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[fic] KHR - Balance Point
Title: Balance Point
Pairings: Tsuna/Yamamoto/Gokudera
Summary: Gokudera doesn't know how to say no to Tsuna, which is maybe just as well.
Notes: Adult for smut. 3348 words.
~~~~~~~~~~
Balance Point
Something has changed, Hayato doesn't know what, but he knows for damn sure he doesn't like it. It has to do with Tsuna and Yamamoto, though for the life of him he doesn't know what it is. All he knows is that there's something strange in the way the two of them interact with each other these days, something like thunder growling just over the horizon on a summer's day, presaging a deluge.
He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it at all, even though there's nothing there that he can object to. What is there he can say, when all he has to point to is the way Yamamoto's eyes rest on Tsuna? Or the way Tsuna turns to Yamamoto and Yamamoto bends his head down, a little too close to Tsuna's for Hayato's peace of mind. That's not anything, really, certainly not anything to protest.
(Hayato wants to protest anyway, but he's been with the Tenth for a few years now, and he's starting to relearn the boundaries of what is acceptable outrage and what isn't. He can share Tsuna's attention with Yamamoto. Really he can. The Tenth's heart is big enough for the both of them. If he keeps telling himself that, maybe he'll even learn how to believe it.)
So Hayato keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on the two of them, watching for the piece that will make this puzzle make sense, and wonders what he'll do when the storm finally breaks.
He finds out on a Thursday afternoon, a completely prosaic autumn day that sees him running late for a study session at Tsuna's. Yamamoto's shoes are already lined up next to Tsuna's when Hayato finally shows up, still brooding on the shipping mix-up that had delayed him and the precious study time it's wasted, because God knows neither Tsuna nor Yamamoto will start studying before he's there to ride herd on them both. (He loves the Tenth, really he does, but Hayato also knows him, and Yamamoto only aids and abets him when it comes to finding ways not to study.)
He greets Sawada-san and goes up to Tsuna's room, already turning over strategies to get the two of them to stop goofing off and start working on their homework. It'll depend on what they've found to goof off with, but then, it always does.
Hayato's preoccupied enough with his strategizing that he's actually inside the bedroom, a greeting in his mouth, before he registers the scene before him. He can't comprehend it except in bits and pieces—the two of them sitting at the table, the angle of their bodies make as they lean together, Yamamoto's hand cradling Tsuna's jaw, the sweep of Tsuna's eyelashes against his cheek, and the husky sound Yamamoto is making against Tsuna's mouth when Hayato walks in.
Something twists in Hayato's gut, sick and hurt and bereft, even as the two of them spring apart, scrambling back and turning red (Yamamoto) and squeaking (Tsuna). "The fuck," Hayato says, staring at them in spite of himself, at the redness of their mouths and the way Yamamoto's shirt is halfway unbuttoned. "What the fuck?"
They glance at each other and he can see them having a silent conversation, one he's not privy to even though it's happening right in front of him. It makes Hayato's stomach twist again, hard enough that he can taste bile in the back of his throat.
"You know what," he says, even as they turn back to him and Yamamoto raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, "you know what, never mind, forget about it, sorry I interrupted." His feet take him backwards, back towards the door and escape, because he's not stupid. He can see perfectly well what's going on here, what's probably been going on right under his nose for about as long as he's been wondering about the strangeness between the two of them.
What, if he's honest, he's suspected all along.
"I'll just leave you two to it, shall I?" His own voice sounds strained in his ears; he fumbles behind him, groping for the doorknob. There it is, slick against his palm, and Hayato forces out "Congratulations, I guess you'll be happy," as he gets the door open.
The Tenth says, "Hayato, wait," before he can make good his escape.
Hearing his name on Tsuna's lips brings him up short, that and the desperate edge of command in it. Hayato stops before he can even think about it as Tsuna comes up off the floor and crosses the room. "What," he says, when Tsuna reaches for him, almost before he's even close enough to actually make contact, but Tsuna seizes him by the shoulder and pulls him away from the door before Hayato can formulate a real response.
"Don't go." Tsuna's face is turned up to his, creased with worry. He keeps a solid grip on Hayato as the door swings shut again. "Please? I—we—need to talk to you."
