A/N: Hullo again. 'Tis me. This here is sort of an epilogue/sequel to Talk to Me and Lie to Me. If you haven't checked those out, please do, although I suppose it'll be fine if you decide to read this first. Thankfully, the story is mostly a collection of… short oneshots, perhaps? Dunno. It's hardly as lengthy as the two other fics… Or at least, I believe so. Uhm. -shuffles feet-

Rated M. Again. Ehehe. One "graphic" scene. Mild flangst. OOCness? Probably.

Uwahh. Haven't read through this in a while. It's kind of… weird. :/ I apologize for any typos I may have made. This was written looong before Lie to Me. Er… Yeah… Guess that's it. -bows- Have fun… Oh, I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn…

Sing to Me

-x-

"Why am I here again?" Gokudera asks gruffly, shooting a glare at Yamamoto when he tries to hold his hand.

"Because you love me," Yamamoto answers matter-of-factly, smiling when the stoic teen's fingers elude his own. He settles for slinging an arm over those familiar, stiff shoulders and gets a small thrill when Gokudera neglects to shy away. The subtle warmth of the youth's body next to him makes him feel very special, very cozy in his surroundings, and he tightens his hold in a small effort to keep that wild form close to his heart.

He knows it is useless; Gokudera is not one to be kept under constant surveillance, but you can't blame him for trying. He really does love him, enough to risk his life chasing him down. Even though Gokudera is already his, Yamamoto feels like he is in possession of something that cannot be tamed.

Theirs is a complex relationship, one that can ultimately be defined as a simple bond; a liaison of sorts that suffers so much because it…

It's different than liking girls, Yamamoto often thinks. With Gokudera, he can be reckless. There is no limit to what he can do because he knows he can handle it. He is allowed to love. He is allowed to hurt. Sometimes it is frightening, the intensity he senses in them both, the blissful turmoil that churns through his stomach whenever he catches his lover's eye. It makes him wonder whether or not this will last forever, and it makes him afraid because he can't imagine a life without Gokudera.

Rain and Storm.

To coexist, they must destroy.

"Whatever. I'll buy the popcorn." Gokudera shrugs off Yamamoto's arm in a careless, offhanded movement and strolls towards the counter. His back seems broader than Yamamoto remembers. "Save a seat for me."

Yamamoto pretends to watch him leave in more ways than one, and it's a while before he can finally find his tongue.

"I will," he says softly, and smiles a little when Gokudera waves his fingers in the air without looking back.

The insignificant gesture speaks volumes according to Yamamoto. It signals he is worthy enough to be considered, to be acknowledged by the one he cherishes the most. It is deeply satisfying. He thrives off the attention, the sidelong glances, and the gentle reminders that tell him Gokudera is willing to recognize his presence. Not just as a friend or a comrade. As a lover.

As… Takeshi.

Yamamoto sits in the movie theater with his coat folded on the seat next to him, and when Gokudera finds him, he sits down on the jacket without even noticing and Yamamoto has to stifle a laugh.

A quiet mutter of, "What are you laughing at, moron?" and Yamamoto just shakes his head and accepts the bag of popcorn pushed in his direction.

The movie is mildly mediocre, with slapstick comedy and a childhood romance. Honestly, Yamamoto has given up on following the storyline a long time ago. The theater is dark and the audience is mellow. He glimpses Gokudera's indifferent expression and chooses that moment for an inconspicuous yawn, stretching his arm out before inching it onto the backrest of his boyfriend's seat.

Gokudera notices right away and he raises an incredulous eyebrow at him, as if to ask,

Are you really that cheesy?

And Yamamoto grins, the perfect image of nonchalance.

Yes, I am.

His arm drapes forward, touching Gokudera's shoulders. His hand is beside that lovely face and he can't resist extending his fingers out to stroke lost strands of moonlight hair away from Gokudera's cheek. Gokudera is very still, as though he is contemplating the situation. Yamamoto continues to comb his hair back with assured, confident movements. He can hear people behind him whispering.

Gokudera suddenly captures his hand and kisses his fingers.

