupled with all the slow ecstasy of a sunny, white morning.  And yet there is nothing slow about this, about the way Arthur drags his mouth against hers, pushes his tongue over her lip and teeth and inner cheek, gathers up her leg and shoves it aside.  He nestles against her core and bucks his clothed erection over her, making her gasp out and clutch at him harder.  Her hands travel over his hair, his neck, his shoulders, his back, as though desperate to touch more of him. 
When his hips jerk over hers again, [Name] lets out a muffled, drowning sort of moan that makes Arthur open his eyes just a little.  The expression on her face has him breaking the kiss slowly, letting it dissolve over them like water, and [Name] moans again because she's never felt so languorously aroused before.  Like it's some sort of slow build of passion, like they've got all the time in the world.
"Wow…" she mumbles softly, careening back into the pillows as she comes down from the high of the kiss.  Arthur smirks and hums in agreement, following her back and pressing his mouth against hers again.  This time the kiss is comprised of slow pecks that last mere moments before starting again.  [Name]'s eyes flutter closed briefly, then she loops her leg tighter around Arthur's waist and looks up at him.  He seems to get the hint and murmurs, "Get those off."  Then he nods at the little shorts she's still wearing and [Name] laughs, brings her hands down to clutch at the hem, and starts wriggling them away.  And really, the sight of her doesn't help Arthur's problem.  He hurries to help.
The shorts are peeled away.  When they're halfway down her thighs, Arthur's fingers rush back up to trace the hem of her panties, then he gently hooks them beneath the fabric and tugs them down.  [Name] watches as his eyes dip over her figure, now bared fully.  It feels highly stimulating and erotic, laying beneath him like this, having him slowly and reverently take her in.  Arthur leans back and tosses the pieces of clothing to the floor, then looks back at her.  She's stretched out like a cat, her skin pulled taut across her ribs, her arms thrown up over her head and tangled into her hair.  Arthur swallows thickly and [Name] blinks up at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you just gonna stare?" she asks.  Her voice is a powerful thicket of pent of desire, and it ricochets through him like a bullet.  He swallows again before slowly coming back to her, and [Name] opens her legs and takes him against her core.  The shattering relief he feels is breathtaking in its simplicity, in its need for touch.
"Course not," he mutters against her mouth.  [Name] moans a little, kissing him hard, igniting within him that sharp shred of immediate passion.  He kisses her back like he can't survive without her lips on his, and [Name] decides that while she likes his slow and arousing intimacy, she'd also like to see him desperate and begging.  So she drags her fingernails down his back, lets him shiver into her chest, and starts the delicious process of tugging his boxers away.  He doesn't complain.
"You're so hard…" she whispers when the boxers have joined the other pieces of clothing by the bed.  It's true.  He's hot and very stiff, pressed up against her inner thigh.  He's big, too, bigger than [Name] would have imagined he'd be, and it makes her heart feel heavy and overworked like she's just run a marathon.  His eyes flutter a little as her hands work gently over his skin, dip against the contours of his chest and sides, and finally tremble over the tip of his member.  He inhales a very shaky breath when her fingers wrap around him, and that's when he starts to lose it.
"Oh God," he whispers against her hair, burying his face into the pillow and her.  His hips move forward on their own, without his permission, but it feels so wonderful that he can't seem to help doing it again and again, thrusting into her hand and moaning.  [Name] watches his move, watches the way his expression fluctuates and blushes.  It is a sight she won't soon forget.
Arthur moans again, softly, and presses his mouth against [Name]'s collar bone.  She swallows back a harsh wave of erotica when she feels his hand come up to give her breast a playful squeeze, and lets out a laugh-like moan.  Arthur gives her a quirk smile, then lets his mouth descend upon her breast, tweaking it and striking his tongue against her nipple and brushing his teeth very gently over her.  And the way [Name] clenches her fingers into his hair, pulls him closer, it makes him want to please her through different methods.