It's the twisting, sick feeling in his gut that does the talking for him: "What for?" It comes out ugly, vicious, the way he's never once talked to the Tenth, but he can't help himself. "I've got eyes, don't I? Even if you didn't just tell me to begin with."
Tsuna flinches even as he pushes Hayato down, and Yamamoto says, "We were going to, actually." He's still rubbing the back of his neck, more awkward than Hayato has ever seen him, for all that he's looking Hayato straight in the eye. "Today, even. We were talking about it before you came in."
Hayato bites back the I saw you "talking," but it's a near thing.
Tsuna settles at Hayato's left hand. Being between the two of them is probably supposed to make him feel better or something, but it doesn't. "Great, now I know." The words taste bitter in his mouth. "I guess you don't need to talk about it any more, huh?"
Yamamoto glances past him, doing that silent discussion thing with Tsuna again, and Tsuna says, "Um. It's more complicated than that."
Hayato doesn't see how, unless the Tenth wants to switch right hands on him, which would just about figure, wouldn't it? Or maybe it's more pragmatic and less sweeping than that. "What, do you need me to promise to keep my mouth shut about the two of you or something?" Because God knows that the Tenth doesn't need to get any grief over whom he chooses to—to—well, he doesn't need any grief for it.
"No, um. It's not that." Tsuna sounds—looks—nervous, biting his lips and twisting his hands together. "Um, when you say the two of us... well... don't you think that should really be the three of us?"
While Hayato is trying to parse that, Tsuna wets his lips and raises himself up to press their mouths together. Hayato freezes, struck motionless like an animal caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic, which leaves him completely defenseless against the way Yamamoto slides up against his back and gathers him up like a favorite toy. "Sorry," he says, warm and intimate in Hayato's ear. "We didn't mean to get a head start on you."
Wait, what?
The thing is, Hayato doesn't actually know how to say no when it's the Tenth doing the asking. He knows this about himself and made peace with it maybe five minutes after pledging himself to Tsuna and hasn't thought much about it since.
Not that he's managing a whole lot of thought just now. Not coherent thought, anyway.
Yamamoto's got him—he keeps saying so, a steady stream of hey, easy now and It's all right, I've got you murmured against Hayato's ear, like Hayato's going to somehow forget that he's sprawled against Yamamoto's chest between one heartbeat and the next. Or maybe, he thinks, dizzily, Yamamoto's telling himself that.
It's an interesting thought, but he can't do much with it, because Tsuna's tongue is in his mouth. Every time Tsuna slides it against his, hot-slick-wet, Hayato's thoughts spin and settle into new patterns, kaleidoscope-style. Or maybe it's the way Tsuna is straddling his lap, leaning up against him and kissing him until Hayato has to be grateful Yamamoto's there to prop him up.
God knows Hayato doesn't have the wherewithal to do it himself. Doesn't have the wherewithal to do anything, really, except clutch at Tsuna's shoulders and let himself be kissed until he's panting for the breath that he can't quite manage to catch. Someone is making noise, hoarse little moans with no sense in them; later, Hayato is going to be embarrassed by how long it takes him to realize that he's the one making those sounds.
But that'll be later.
Right now his skin feels fever-hot and there's not enough air in the room, and Hayato is harder than he's ever been. Tsuna's leaning against him, pressed against Hayato's chest and sucking on Hayato's lower lip, not the least bit shy about it either, and when Hayato realizes he's hard, too, he groans outright.
Tsuna rocks against him, exhaling a breathy sound of his own, and lays his hand against Hayato's chest. "Can I?" he asks. "Can I, Hayato? Please?"
Hayato doesn't know how to say anything but yes to Tsuna, whatever it is he's asking. Why should this be any different? "Okay," he manages, ready to follow the Tenth's lead wherever it goes.
That means going straight into Tsuna's hands undoing his clothes—no, not just Tsuna, Hayato realizes, everything in his world spinning. Yamamoto's lending a helping hand of his own, plucking at the buttons of Hayato's shirt while Tsuna does something with his belts and his fly that is both a welcome relief and a complete shock. "What—" he says, or tries to say, but the sense of it gets tangled up against Tsuna's mouth, right before somebody's hand lands on his cock.