Yamamoto watches in mingled surprise and delight as the Mafioso nips at his skin with a talented mouth, leaving a slightly red mark on the knuckle of his thumb while his lips press into the hollow of his palm for a brief second, his breath hot and steady on his flesh. Gokudera's actions are slow and deliberate--he opens his mouth and licks a lazy circle over Yamamoto's baseball calluses.

The wet heat is startling and sends rapid tingles shooting through his sensitive flesh. Yamamoto's arm jerks back instinctively but Gokudera has his hand clamped firmly on his wrist and there is no escape.

The movie is far from his mind now, and everything drowns out as Gokudera rolls a piece of skin between his teeth and laps at the inside of his palm. A strangled "uhn" slips past Yamamoto's lips as Gokudera nuzzles deeper into his hand, trailing butterfly kisses up his fingers. The sensual feeling is magnified when Gokudera casually bites down on his pinky and swirls his tongue around it.

It is getting increasingly difficult to withhold any disruptive noises that may obtrude on those who are watching the film, and Yamamoto groans inwardly as the fabric of his boxers brush against an aroused part of his male anatomy. He is teetering on the verge of picking Gokudera up and sprinting to the nearest broom closet.

Abruptly, the Italian teen stops and leans nearer to whisper breathily in his ear.

"That's for dragging me to this lame-ass movie."

And then he leaves, but not before Yamamoto can see the beautiful, beautiful smirk on his face.

Yamamoto follows him hastily, tying the sleeves of his coat around his hips in an attempt to hide the raging hard-on he currently has. A grin perks up the edges of his lips as he glimpses Gokudera walking out of the exit. He catches him around the waist and buries his head into his neck.

"You're going to be the death of me," he murmurs happily, but he doesn't mind, not at all.

Gokudera makes a small, approving sound in the back of his throat:

Yes, I am.

He threads his slender fingers through Yamamoto's spiky raven hair.

Yamamoto pushes into the touch and rubs his cheek against Gokudera's smooth, pale skin, kissing the side of his jaw.

"I'm still horny," he says, and Gokudera gives his hair an extra tug to pull at his scalp. "Ouch."

"You'll have to wait until we get to my apartment--"

"Taxi!" Yamamoto hollers immediately, and earns a punch on his arm. He laughs and steals a quick kiss from Gokudera's relentless mouth before hailing a cab.

It's days like these Yamamoto treasures.

Slow days where he makes love to Gokudera tenderly, lazily, as though they have eternity to be with each other and everything is destined be so perfect, he can't imagine anything else he'd want.

He traces his name into the curve of Gokudera's shoulder and kisses the soft skin of his nape. Locks of starlit hair fall messily onto the pillows when his lover shifts position. The bed is small; meant only for one, but Yamamoto likes it this way because it gives him an excuse to press up closer against Gokudera and breathe him in. Dim sunlight filters through the window shades, casting slanted rays of shadow over the floor and the sheets. There is a peaceful silence.

Gokudera sleeps soundlessly, the rise and fall of his ribs mesmerizing. The blankets are pooled about his lithe waist and Yamamoto pulls them higher, even though the temptation to expose more of his angular body is great. Gokudera stirs faintly, the calm profile of his Adonis image brutally exquisite. He is inhuman. Yamamoto closes his eyes and drinks in Gokudera's extraordinary presence, content to subsist in this moment.

He kisses the shallow dip behind the youth's ear and murmurs sweet, affectionate words with serene lips.

Gokudera pauses mid-exhale and turns his head unhurriedly, blinking away his recent slumber.

"What are you doing?" he asks quietly.

"Never letting you go," Yamamoto whispers, his mellifluous voice drifting off into the distance.

Gokudera twists himself around and his eyes are like two gemstones trapped in crystal. A somnolent tinge to his face makes him all the more radiant, his head tilting upwards to plant a fond, drowsy kiss on the tip of Yamamoto's nose.

"I'll never let you let me go," he mumbles firmly, and drapes an arm over his hips, burrowing his face into Yamamoto's strong chest.

Yamamoto smiles.

"Because you love me."

"…Shut up."

Tsuna stares longingly after Kyoko, his lovely brown eyes shining in utter devotion and adoration.

Gokudera notices and grins at him.

"You should ask her out, Tenth."