He takes his time though, until [Name]'s skin is pink and flushed and tender.  And then he murmurs out a desperate, "I can't hold back anymore, [Name]…"  And he really can't.  He's already so hard, and it feels like he might explode at any moment.  [Name] gives a short nod.  She's biting her lip, clutching onto Arthur tightly because he's made her utterly numb with desire.  If he notices, he doesn't say anything.  Instead, Arthur only eases her hand away from his member and then brings his fingers to her core.  She jerks when she feels the intrusion, but it's mostly in extreme pleasure because he's finally touching her. 
But the touch doesn't last for very long.  He thumbs over her clit experimentally, as though checking to see if she's actually ready for him or not.  [Name] gives a brief little laugh and gasps, "Arthur, just do it.  I really…I really want you…"  This time, Arthur's eyes close and he trembles just a little, probably because her words are so delicious.  He nods and does as she says.  He really can't help it when she says those words with that voice.
The next moment he is lining himself up, pushing his tip into her, and then glancing up at her expression.  She's watching him with wide, lustful eyes that answer all his unasked questions.  Arthur breathes out and leans down to press a short kiss against her cheek.  Then he's easing the rest of himself into her and [Name] is letting out the most beautiful moan he's ever heard, and he can barely breathe because she's so tight and lovely.
"Fuck…fuck fuck," he gasps when he's hilted completely inside her.  [Name] is arching up into him, her back rounding upwards, her breasts pushing against his skin.  She's letting out little harried breaths and her eyes are watering, so Arthur backs off a bit because really, he's not exactly new to this type of thing.  He knows when sex hurts and when it's all pleasure and high skies.  He breathes out, remains still, and whispers, "Are you alright?"
[Name]'s not exactly new to this either, but she's new to him.  Her hands are fists that gather against his back and she shudders, shudders because she can't yet pick apart the pain and the pleasure.  "'S fine," she mumbles, looking up at him.  "Just need a moment…"  And he nods, even though he desperately wants to move.  The moment comes and goes and [Name] moans a little and mutters, "I think…I'll be okay…"  It turns out, when Arthur gently thrusts back, she really is okay.  Not even a minute passes before she's moaning a little louder and thrusting her hips upward to meet his.
The first few seconds are highly satisfying but shallow.  They are an expulsion of all the immediate needs, the heady desire for physical touch, the greedy pursuit of material flesh.  Things slowly become softer, deeper, and then fade gradually away.  Until there is nothing immediate about making love, until the both of them shift and move and kiss in ways that signify how long they've been wanting this.  That's when it starts getting more than just highly satisfying.
He moves above her callously, his hips lazy and deep but strong as well, and invigorating.  [Name]'s got her fingers clenched around his arms, which rise up above her head like pillars, keeping them from flying off into unexplored territory.  And she's transfixed.  Transfixed on the way he tumbles back and then up again, the way his chest ripples from the movement of the rest of his body, the way he's staring right back at her with those startlingly clear eyes of his.  She moans and clutches him harder, feeling like she's about to drift away, like she's utterly ungrounded and directionless. 
And she is, in some ways.  She is lost in the way they connect, on that surprisingly deep level, and it makes her breathless and heady.  Her hips shift up to meet his and he lets out a growl-like moan that makes her thrum with pleasure.  The fact that her orgasm is already edging around her body hasn't escaped her.  The slow build of flushed, drowning passion has got her throwing her head back and bringing her body up into another small arch, which pushes her hips close to Arthur's.  His reaction is a delicious moan and an attempt at muffling said noise into the pillow by her head.  His breath wavers over her ear and it's lovely, being this close to him.  Being able to give in to the intimacy she's been yearning after for so long.
But neither of them will last much longer.  It is a sentiment that can be felt through the atmosphere, like a tangled, messy array of netty emotions.  And when Arthur presses a curse against her cheek and shifts faster, [Name] knows that he's in the same boat as her: struggling to hold the intense pleasure at bay.  It is no surprise that neither of them succeed in doing this.