He loses track of anything like higher cognition at that point, because rational thought doesn't stand a chance against the visceral jolt of sensation that rocks him back against Yamamoto's chest. Hayato groans against Tsuna's mouth, clinging to the handfuls of Tsuna's shirt as someone strokes his cock. Tsuna keeps on kissing him, practically urgent about it, and then he breaks away from Hayato's mouth to arch and gasp. Hayato gazes at him, too dazed to do anything else but take in the flush across Tsuna's cheeks and the way his lips are red and shining wet. It's not until Tsuna groans again that it occurs to him to wonder why or glance down.
It's Tsuna's fingers on Hayato's cock, because Yamamoto's got his hand wrapped around Tsuna's cock, fisting him slowly with long tanned fingers, and that alone has Hayato teetering on the edge of coming right there and then. "Oh my God," he breathes, transfixed by the slide of Tsuna's fingers moving over him and the way Yamamoto handles Tsuna, which accounts for a good half of his filthiest fantasies right there, the ones he refuses to acknowledge he even has.
"Come on," Yamamoto says. Hayato doesn't know which one of them that's meant for, but Tsuna surges forward and—oh, God—lines their hips up, lines their cocks up and tangles his hand with Yamamoto's as they stroke together. Yamamoto's grip is different, rough with callous, and Tsuna's cock rubs sleek and hot against Hayato's. Tsuna tucks his face against Hayato's throat, groaning against it, and that's it, Hayato's coming, jerking up into their hands and striping his own belly with his come as pleasure throbs through him.
He lolls against Yamamoto after, staring at Tsuna's ceiling and listening to the sounds Tsuna makes, throaty little gasps that tickle his skin as Tsuna rocks back and forth in his lap, moving against the grip of Yamamoto's hand until the moment his breath catches and he goes tense against Hayato, shaking as he comes. Hayato can feel it, hot against his bare stomach, more than he can process when he's already stunned with pleasure, and doesn't even know what to call the sound that comes out of his own throat in response. Tsuna sags against him, breathing hard, and Yamamoto takes his weight too, not missing a beat.
When Hayato regains enough presence of mind to turn his head enough to look, Yamamoto's looking down at him, at Tsuna, at both of them, with the barest wry, wistful curve touching his mouth. Hayato doesn't know what to do with that, or with the hardness he can feel pressed up against his back, so he just stares instead, at least until Yamamoto catches him doing it.
Now what are they supposed to do?
It's Tsuna's particular genius to know how to save them from themselves. Hayato's not a praying kind of guy, but if he were, he'd light a few candles for that alone. This time Tsuna stirs before Hayato can do more than jerk his eyes away from Yamamoto's, before he can do anything stupid like try to pull away, and makes a contented sound that pins Hayato in place. That lazy little hum reaches right into his chest and squeezes his heart at the same time it makes his cock twitch and start thinking about getting up and going again. It throws him right out of his incipient panic attack, too, which is something else to be glad of.
Tsuna makes another of those sounds and stretches against Hayato, nuzzling against his throat, and Yamamoto huffs softly against Hayato's other ear. It's a peculiarly fond sound. Indulgent, like Yamamoto's used to this.
Before Hayato can do more than catch a breath at the sudden twist of acid jealousy, Tsuna lifts his head. He's smiling, sleepy and slow like a sunrise, and he says, "I can't believe we waited so long to do that."
He raises himself up and kisses Hayato again, less urgently this time, making pleased sounds against Hayato's mouth until Yamamoto clears his throat and says, "Uh, some of us are still waiting, y'know." Good-natured as he sounds, there's still an edge of—something, strain or uncertainty, Hayato doesn't know what to call it—under the words. Hayato doesn't know what Yamamoto would look like just then, or whether he wants to know, so he doesn't look.
Tsuna's laugh is soft and open, happy. "Sorry," he says, though he doesn't really sound sorry at all. "Here—let me—Hayato, if you could—"
He moves as he talks, pushing Hayato this way, prodding Yamamoto that way, rearranging them so very unselfconsciously that Hayato halfway expects to see Tsuna's eyes lit with his Flame as he allows himself to be nudged aside so Tsuna can bear Yamamoto down to the floor. They're not, but they're the same kind of certain when Tsuna looks from Yamamoto's sprawl (spread out against the floor, an obscene bulge in his jeans) to Hayato. "The three of us, right?" he says, very softly.
Hayato still doesn't know how to say no to him. When it's Tsuna, all he can do is say yes and know that Tsuna will worry about the rest. Will make the rest okay.