Tsuna blushes immediately, averting his gaze and fiddling with his notebook paper, folding back their edges so all the corners are dog-eared.

"I've already confessed once, and that didn't turn out too well," he murmurs. He shrugs, smiling halfheartedly. "Anyways, Kyoko-chan deserves someone better than me."

Gokudera shakes his head vehemently.

"There's no one better than you, Tenth. If anything, you deserve Kyoko-chan." An uncharacteristic smile is hung lopsidedly on his elegant lips, softening the effervescent hue of his irises. "I've seen the way you're always looking after her and thinking of her well-being. It's cute."

Tsuna blinks up at him, wide-eyed.

"…Is it like the way Yamamoto looks at you?" he ventures cautiously.

Gokudera is stunned. "Eh?"

Tsuna appears faintly embarrassed. "It's nothing. Never mind."

Gokudera doesn't want to intrude and so he falls into a silent evaluation. He recalls the yearning tinted in Tsuna's gaze and the ethereal happiness the brunette displays whenever he is near Kyoko. He hesitantly compares that to the indulgent expression that seems to be inevitably glued to Yamamoto's face when he is beside him. They are one and the same, he realizes, and he wonders why he hasn't perceived it before.

"Is it like the way Yamamoto looks at you?"

Gokudera stares out the glass pane at the clear blue sky stretching vastly above the horizon.

"Yeah," he says at last. "Yeah, it is."

Yamamoto glances at Gokudera, watching in beguilement when his boyfriend stares at the door to his house as though it might sprout wings and fly away.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks gently.

Gokudera shoots him an odd look. "Would I be here if I wasn't?"

Yamamoto smiles.

"Of course not."

Gokudera's pulse quickens at the unsettling compassion in Yamamoto's dark, golden eyes and he gestures vaguely at the entrance.

"Are we going in or not?"

"We are."

But he makes no move to open the door and Gokudera is left waiting for something to happen.

"Well…?"

"Well," Yamamoto concurs, still smiling at him with those peculiarly empathetic orbs. "I think I have an idea."

Without warning, he walks into the house with a jolly,

"Hey, jii-san!"

Yamamoto waits for Gokudera to follow before entering the kitchen. His father looks up at him, grinning, wiping his hands off on his apron.

"Takeshi! Brought a guest, I see?" He tilts his head towards Gokudera, who nods somewhat respectfully.

"Yeah." Yamamoto slings a welcoming arm around the slender teen's shoulders and smiles broadly. "Hey, Dad…"

"Hmm?"

"Guess what."

His father humors him, arching an eyebrow. "What."

And before Gokudera even has time to discern what's going on, Yamamoto dips his secret lover into a long, heated kiss that is more for show than meaning.

At first Gokudera is agonizingly aware of Yamamoto's father standing there, seeing everything, and he struggles to break free. But as it is with all of Yamamoto's kisses, Gokudera soon loses his bearings at the slightest hint of tongue.

"Nn," is the only noise that is capable of being wrenched from his throat at the moment, and he blushes at the erotic sound.

Due to being taken by surprise, Gokudera runs out of air sooner than Yamamoto, and he pushes at the taller boy's shoulders in an attempt to make him stop. The resistance seems to spur him on instead and Yamamoto all but devours Gokudera, a low growl rumbling softly from his territorial mouth when the youth tries again to pull away. One of his hands tangles up in his hair, pressing their lips together almost painfully.

It's like he is consuming him, Gokudera thinks weakly, before he turns lightheaded and his muscles grow lax in Yamamoto's fierce grip.

Then he is gasping for air as Yamamoto finally moves away, sealing the kiss with a possessive lick to his bottom lip. A thin string of saliva connects their heaving mouths when they part, vanishing when Yamamoto turns to his dad with a wolfish grin.

Gokudera can't control his panting, feeling incredibly dizzy. Yamamoto is holding him very tightly, tighter than necessary, and unfortunately, it is not helping his dazed condition. Pressed up close to the teen's sturdy build, Gokudera is at an angle where he can glimpse Yamamoto's father from the corner of his eye. He cringes inwardly, imagining his flushed cheeks and rumpled clothes.