His thrusts have gotten faster as well as deeper, and with every fluid movement she can feel him reaching places within her that he hadn't before.  Her fingers tremble as she grips him, curling her arms around his neck.  The knots in her stomach burst and snap all at once and she moans, moans like she's having some great revelation and it's taking her breath away.  And Arthur mutters a desperate, "Oh fuck…fuck…" because now she's all tight around him and it feels wonderful.  If possible, his pace seems to increase even more.
Their end is a scintillating affair that finishes too quickly.  [Name] is left gasping and breathless beneath him, still clenching him hard, like she thinks she'll fly off if she doesn't.  Arthur doesn't look at her immediately.  His face is buried into her hair, his body still moving above her but slower now, drawing out the pleasure.  When he finally stops moving a full minute later, he raises his head and meets her eyes.  To [Name]'s surprise, his gaze is more hesitant than happy, a combination she hadn't been expecting to see after their very mind-blowing episode of sex.
"…Arthur?" she asks slowly, pulling herself onto her elbows.  He clears his throat and wracks a hand through his hair, and [Name] smiles because she finally notices the light blush invading his cheeks.  She curls her legs around his waist like she's holding him captive and murmurs all low, "Are you feeling sick again?  I think I have a cure for you."  Her smile makes her look positively wicked. 
Arthur glowers at her and tries to pull her legs off of him, but has little success.  He huffs, "I want to take a shower, [Name]."  Like he's upset with of something.  But [Name] knows that he isn't upset at her, just the situation itself.  And while this would normally make her angry (or anyone angry, for that matter), this morning she will put up with it and make him realize the error of his ways. 
She sits up and nods, "Okay.  Shower.  Let's get to it, then."  And before Arthur can protest, she's sliding off the bed, grabbing two towels, and heading into the adjacent bathroom.  When he doesn't immediately follow, she pokes her head out of the doorway and tells him to hurry up.  There is nothing Arthur can do to prevent the new dilemma he is in.  And though he will not admit it, there is nothing he wants to do about it anyhow.  Instead he decides to accept his (exceptionally lucky) fate.  He does not regret it.


Friday, May 23, 2014

A Gokudera/Yamamoto Lemon -- Red Like Reluctance

Character: Gokudera / Yamamoto

Fandom: Katekyo HItman Reborn! [TYL]

OC: --

Inspiration: It's Valentine's Day and Gokudera is being stubborn~  I started writing this in February, but Yaoi's hard for me to write so that's why it took me so long |D  I'm not a huge Yaoi fan but I ship these two so freaking hard~

Perhaps Yamamoto should have known it would turn out like this.  Gokudera is not romantic or soft or gentle.  He is the most stubborn man Takeshi knows.  It would only make sense that he would totally ignore the holiday of love.  But it still makes him a little annoyed.  Annoyed enough to go find his stubborn lover and force him to acknowledge the day.
Gokudera is in his office pouring over mission reports (neatly stacked, organized, and color coded).  His glasses are slipping down his nose but he's too engrossed in finishing his current report to fix them.  In fact, he's so preoccupied that he barely even notices his door opening and the newfound fact that he isn't alone anymore.  But even though he's good at ignoring things in general, when it comes to his lover Gokudera is annoyingly transparent.
"You're still working," comes the dry voice of Yamamoto.  Silence, and then, "Trying to," comes the sharp reply as Gokudera tries to make it clear that he doesn't want to be interrupted.  The warning is either completely ignored or just goes right over Yamamoto's head (it's hard to tell sometimes), and Yamamoto chuckles that dry chuckle and steps forward, closing the door.
"It's February 14th you know."  Yamamoto sighs out and loosens his tie, blinking down at his adamantly working lover.  He tries again.  "I came down to tell you to answer your phone.  I called you three time already.  Dinner's been ready for ages."  It's probably cold by now, he wants to say, but he doesn't because he can see how Gokudera is sitting so stiffly and knows that he's probably getting angry.  He decides to wait it out.