Will make it easy.
"Yes," he says, letting Tsuna guide him down so that Yamamoto is nestled between them. That gives him a front-row vantage point for it when Tsuna kisses Yamamoto, just leans over and seals their mouths together. Yamamoto parts his lips and closes his eyes, and Hayato can't help wondering whether Tsuna's kissing Yamamoto the same way he kissed him.
He wonders a lot of things, actually, not least of which is what he's supposed to do now. Or whether he's supposed to be watching this (whether he's supposed to like watching it, what he's supposed to do about it if he does). It gives him an unsettled feeling to be lying up against the warm bulk of Yamamoto's shoulder, listening to the soft wet sounds of the two of them kissing, and an even stranger feeling when Yamamoto curls an arm around him, gathering him up without even looking.
The sound of Yamamoto's groan, deep-throated and sudden, jerks Hayato out of the confusion of his thoughts. Yamamoto drops his head back, showing his throat and arching under Tsuna, against Hayato, as he gasps. The expression on his face is like nothing Hayato has ever seen before, open and stunned and soft, somehow—Yamamoto without his grin and his pretenses, laid bare, and Hayato doesn't know whether he has any right to see that.
But Tsuna says, almost whispering, "Help me here, Hayato." So the Tenth seems to think he does.
It's as good a reason as any to look away, though Hayato's so twisted up inside his head at this point that he doesn't know whether he wants to do that either. When he finally does, he sees that Tsuna's got Yamamoto's jeans open; Hayato doesn't know what to do with the sight of him fisting Yamamoto's cock, slow and regular as a heartbeat, or the jolt of something that lances through him in response. He can read Tsuna's expression, something like an appeal, or maybe it's actually a command, because he answers it. Reaches down, his off hand clumsy when he settles it around Tsuna's, and catches a breath when Tsuna shifts his grip and he feels the smooth, hot skin of Yamamoto's cock against his palm.
That's all the filthy fantasies he doesn't even permit himself have, right there in the way Yamamoto bucks his hips up and moans, the way his cock is heavy in Hayato's hand, the same as jerking himself off but not. Tsuna guides his hand, showing him how to move his fingers over Yamamoto and setting the rhythm of it when Hayato's too dizzy to do it himself. And Tsuna's the one who says, "Look at him," with just enough authority that Hayato looks Yamamoto in the face again. Yamamoto looks back, flushed and dark-eyed, and his lips move, shaping silent syllables that could be yes, please or Hayato or maybe just the three of us. Hayato can't read lips and doesn't know, because Yamamoto's whole expression changes when they lock gazes, goes blank and surprised as his cock throbs in Hayato's hand, spilling sticky-hot over his and Tsuna's fingers.
So now all three of them are a mess to one degree or another, which Hayato is almost too embarrassed to even think about. Even so, that's easier than thinking about the look on Yamamoto's face, or the way the grip of Yamamoto's hand on his shoulder is tightening, pulling him down and close as Tsuna settles himself against Yamamoto's other shoulder.
Anything might be easier than that, except for the way that Tsuna is watching him from across Yamamoto's chest, his eyes quiet. Waiting for something. Waiting for God only knows what, except maybe Hayato does know, has known since he first leaned his head back against Yamamoto's shoulder and saw the way he was looking at them.
It would be pretty stupid to say no at this point, wouldn't it? (Though Hayato knows there've been plenty of times when he's been stupid, for worse reasons than he's got right now.)
He closes his teeth on his lip and lifts his head. Yamamoto's right there, with that same damned little wistful smile on his mouth, like he already knows how this is going to go. Well, fuck that. Yamamoto still doesn't know a damn thing about him, and Hayato can prove it.
Yamamoto's mouth is soft, full of the sharp inhale of his breath and the wondering sound he makes. His eyes are dark with surprise when Hayato pulls back, and maybe something else Hayato doesn't want to think about too closely.
Tsuna just nods. "The three of us," he says, absolutely certain, and lays his hand on top of the one Hayato is resting against Yamamoto's chest.
Hayato breathes out. "Yeah," he says, feeling the shape of it, solid as a foundation stone. "The three of us."
end
…because sometimes the urge to write Tsuna topping Gokudera and Yamamoto just seizes a girl by the throat, you know?