"Oh," the old man says strangely, circumspectly. "Oh. I see." He scratches the stubble on his chin, appearing deep in thought. "That's how it is…" It is as though the atmosphere is holding a collective breath, wary of what disastrous mayhem might occur in the wake of this new circumstance.

Then:

"Congratulations!!" he crows merrily. To Gokudera's bewildered relief, he realizes that the man is truly, genuinely happy for his son. For someone who has just discovered his only child would not be carrying on the family name, he is coping pretty well.

Yamamoto laughs, and there is a sudden glow to his face that makes Gokudera think twice about kicking him upside the head.

But it doesn't stop him from doing so.

"Oww, Hayato…"

Yamamoto rubs his sore spot ruefully, still grinning like an idiot.

"You--I--damn it, tell me when you're going to do something like that!" Gokudera yells, flustered, and a sly glint slips into Yamamoto's gaze.

"Okay," he says simply. "Here I come."

It's a much longer kiss this time, but to be fair, Gokudera had been notified beforehand.

"What made you stay?" Gokudera asks him one time.

"Hmm?" Yamamoto looks up from his math homework, his hair a tragic mess from being mussed with his restless hands. A chewed-on pencil dangles from his full lips. His golden gaze is so innocently undisturbed that it takes Gokudera a second to remember his initial question.

"What made you stay?" he repeats.

"What do you mean?"

"After everything I put you through, you still chose to be with me." Gokudera is serious, his mouth an austere line of inquiry. "Why?"

Yamamoto doesn't hesitate: "Because of love." He grins, like that explained everything. Gokudera is puzzled.

"But I was so cruel to you--"

"I can't help who I love, Hayato," Yamamoto interrupts, and glances down at his assignment. "Did you get problem four already?" he queries, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. An apologetic grin lights up his handsome face and Gokudera falls silent for a moment, speculating.

After a while, he stands up from his chair and moves to the spot where Yamamoto is resting on his stomach, studying. He leans in and points to an equation.

"See, you need to use this formula to solve the problem. The numbers are supposed to be equivalent with the original rule."

Yamamoto looks at him and sees that Gokudera appears slightly frustrated from earlier, his eyes moody. He keeps talking, but his stance is tense, as if irrelevant thoughts are swarming through his mind. Yamamoto drops his pencil onto the paper and uses a hand to ease Gokudera's mouth to his. The contact is brief and simple, a conundrum in disguise.

Gokudera stares at him wordlessly, his lips parted in the form of an unasked question.

"I'll love you no matter what," Yamamoto states softly.

It is everything Gokudera could have ever wanted to hear from him, and yet he doesn't know how to reply.

"I…"

Yamamoto saves him the trouble by the placement of another devoted kiss.

"Takeshi," Gokudera whispers tentatively, for lack of anything else to verbalize, but the understanding in his eyes is enough for Yamamoto.

"I love you," Yamamoto lilts, because it is such a wonderful thing to say.

Gokudera gazes at him wryly.

"I'll get used to it."

The girl is looking at Gokudera shyly, blushing faintly. She is admittedly pretty, with shapely legs and pleasingly symmetrical features. She keeps glancing in his direction, sneaking quick, furtive peeks at his face and then gazing at her shoes in frequent intervals. Gokudera doesn't even notice; his eyes are elsewhere, staring out the window of the bus at the changing scenery. His hands are in his pockets, unneeded for balance as he instinctively leans with the general movement of the vehicle, as nimble as a cat.

It makes him entirely too noticeable, the uncommon posture he holds in the middle of the aisle. Instead of deviating towards gravitational support as one might do in a means of transportation, he merely stands there, defying the rocky swaying of the bus and appearing totally unconcerned.

Yamamoto is right behind him, hanging casually onto the railing and watching the girl sitting in the seat near the front of the passageway. She pretends to study her fingernails but Yamamoto sees that she is peering at Gokudera from beneath her lashes again.

He feels mildly sorry for the girl. All she can do is look at someone who is already taken, already his.

Look, but don't touch, he thinks, amused.

Their stop arrives and Gokudera walks forward to get off the bus. The girl stands up, her actions deterred, and accidentally bumps into his elbow. He glances back with eyes as green as poison ivy.

"Sorry," he murmurs, and climbs down the stairs.