"Oh," comes the short, curt reply.  Gokudera pushes his glasses up his nose and the sight would be endearing, if Yamamoto was in the mood for it.  But though his patience is normally boundless, especially when it came to his lover, tonight it is wearing thin.  "Oh," he agrees, stepping forward.  This time, Gokudera looks up at him with a scowl.
"I'll be up when I'm finished with my work, Takeshi.  It's a bit more important than some stupid mushy holiday."  But he could see from the way Yamamoto was standing, right in front of his desk, all stubborn like, that his answer would simply not suffice.  Not tonight.  Not on February 14th, day of love and unusually kinky sex, or so he'd heard from Dr. Shamal.
"Do you even want to know what I planned for today?" Yamamoto asks, faux surprise coating his eyes.  He is not surprised and both of them know it, but there seems to be some sort of game he's playing and damn if Gokudera falls for it.  He glowers, "I don't care.  I'm busy."  But the mention of Yamamoto and all his planning does peak his interest just the smallest bit.
His lover smiles that idiotic smile, but there is something dwelling just below the surface of it.  Something dark and delicious and unusually kinky, and it makes Gokudera a little curious, but just a little.  He watches Yamamoto walk over to the other side of the desk, slide onto the surface of it, and prod his swivel chair around to face him.  Then, amid the spluttering indignancies that are leaving Gokudera's lips (he's wrinkling his paperwork!) Yamamoto reaches down, slips his fingers around Gokudera's tie, and jerks him closer.  The complaints die.
There is a whisper of space between them.  Their mouths are barely brushing each other and the proximity has Gokudera's heartbeat escalating.  He's about to demand to know why Yamamoto hasn't fucking kissed him yet when his answer unduly arrives in the form of a shiver-inducing sentence, dragged over arching lips that are clearly struggling with the same desire to close the distance between them.  Yamamoto whispers, "You're not busy.  You're just stalling cause for some reason, you hate this holiday.  But Hayato, I intend to change that."
Gokudera can be surprisingly efficient in holding back his emotions.  He stops a shiver from ruining that image and sneers.  Yamamoto glances down at the twist of his mouth and then darts his eyes back up to his.  Then he smirks an unusually kinky smirk and leans in ever closer, pressing his lips just against Gokudera's and murmuring a low, husky, "You don't believe me?  Then maybe it's time to stop talking so I can start convincing you."  It is the single best suggestion Gokudera has heard all day.
"Che.  You can try," Gokudera mutters, then jerks his tie out of his lover's hold and leans back in his chair, stubbornly blinking up to see Yamamoto's reaction.  It is only interest, curiosity, excitement.  It washes over those eyes like waves and crashes against his heart like anticipation. 
Yamamoto had expected this stubbornness.  But that doesn't mean he has little idea as to how to counter it.  He chuckles and leans back on the desk, shifting his hips teasingly and wrinkling the paperwork even more.  The action has Gokudera's eyes firing up in anger, but that is all part of the plan too.  And then Yamamoto casually flicks a number of pens, spare paper, a folders onto the floor, and he knows that Gokudera has become sufficiently furious.
"What are you doing?" Gokudera growls, knuckles white and unyielding as he clutches the arm rest of his chair.  But Yamamoto only looks at him in mock surprise and says lightly, his voice almost a purr, "Making room for us."  And though his words have Gokudera feeling just a little excited, he mostly feels annoyed.  "No," he says, gritting his teeth as he watches another pen fall.  He swallows back a harsh wave of fury and says, "There's no way in hell I'm letting you fuck me over my desk.  Fuck -- do you even know how long it took me to organize all that shit?"  When Yamamoto only shrugs and doesn't stop, Gokudera growls again and pushes out of his chair, grabbing his lover's wrist and unknowingly falling directly into the trap laid out for him.