Comments are always lovely! Comment here at Dreamwidth using OpenID, or at LiveJournal.
Pairings: Tsuna/Yamamoto/Gokudera
Summary: Gokudera doesn't know how to say no to Tsuna, which is maybe just as well.
Notes: Adult for smut. 3348 words.
Balance Point
Something has changed, Hayato doesn't know what, but he knows for damn sure he doesn't like it. It has to do with Tsuna and Yamamoto, though for the life of him he doesn't know what it is. All he knows is that there's something strange in the way the two of them interact with each other these days, something like thunder growling just over the horizon on a summer's day, presaging a deluge.
He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it at all, even though there's nothing there that he can object to. What is there he can say, when all he has to point to is the way Yamamoto's eyes rest on Tsuna? Or the way Tsuna turns to Yamamoto and Yamamoto bends his head down, a little too close to Tsuna's for Hayato's peace of mind. That's not anything, really, certainly not anything to protest.
(Hayato wants to protest anyway, but he's been with the Tenth for a few years now, and he's starting to relearn the boundaries of what is acceptable outrage and what isn't. He can share Tsuna's attention with Yamamoto. Really he can. The Tenth's heart is big enough for the both of them. If he keeps telling himself that, maybe he'll even learn how to believe it.)
So Hayato keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on the two of them, watching for the piece that will make this puzzle make sense, and wonders what he'll do when the storm finally breaks.
He finds out on a Thursday afternoon, a completely prosaic autumn day that sees him running late for a study session at Tsuna's. Yamamoto's shoes are already lined up next to Tsuna's when Hayato finally shows up, still brooding on the shipping mix-up that had delayed him and the precious study time it's wasted, because God knows neither Tsuna nor Yamamoto will start studying before he's there to ride herd on them both. (He loves the Tenth, really he does, but Hayato also knows him, and Yamamoto only aids and abets him when it comes to finding ways not to study.)
He greets Sawada-san and goes up to Tsuna's room, already turning over strategies to get the two of them to stop goofing off and start working on their homework. It'll depend on what they've found to goof off with, but then, it always does.
Hayato's preoccupied enough with his strategizing that he's actually inside the bedroom, a greeting in his mouth, before he registers the scene before him. He can't comprehend it except in bits and pieces—the two of them sitting at the table, the angle of their bodies make as they lean together, Yamamoto's hand cradling Tsuna's jaw, the sweep of Tsuna's eyelashes against his cheek, and the husky sound Yamamoto is making against Tsuna's mouth when Hayato walks in.
Something twists in Hayato's gut, sick and hurt and bereft, even as the two of them spring apart, scrambling back and turning red (Yamamoto) and squeaking (Tsuna). "The fuck," Hayato says, staring at them in spite of himself, at the redness of their mouths and the way Yamamoto's shirt is halfway unbuttoned. "What the fuck?"
They glance at each other and he can see them having a silent conversation, one he's not privy to even though it's happening right in front of him. It makes Hayato's stomach twist again, hard enough that he can taste bile in the back of his throat.
"You know what," he says, even as they turn back to him and Yamamoto raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, "you know what, never mind, forget about it, sorry I interrupted." His feet take him backwards, back towards the door and escape, because he's not stupid. He can see perfectly well what's going on here, what's probably been going on right under his nose for about as long as he's been wondering about the strangeness between the two of them.
What, if he's honest, he's suspected all along.
"I'll just leave you two to it, shall I?" His own voice sounds strained in his ears; he fumbles behind him, groping for the doorknob. There it is, slick against his palm, and Hayato forces out "Congratulations, I guess you'll be happy," as he gets the door open.
The Tenth says, "Hayato, wait," before he can make good his escape.
Hearing his name on Tsuna's lips brings him up short, that and the desperate edge of command in it. Hayato stops before he can even think about it as Tsuna comes up off the floor and crosses the room. "What," he says, when Tsuna reaches for him, almost before he's even close enough to actually make contact, but Tsuna seizes him by the shoulder and pulls him away from the door before Hayato can formulate a real response.
"Don't go." Tsuna's face is turned up to his, creased with worry. He keeps a solid grip on Hayato as the door swings shut again. "Please? I—we—need to talk to you."