Yamamoto catches the awestruck expression on her timid face as she retreats, bowing her head yearningly. He follows Gokudera onto the sidewalk and ponders, leaving the girl and her wistful stature behind. For some reason, he is reminded of himself not too long ago, simply admiring from afar.

"Something the matter?" Gokudera asks imperturbably as they walk along.

"Huh?"

He shrugs. "You haven't been talking for a while."

A slow grin spreads across Yamamoto's face as the comment registers. "You like hearing my voice, don't you?"

Gokudera snorts. "Yeah right."

"Yeah," Yamamoto says convincingly. "Right." It's enough that Gokudera asked. It shows he knows. It shows he cares. Yamamoto walks a little closer to him, shoulder to shoulder as their fingers touch slightly. Gokudera gives him a sidelong glance, unsure of the new interaction.

The feeling is new, he thinks. The feeling of aged, experienced intimacy amid them. He is still uncomfortable being in public with Yamamoto, but he can't help but take pride in his lover. It's strange. Living absolutely for another person so physically connected to your existence. Yamamoto's bond is dissimilar from Tsuna's. Tsuna is special. Gokudera loves him like a brother, obeys him like a subordinate, and esteems him greatly as a friend. Like a young, innocent fawn, he trusts Tsuna wholeheartedly, unconditionally, without pretense.

Yamamoto is atypical. Yamamoto, he has to be cautious with. They are like two wolves courting each other, making small progress on their patient journey towards total understanding. Gokudera is reserved, composed, aware. In spite of that he is also reckless at times. Feral. To enter conflict, Yamamoto is ambitious, passionate, but excruciatingly gentle, his lenient attitude clashing with the tempestuous character of the Storm Guardian. They are identical, and yet sardonically unlike in their thoughts and ways and outer appearances.

Gokudera's pinky curls around Yamamoto's with an air of diffidence. He pointedly looks off in the other direction as Yamamoto smiles hugely, a blessed warmth enveloping the teen's body at the exploratory touch.

"You're so adorable."

"Say that again and they'll never find the body."

But the trivial link joining their remarkable youth remains between them as they keep pace, a promise and remembrance of what could happen, and what was meant to be.

Ten Years Later

"Cute kids," comments a friendly woman when she sees Yamamoto gazing at the picture in his wallet. He flashes her a brilliant smile.

"Thanks."

The subway is crowded. People are forced to stand because all the seats are taken. Everyone stubbornly clings to support rails as the train swerves through bends, and the cramped atmosphere is a breeding ground for curt, hostile remarks. Yamamoto glances at the lady, with her bedraggled red hair and pleasant eyes. Hers is a congenial face within the mass of many unreceptive ones. She nods at the laughing man kneeling between the two photographed children.

"He's very pretty," she says, a wistful note to her courteous tone.

Yamamoto smiles again.

"He's beautiful," he agrees. He checks his watch and fidgets with his tie, wishing there is a way he can tell her exactly how striking he is, that mortal words cannot describe his physical appearance.

Inclining her head towards the ring on his finger, she asks hesitantly, "How long have you been together?"

Yamamoto grins at her encouragingly. "A while." He is in need of a conversation to compensate for his impatience. "I'm coming back from a business trip and we're planning on having dinner. Making up for lost time, you know." His boyish attitude is endearing; the woman smiles and pats his arm.

"Good luck," she says sincerely, and then her stop arrives and she is stepping off into the station. The doors close on her cheerful, open face and Yamamoto can't help but wave after her diminishing figure.

It's another hour before the train reaches its final destination and when Yamamoto gets off and stretches, he just stands there for a minute or two, watching the station empty out until he's all alone. He picks up his suitcase, trying to calm his racing heart, and walks to the exit. Upon entering the busy streets outside, he has enough time to scan the passer-bys brushing past him before his keen ears pick up quick, nimble footsteps approaching him from behind.

A pair of arms are thrown about him tightly and the familiar scent of Gokudera invades his mind.

"Hayato--"

Yamamoto drops his luggage and turns to fully embrace his lover, his arm automatically locating the comfortable dip below Gokudera's spine where he holds him close. Their bodies meld together effortlessly, lips finding lips as Yamamoto skims his fingers through glossy hair and feels Gokudera wind his arms around his neck. He is elated when the young man allows further access to his mouth, his hips pressing forward insistently.