They're both fighters.  Men who play with the law and know how to do it properly.  So it's understandable that Yamamoto's got a few tricks up his sleeve.  But Gokudera certainly doesn't appreciate it when his lover twists out of his grasp and pulls a semi-complicated move that shifts their positions around and forces Gokudera's chest against all those pitifully wrinkled papers.  In fact, it makes him so annoyed that he growls out a, "Yamamoto, I swear to fucking God if you don't let me up right now I'll -- "
"Yamamoto?" his lover asks with a raised brow.  Gokudera tries to push himself back up, but the Japanese man just pushes him down again.  His hand clenches into Hayato's dress shirt as he struggles to keep his wild lover at bay.  A chuckle drifts past Takeshi's lips, "You must be pretty angry if you're using my last name."  He casually pushes Hayato's legs apart and leans his thigh against his lover's ass.  There is a slight hardness that Takeshi can just barely detect in his current position, but it makes him ridiculously excited.
Hayato presses his forehead against his desk and mutters something dark, something too low for his lover to hear.  Then he grumbles louder, "Che.  You're being kinkier than usual tonight."  Gokudera will not admit that he sort of likes this, being forced into this position.  The fact that he can feel Yamamoto's growing erection pressed up against his ass only makes it that much better.  The fabric of their dress trousers doesn't allow for a whole lot of protection in this regard.
Takeshi hums.  The edges of his mouth have twisted into dark, serious desire.  He can tell that Gokudera's anger is slowly draining away.  (How he knows this, he couldn't say.)  Carefully, he lets his grip on the back of Gokudera's shirt loosen.  He's pleased when Hayato pushes himself up onto his forearms and peers around his shoulder at him, not trying to get up.  The olive green of Hayato's eyes flash when they meet Takeshi's.  It's probably because, whenever Hayato sees that nonchalant desire set against the brown tones of Takeshi's gaze, he feels his body turn to ash and start blowing away.
Takeshi moves to trace along the hem of Hayato's trousers.  He slowly starts to pull out the tucked in shirt.  "Didn't I tell you that I had lots of things planned for tonight?"  His voice is casual, lazy even, but there is a wicked edge to it that strikes through his words like weights.  Hayato shifts a little, 'accidentally' rubbing against that delicious bulge in his lover's pants, and Yamamoto has to close his eyes for a brief moment in order to reign in all his desires.  It's more difficult than he'd like to admit.
Gokudera scoffs.  His voice is muffled against wood and it sounds erotic to Takeshi's ears.  He mutters, "Hurry up and do it already.  I have three more missions to file before midnight."  But even though his gruff prompting sounds annoyed, Yamamoto isn't convinced.  He's been with Hayato enough times to distinguish when the slight tremor in that voice is born from eagerness and not fury.  He chuckles a little and hooks his fingers around the front of Hayato's hips, fiddling with the zipper of his trousers. 
"Maa, maa," he laughs, "so impatient.  And you're already pretty hard, too."  He smirks when Hayato stiffens just a little bit, probably from embarrassment.  "Just get it over with already," comes the muffled, brusque reply.  But before Takeshi pulls back, he can't resist the urge to roll his fingers against the thin fabric of Hayato's boxers.  He's more than just a little hard by now, and it makes the both of them shiver delightfully.  It gets much better though, when Takeshi pulls back and peels away both layers of clothing.  He tugs them to the ground and watches Hayato steps out of them, shaking that ass just a little. 
Yamamoto swallows back a thick, hazy wave of desire and chuckles.  His fingers drift to his own trousers as he says lightly, "'S okay.  I'm pretty hard too.  Should I show you?"  And the end of his sentence is full of meticulous quivers, the kind that makes a person feel like they're shaking right into the earth.  Hayato feels those shivers a moment later, when Takeshi kicks off his pants and presses his stiff length against the curve of his lover's rear.  Hayato's lower back arches just a tiny bit, like his body is reacting without his consent.  Takeshi chuckles, and can almost hear the embarrassed scowl the is no doubt strewn against his lover's face.