It's the twisting, sick feeling in his gut that does the talking for him: "What for?" It comes out ugly, vicious, the way he's never once talked to the Tenth, but he can't help himself. "I've got eyes, don't I? Even if you didn't just tell me to begin with."
Tsuna flinches even as he pushes Hayato down, and Yamamoto says, "We were going to, actually." He's still rubbing the back of his neck, more awkward than Hayato has ever seen him, for all that he's looking Hayato straight in the eye. "Today, even. We were talking about it before you came in."
Hayato bites back the I saw you "talking," but it's a near thing.
Tsuna settles at Hayato's left hand. Being between the two of them is probably supposed to make him feel better or something, but it doesn't. "Great, now I know." The words taste bitter in his mouth. "I guess you don't need to talk about it any more, huh?"
Yamamoto glances past him, doing that silent discussion thing with Tsuna again, and Tsuna says, "Um. It's more complicated than that."
Hayato doesn't see how, unless the Tenth wants to switch right hands on him, which would just about figure, wouldn't it? Or maybe it's more pragmatic and less sweeping than that. "What, do you need me to promise to keep my mouth shut about the two of you or something?" Because God knows that the Tenth doesn't need to get any grief over whom he chooses to—to—well, he doesn't need any grief for it.
"No, um. It's not that." Tsuna sounds—looks—nervous, biting his lips and twisting his hands together. "Um, when you say the two of us... well... don't you think that should really be the three of us?"
While Hayato is trying to parse that, Tsuna wets his lips and raises himself up to press their mouths together. Hayato freezes, struck motionless like an animal caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic, which leaves him completely defenseless against the way Yamamoto slides up against his back and gathers him up like a favorite toy. "Sorry," he says, warm and intimate in Hayato's ear. "We didn't mean to get a head start on you."
Wait, what?
The thing is, Hayato doesn't actually know how to say no when it's the Tenth doing the asking. He knows this about himself and made peace with it maybe five minutes after pledging himself to Tsuna and hasn't thought much about it since.
Not that he's managing a whole lot of thought just now. Not coherent thought, anyway.
Yamamoto's got him—he keeps saying so, a steady stream of hey, easy now and It's all right, I've got you murmured against Hayato's ear, like Hayato's going to somehow forget that he's sprawled against Yamamoto's chest between one heartbeat and the next. Or maybe, he thinks, dizzily, Yamamoto's telling himself that.
It's an interesting thought, but he can't do much with it, because Tsuna's tongue is in his mouth. Every time Tsuna slides it against his, hot-slick-wet, Hayato's thoughts spin and settle into new patterns, kaleidoscope-style. Or maybe it's the way Tsuna is straddling his lap, leaning up against him and kissing him until Hayato has to be grateful Yamamoto's there to prop him up.
God knows Hayato doesn't have the wherewithal to do it himself. Doesn't have the wherewithal to do anything, really, except clutch at Tsuna's shoulders and let himself be kissed until he's panting for the breath that he can't quite manage to catch. Someone is making noise, hoarse little moans with no sense in them; later, Hayato is going to be embarrassed by how long it takes him to realize that he's the one making those sounds.
But that'll be later.
Right now his skin feels fever-hot and there's not enough air in the room, and Hayato is harder than he's ever been. Tsuna's leaning against him, pressed against Hayato's chest and sucking on Hayato's lower lip, not the least bit shy about it either, and when Hayato realizes he's hard, too, he groans outright.
Tsuna rocks against him, exhaling a breathy sound of his own, and lays his hand against Hayato's chest. "Can I?" he asks. "Can I, Hayato? Please?"
Hayato doesn't know how to say anything but yes to Tsuna, whatever it is he's asking. Why should this be any different? "Okay," he manages, ready to follow the Tenth's lead wherever it goes.
That means going straight into Tsuna's hands undoing his clothes—no, not just Tsuna, Hayato realizes, everything in his world spinning. Yamamoto's lending a helping hand of his own, plucking at the buttons of Hayato's shirt while Tsuna does something with his belts and his fly that is both a welcome relief and a complete shock. "What—" he says, or tries to say, but the sense of it gets tangled up against Tsuna's mouth, right before somebody's hand lands on his cock.