The world stops, slows down, and seems to revolve solely where they stand, every single sense of theirs heightened to a staggering degree.

Yamamoto pulls back for a moment, oxygen deprivation making his surroundings whirl.

"I've missed you," he pants against Gokudera's cool lips, hearing the successive thuds of the youth's heart pulsing near his ribs. Gokudera kisses him fervently.

"Uh-huh," he says, his voice muffled beneath Yamamoto's mouth.

Yamamoto laughs melodiously and breaks off to smother Gokudera's face and neck with light kisses, his lips caressing well-known territory.

"I love you," they whisper at the same time, and chuckle.

"Ah." Gokudera shivers the tiniest bit as Yamamoto snuggles into the side of his cheek, soft breaths landing precariously near to his ear.

"How are the kids?" Yamamoto questions quietly.

"They can't wait to see you."

"Is Chrome babysitting them again?"

"No, it's the cow this time."

"Lambo," Yamamoto laughs mildly, delighted. "I didn't think he'd be back so soon. Wasn't he supposed to be flying in from Australia tomorrow?"

"He took another flight because the boss there sent him home early."

Yamamoto leans back carefully to examine Gokudera, his eyes running over metallic, windblown hair that tumbles from his head. His gaze lingers on the tranquil quality of that mature face, observing the unnaturally composed tinge to his graceful features. A characteristic half-smirk belies Gokudera's thoughtful expression, an eyebrow cocked in amusement.

"What are you doing?"

The inquiry is astonishingly nostalgic; it brings back a flood of memories that Yamamoto has had no time to recall until now. He grins and hugs Gokudera, feeling impossibly young. He is reminded of back when their love was fresh and new and untried.

"Never letting you go," he murmurs.

A throaty chuckle resonates somewhere deep within Gokudera's chest and he returns the hug with just as much force.

There is a sleek, black vehicle waiting for them when they reach the corner of the curb. Gokudera pops open the trunk and puts in Yamamoto's suitcase, motioning for him to sit in the back. Yamamoto complies and as soon as he gets in the car, he is greeted by an enthusiastic voice he could have recognized anywhere.

"Yamamoto! You're looking good, to the extreme!"

"Ryohei-sempai," Yamamoto laughs. "How've you been?"

The man he sees in the driver's seat is beaming widely, presenting with him a thumbs-up. Ryohei nods offhandedly, the cheeky grin still plastered to his face.

"I've been good, how've you been?"

"The same."

Gokudera joins them and shuts the car door, effectively barring the crisp air outside.

"You ready?" Ryohei addresses Gokudera, his vivacious eyes alive with humor and spark.

"Let's go."

Yamamoto intertwines his fingers with Gokudera's as the vehicle steers expertly through traffic. Ryohei glances at them from the rearview mirror and a second grin cracks across his strong jaw.

"Shut up," Gokudera warns him as his mouth opens to speak.

"Did you tell Yamamoto how much you missed him?" Ryohei asks anyway.

"You missed me?" Yamamoto feigns shock, squeezing Gokudera's hand playfully.

"Oh yeah. You should have seen Gokudera the first week you were gone. He was really…" Ryohei pauses to think of the appropriate word. "Bitchy," he finishes proudly. "To the extreme."

"I was not bitchy," Gokudera objects in annoyance.

"Yes you were. Don't you remember when Bianchi-san sent you a pregnancy test on April Fool's Day and you got so pissed off you blew it up--"

"She did what?" Yamamoto asks incredulously.

Gokudera pretends to see something interesting out the side window while Ryohei promptly launches into a detailed script of the incident.

"It was so funny," Ryohei chuckles. "The shrapnel from the explosion accidentally knocked out the power cord in the other room so there was a short blackout before the generators started up again. By the time the lights turned back on, Gokudera had disappeared. To the extreme!" he adds as a humorous afterthought, maneuvering past a semi-truck on the road.

Yamamoto bursts out laughing and Gokudera glares sullenly at the back of Ryohei's head.

"How are you still alive?" he demands.