Yamamoto's hips rock forward.  His hands push up the dress shirt that is still splayed against Gokudera's upper half.  Then he asks in a hasty voice devoid of that patience, "Where's the lube?"  One hand curls around Hayato's hips to touch his lover's erection.  It's no surprise, then, when Gokudera's answer comes out breathless and hurried.  "Middle drawer…left…"  And there's a moment of scrambling as Takeshi leans over, pulls out the drawer, and fishes around for the bottle.  All the while pumping his lover's erection and watching the visible muscles of Hayato's back strain and pull from the pleasure.
Yamamoto's hand draws back to uncap the bottle.  He pours a bit of the cold liquid onto his fingers and rubs heat into it.  Then, with the seasoned movements of a person well acquainted with another's body, Takeshi nudges his lover's legs further apart and slips his fingers over his hole.  The shuddering arch that immediately pulls at Hayato's spine has fiery desire ripping through Takeshi.
"F-fuck, that's cold," Gokudera growls.  He swivels his head around to send his lover a glare.  Takeshi's responding smile, careless but serious, has Hayato clenching his fingers around the edge of the desk and swallowing hard.  When he feels his lover's finger inch into him none too gently, his eyes slip closed and he pushes his weight onto his elbows.  "Tch!  At least be gentle, moron!" he angrily says, his voice like sandpaper and lust.  But it's all for show, Takeshi knows it is, and it makes him smile darkly and add another finger.  As he slowly begins to stretch his lover, Takeshi lightly murmurs, "I'll be gentle when I put it in."  Like it's some sort of negotiation or something.
Gokudera would like to argue (very much so) but his words die as soon as they are born.  It takes too much effort to speak.  He can't concentrate when Takeshi's playing with him like that, rolling his fingers into his ass, spreading his butt and rubbing his cock against his thigh teasingly.  So he only huffs, tries to pretend as though the stiffness of his back is due from fury and not ferocious desire.  He doesn't care if he fools anyone though, which is good because he doesn't, at all.
Apparently, talking doesn't take nearly as much effort for Yamamoto.  "You know…I don't think we've ever done it like this before."  Which is crazy, because it happens to be a position that they've both daydreamed about countless times.  When Takeshi voices this, Gokudera scoffs and mutters, "Idiot."  He'd say more but…well, Takeshi's fingers aren't exactly idle.
"Would you hurry up?" Hayato says instead, clenching his teeth against the brusque pleasure.  Takeshi chuckles and peers down at his lover, smiling that idiot-serious smile that always makes Gokudera shiver with inexplicable emotion.  Another chuckle, and, "Sure, sure.  Just wait a sec."  Gokudera would like to tell him that he's been waiting for ages, but instead he only makes a displeased noise and glances behind his shoulder to see exactly why Takeshi is telling him to wait.  The moment his eyes lock only the scene taking place behind him, he wishes he hadn't looked at all.
Takeshi's rubbing lube over his cock.  It's not like Gokudera has never seen him do it before, but for some reason it feels more intense tonight.  Perhaps it's because he has to stretch his neck painfully to see it.  Perhaps it's because they aren't on a bed, facing each other, breathing in the other's breath and making love in a more conventional-while-not-being-conventional-at-all way.  Perhaps there's a lot of reasons, but regardless of each and every one of them, it feels different and that makes Gokudera feel a fuzzy sort of pleasure dribble through him like slowly falling rain.
Takeshi's lips curl into a crooked grin.  His eyes are bolts of semi-serious, semi-amused brown, and they make the rest of his expression into some erotic, impish mystery.  It's unsettling to watch that mouth and those eyes, so instead Hayato focuses on Takeshi's hand and the way he's stroking the lube over his shaft.  After a moment of them watching each other, Takeshi murmurs all low, "Like what you see, Hayato?"  And the use of Gokudera's first name, while not at all uncommon at this point, makes the Italian clench his fist and swallow back a harsh and overpowering wave of twisted desire.