He loses track of anything like higher cognition at that point, because rational thought doesn't stand a chance against the visceral jolt of sensation that rocks him back against Yamamoto's chest. Hayato groans against Tsuna's mouth, clinging to the handfuls of Tsuna's shirt as someone strokes his cock. Tsuna keeps on kissing him, practically urgent about it, and then he breaks away from Hayato's mouth to arch and gasp. Hayato gazes at him, too dazed to do anything else but take in the flush across Tsuna's cheeks and the way his lips are red and shining wet. It's not until Tsuna groans again that it occurs to him to wonder why or glance down.
It's Tsuna's fingers on Hayato's cock, because Yamamoto's got his hand wrapped around Tsuna's cock, fisting him slowly with long tanned fingers, and that alone has Hayato teetering on the edge of coming right there and then. "Oh my God," he breathes, transfixed by the slide of Tsuna's fingers moving over him and the way Yamamoto handles Tsuna, which accounts for a good half of his filthiest fantasies right there, the ones he refuses to acknowledge he even has.
"Come on," Yamamoto says. Hayato doesn't know which one of them that's meant for, but Tsuna surges forward and—oh, God—lines their hips up, lines their cocks up and tangles his hand with Yamamoto's as they stroke together. Yamamoto's grip is different, rough with callous, and Tsuna's cock rubs sleek and hot against Hayato's. Tsuna tucks his face against Hayato's throat, groaning against it, and that's it, Hayato's coming, jerking up into their hands and striping his own belly with his come as pleasure throbs through him.
He lolls against Yamamoto after, staring at Tsuna's ceiling and listening to the sounds Tsuna makes, throaty little gasps that tickle his skin as Tsuna rocks back and forth in his lap, moving against the grip of Yamamoto's hand until the moment his breath catches and he goes tense against Hayato, shaking as he comes. Hayato can feel it, hot against his bare stomach, more than he can process when he's already stunned with pleasure, and doesn't even know what to call the sound that comes out of his own throat in response. Tsuna sags against him, breathing hard, and Yamamoto takes his weight too, not missing a beat.
When Hayato regains enough presence of mind to turn his head enough to look, Yamamoto's looking down at him, at Tsuna, at both of them, with the barest wry, wistful curve touching his mouth. Hayato doesn't know what to do with that, or with the hardness he can feel pressed up against his back, so he just stares instead, at least until Yamamoto catches him doing it.
Now what are they supposed to do?
It's Tsuna's particular genius to know how to save them from themselves. Hayato's not a praying kind of guy, but if he were, he'd light a few candles for that alone. This time Tsuna stirs before Hayato can do more than jerk his eyes away from Yamamoto's, before he can do anything stupid like try to pull away, and makes a contented sound that pins Hayato in place. That lazy little hum reaches right into his chest and squeezes his heart at the same time it makes his cock twitch and start thinking about getting up and going again. It throws him right out of his incipient panic attack, too, which is something else to be glad of.
Tsuna makes another of those sounds and stretches against Hayato, nuzzling against his throat, and Yamamoto huffs softly against Hayato's other ear. It's a peculiarly fond sound. Indulgent, like Yamamoto's used to this.
Before Hayato can do more than catch a breath at the sudden twist of acid jealousy, Tsuna lifts his head. He's smiling, sleepy and slow like a sunrise, and he says, "I can't believe we waited so long to do that."
He raises himself up and kisses Hayato again, less urgently this time, making pleased sounds against Hayato's mouth until Yamamoto clears his throat and says, "Uh, some of us are still waiting, y'know." Good-natured as he sounds, there's still an edge of—something, strain or uncertainty, Hayato doesn't know what to call it—under the words. Hayato doesn't know what Yamamoto would look like just then, or whether he wants to know, so he doesn't look.
Tsuna's laugh is soft and open, happy. "Sorry," he says, though he doesn't really sound sorry at all. "Here—let me—Hayato, if you could—"
He moves as he talks, pushing Hayato this way, prodding Yamamoto that way, rearranging them so very unselfconsciously that Hayato halfway expects to see Tsuna's eyes lit with his Flame as he allows himself to be nudged aside so Tsuna can bear Yamamoto down to the floor. They're not, but they're the same kind of certain when Tsuna looks from Yamamoto's sprawl (spread out against the floor, an obscene bulge in his jeans) to Hayato. "The three of us, right?" he says, very softly.
Hayato still doesn't know how to say no to him. When it's Tsuna, all he can do is say yes and know that Tsuna will worry about the rest. Will make the rest okay.