"Fuck," he mutters to himself, and closes his eyes briefly before tearing them open again.  He meets his lover's eyes brashly, callously, and says in a strained voice, "Fuck, yeah, I do Takeshi."  The Japanese name rolls off his tongue without his own consent, like foreign drops of a smooth, smooth liquor, but it creates an effect in his lover that makes the slip worth it.  And the sight of Yamamoto, that baseball idiot, closing his eyes and shivering violently and making that little moaning sound…well, it's all fucking worth it.
After a moment, Takeshi chuckles breathlessly.  There's a tautness in that voice and those eyes that hadn't been there before, and it sets Gokudera on edge in the most brilliant of ways.  And all at once Gokudera knows, just knows that there is no way they're waiting another minute, and he watches with dark olive eyes as his lover spreads his ass and presses his hard length up against his skin.  Their eyes meet over Hayato's slender shoulder and fuck if Takeshi's expression doesn't make him utterly, immensely, deliriously insane.
"Ready?" Yamamoto grunts, but it's more of a warning than an actual question.  Gokudera makes a noise and presses his face against the wood, shivering when he feels the tip of his lover's cock brushing over his hole.  And then he feels the cock push inside, slowly, gently, but it still makes discomfort flourish through his body.  He tries his best to relax, and after a minute or two goes by, the discomfort begins to fade away and Takeshi starts to slowly, gently thrust.
First, there's an untethered amount of pain and it's blinding.  But Takeshi is slow and steady, and soaks up his lover's trembles as best he can even as Gokudera painfully clenches around his length and makes it difficult.  Yamamoto shifts a hand to Gokudera's lower back and softly draws circles into his skin.  After a few moments, that hand snakes around his waist to seek a more intimate touch.  When Takeshi's calloused fingers curl around Gokudera's stiff member, the pain of their coupling is ripped from them like a bandage over skin, and Hayato immediately moans and arches back, yearning to feel more.
It is a sight that Takeshi won't easily forget.  He swallows hard and pumps his lover's cock through his fingers, which are still oily from the lube.  His other hand grounds Hayato's hips, steadies his thrusts, clenches against his skin.  And Yamamoto wishes he could see that face, that doleful, brain dead, lustful expression he knows is coating those olive eyes.  But there will be plenty of time for that later, at least if he's got anything to say about it.
"A-ah…" he tips his head back with a sigh.  His hips snap forward and back like they've got a mind of their own, and Gokudera is pressing his pleased whimpers into the wood of the desk.  But Yamamoto can still hear them and they still make him feel like he's going to explode.  This naturally erotic, sinful, wicked atmosphere is all but tumbling over them like a thinly twisting vine, and Takeshi hurtles ever faster, ever deeper.  It is a phenomenal feeling.
Yamamoto's hand comes down hard on the desk near Gokudera's head.  Then he's leaning forward, moving his hips harder, letting out short little breathy moans with every stark, raw thrust.  And he knows he's being rough but it only makes Gokudera that much more excited, because he likes when it's rough and heady and anxiously bitter.  And it's no surprise that Hayato goes crazy when those hips slam against his, pushing them almost up into the air with their force.  It's no surprise but it is a lovely sight, the way Hayato peers just a little over his shoulder in thankful, erotic passion.  Yamamoto really can't help but bring his free hand over to clasp his lover's, and their fingers intertwine like rope knotted at the center of some great net.  The tiny shard of that comforting, loving touch makes the rough, heady moment sweeter.  Like minty, sugary iced tea on a bitterly hot summer day.
Their bodies are low, nearly touching but not quite.  The gap of space between them cannot be attained while Yamamoto is still nestled inside him.  But those blank, empty inches are not all that empty.  They are filled with heat and panting breaths and gasping bodies and thundering muscles.  And while Yamamoto cannot lean down and kiss his lover's flesh, he can kiss the air that thickly waves between them, kiss the scent of their coupling as it wafts delightfully through the room, kiss the caustic emotions that pour into that little gap of space and yearn from complete and total togetherness.
And that is what he does, even as their ends race faster and faster, even as Gokudera curses heavily and tilts his head back and bucks his hips into Yamamoto's hand and against his cock.  Takeshi lets out the most luxuriously beautiful moan and it invades the inches of space and makes those inches alive with his love.  And he breathes out loudly in tight little pants and rams his hips harder, rougher, with such force that there's bound to be bruises all over Hayato's hips.  But neither of them care of even think twice about something so meaningless, because they're too busy being lost in each other. 
"Ha-Hayato!" Takeshi gasps.  He swears he sees stars spinning round and round his vision, like the cosmos is angrily weaving him a fortune.  And he can't control his body anymore, not his hips or his hands.  They both have minds of their own, like they're possessed by some explicable power which seeks only pleasure.  His hand jerks over Gokudera's cock, which is already dripping with come.  His thumb brushes over the tip of it and it's like that simple little move is what Gokudera has been waiting for.  He groans and shakes his hips faster, feeling himself spilling over those familiar, calloused fingers which continue to pump him to his absolute end.  And what an end it is.
He feels Yamamoto's hot sticky finish plaster him inside and out, leaking down his thighs and making him warm and cool at the same time.  For a very long moment, neither of them move.  They are too busy calculating the effects of their lovemaking, the way it has made their bodies crazed with passion, the way it has gone to their heads.  Then, after what feels like years, Gokudera grumbles a short, gravelly, "Pull it out."  And Yamamoto chuckles, probably because of the brash words, but doesn't argue.  He slides out of Gokudera easily, then watches his lover struggle into a standing position.  At the last moment, though, Gokudera stumbles slightly, and Yamamoto's arms rush to pull him to his chest.  His grumpy lover is surprisingly okay with this, being pressed up against Yamamoto, their naked bodies flush and warm.  It makes Yamamoto smile.  That smile only widens when Gokudera mutters something unintelligible about the mess of wrinkles papers on the floor. 
But the mess is worth it.  It is a sentiment that they happen to share, and even as Gokudera pulls away and starts collecting the fallen pens and paperclips and folders, he doesn't seem to be particularly angry about it.  Not like he'd been before, at least.  The gleam of anger in his gaze is just for show.  Yamamoto knows it and so does Gokudera, but the Japanese man lets him get away with it because the sight of him naked, crouching to the floor, cleaning up is oddly delicious.  Perhaps is the post orgasmic bliss speaking, but Yamamoto sort of wants to push the Italian onto his back, press their skin into the cold cold floor and start all over again.
But dinner's probably frozen by now and while taking Gokudera on the floor would undoubtedly be highly satisfying, it's not unusually kinky enough for a night like tonight.  No, he's got other plans that will fall into that category.  Other plans that he's sure Gokudera won't mind acting out.
The Italian seems to notice the glint of his love's gaze, the way it's cutting right through the thick atmosphere and making him starving for more physical touch.  He rocks back onto his heels, a fistful of papers clenched in both hands, and grumbles, "I've still got work, you know."  But that's just for show too, that reluctance, the grudging reminder.  Yamamoto can see that his lover has no inclination to start working now.  Not after being shoved against his own desk and fucked in such a raw and passionate manner.  But Takeshi doesn't let him get away with this one.  Not this time.
He chuckles and steps forward, around the desk.  Then he gently pulls Hayato to his feet, takes the paperwork from his hands, and lays it flat onto the desk.  When he turns back, the silver haired hit man is staring up at him from beneath long lashes, his olive eyes sparkling with anticipation and lust.  And the sight of it turns Takeshi on faster than ever.
"Tsuna won't be upset if it takes you an extra day to turn it all in," Yamamoto murmurs, stepping closer.  Every word is like a weighted promise, extending from the syllables to the breathless end.  And Gokudera's leaning into Takeshi's arms without even realizing it.
Just before their lips touch, Gokudera decides that really, Valentine's Day isn’t so awful.  Neither, he thinks, is having unusually kinky sex with the only man capable of making his heart hot and cold at the same time.


A/N: So…what did you think about my first Yaoi lemon?  :3  Also, let me know if there are any other Yaoi pairings you'd like to see and I'll consider writing some more this summer!