Will make it easy.
"Yes," he says, letting Tsuna guide him down so that Yamamoto is nestled between them. That gives him a front-row vantage point for it when Tsuna kisses Yamamoto, just leans over and seals their mouths together. Yamamoto parts his lips and closes his eyes, and Hayato can't help wondering whether Tsuna's kissing Yamamoto the same way he kissed him.
He wonders a lot of things, actually, not least of which is what he's supposed to do now. Or whether he's supposed to be watching this (whether he's supposed to like watching it, what he's supposed to do about it if he does). It gives him an unsettled feeling to be lying up against the warm bulk of Yamamoto's shoulder, listening to the soft wet sounds of the two of them kissing, and an even stranger feeling when Yamamoto curls an arm around him, gathering him up without even looking.
The sound of Yamamoto's groan, deep-throated and sudden, jerks Hayato out of the confusion of his thoughts. Yamamoto drops his head back, showing his throat and arching under Tsuna, against Hayato, as he gasps. The expression on his face is like nothing Hayato has ever seen before, open and stunned and soft, somehow—Yamamoto without his grin and his pretenses, laid bare, and Hayato doesn't know whether he has any right to see that.
But Tsuna says, almost whispering, "Help me here, Hayato." So the Tenth seems to think he does.
It's as good a reason as any to look away, though Hayato's so twisted up inside his head at this point that he doesn't know whether he wants to do that either. When he finally does, he sees that Tsuna's got Yamamoto's jeans open; Hayato doesn't know what to do with the sight of him fisting Yamamoto's cock, slow and regular as a heartbeat, or the jolt of something that lances through him in response. He can read Tsuna's expression, something like an appeal, or maybe it's actually a command, because he answers it. Reaches down, his off hand clumsy when he settles it around Tsuna's, and catches a breath when Tsuna shifts his grip and he feels the smooth, hot skin of Yamamoto's cock against his palm.
That's all the filthy fantasies he doesn't even permit himself have, right there in the way Yamamoto bucks his hips up and moans, the way his cock is heavy in Hayato's hand, the same as jerking himself off but not. Tsuna guides his hand, showing him how to move his fingers over Yamamoto and setting the rhythm of it when Hayato's too dizzy to do it himself. And Tsuna's the one who says, "Look at him," with just enough authority that Hayato looks Yamamoto in the face again. Yamamoto looks back, flushed and dark-eyed, and his lips move, shaping silent syllables that could be yes, please or Hayato or maybe just the three of us. Hayato can't read lips and doesn't know, because Yamamoto's whole expression changes when they lock gazes, goes blank and surprised as his cock throbs in Hayato's hand, spilling sticky-hot over his and Tsuna's fingers.
So now all three of them are a mess to one degree or another, which Hayato is almost too embarrassed to even think about. Even so, that's easier than thinking about the look on Yamamoto's face, or the way the grip of Yamamoto's hand on his shoulder is tightening, pulling him down and close as Tsuna settles himself against Yamamoto's other shoulder.
Anything might be easier than that, except for the way that Tsuna is watching him from across Yamamoto's chest, his eyes quiet. Waiting for something. Waiting for God only knows what, except maybe Hayato does know, has known since he first leaned his head back against Yamamoto's shoulder and saw the way he was looking at them.
It would be pretty stupid to say no at this point, wouldn't it? (Though Hayato knows there've been plenty of times when he's been stupid, for worse reasons than he's got right now.)
He closes his teeth on his lip and lifts his head. Yamamoto's right there, with that same damned little wistful smile on his mouth, like he already knows how this is going to go. Well, fuck that. Yamamoto still doesn't know a damn thing about him, and Hayato can prove it.
Yamamoto's mouth is soft, full of the sharp inhale of his breath and the wondering sound he makes. His eyes are dark with surprise when Hayato pulls back, and maybe something else Hayato doesn't want to think about too closely.
Tsuna just nods. "The three of us," he says, absolutely certain, and lays his hand on top of the one Hayato is resting against Yamamoto's chest.
Hayato breathes out. "Yeah," he says, feeling the shape of it, solid as a foundation stone. "The three of us."
end
…because sometimes the urge to write Tsuna topping Gokudera and Yamamoto just seizes a girl by the throat, you know?
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