Ryohei just grins.

"How's Tsuna?" queries Yamamoto.

A mellow smile manages to seep past Gokudera's defenses and the Italian Mafioso absentmindedly strokes the top of Yamamoto's knuckles. It is a terribly soothing motion.

"He's been working hard since you left," he says distractedly, and then abruptly leans forward to deliver a sharp flick to Ryohei's earlobe.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"The exit, you moron, it's right there!" he hisses, pointing to the junction at their left. It seems to be looming closer and closer at a frightening speed; Ryohei scarcely has time to activate his turn signal before he has to swerve onto the ramp. The car tires skid slightly at the sudden switch in direction and the van behind them honks loudly, its rude blare zooming into the distance when Ryohei miraculously straightens the vehicle's trajectory, evening out their journey.

"Sorry!" he yells, although it is impossible for the other driver to hear him.

"Idiot," Gokudera mutters.

"God, I've missed you guys," chuckles Yamamoto, checking to make sure his seatbelt is on correctly.

Lambo sighs as Akihito tugs experimentally on his horns.

"Please stop that."

The flaxen-haired six-year-old blinks naively up at him from his lap, puzzled. "Why?"

"It's annoying."

"Why?"

"Because…" Lambo pauses to consider, and then happens to catch a glimpse of Meilin toying with a discarded lighter. "Don't touch that!" he gasps, panicked. Scooping Akihito up in the crook of his arm, Lambo crosses the room in three quick strides to take the potentially dangerous object from Meilin's hands.

"Hey!" she complains, her emerald eyes flashing in displeasure.

"Go find something else to play with," Lambo says patiently, undeterred by the imposing ten-year-old. Meilin exhales loudly, blowing a strand of auburn hair out of her face, and wanders over to her father's desk in search of another source for entertainment. The thought of sharp writing utensils, projectiles, and possibly important documents flickers through Lambo's head and he hurriedly goes after her.

"Lambo-san," Akihito repeats, accompanied by a dainty hand that pulls at Lambo's shirt in frequent intervals. "Lambo-san, why?"

"Why what?" Lambo asks abstractedly, swiftly ushering Meilin in the opposite direction of the desk.

"I was going this way," she protests.

"Yes, but now you're going this way." Lambo steers the girl to an unoccupied corner of the room and sits her down on the embroidered carpet.

"That's not fair!"

"Well, your father--"

"Which one?" she challenges.

"Does it matter?" Lambo demurs sensibly. "They'd both want me to keep an eye on you two, and that's exactly what I plan on doing."

"Why?" Akihito questions, coal eyes widening in curiosity.

"To keep you guys safe."

"Why?"

"So you don't… get hurt."

"Why?"

"Because…" Lambo looks up in alarm. "Mei-chan! Get away from there!" He runs over to replace the diamond-pointed fountain pen into its proper position--out of the inquisitive child's reach, who had managed to sneak back to her father's desk. Meilin glares at him, crosses her arms, and mutters something under her breath. Lambo hears it nonetheless, and instantly covers Akihito's ears.

"Who taught you that word?" he hisses in dismay.

"Daddy did," Meilin reports, grinning smugly. "I've got some other ones, too, wanna hear'em?"

"No!" Lambo takes a deep, steadying breath. "Don't ever say that in front of anyone else, okay?"

Meilin rolls her eyes. "Duh." She skips to the middle of the room and plops down. "Lambo-san, tell me a story?" she suggests, invitingly patting the bare area beside her. Lambo massages his temples and obligingly takes the offered seat.

"Alright," he says determinedly. "What story would you like?"

"The one where Papa met Daddy."

Lambo is expecting that and he stifles a sigh, but he knows enough not to recommend another tale.

"Once upon a time," he begins.

"Wait, wait!" Meilin dashes towards the desk again, and Lambo hardly bats an eye when she returns cradling a picture frame to her chest. "Okay, you can start now."

Akihito sits up in Lambo's arms and reaches for the photograph.

"Mommy," he says earnestly, pointing at one of the two men.

Meilin shakes her head. "No, that's Daddy. See?" She points at the corresponding people. "Daddy. Papa."

Akihito appears confused and Meilin pats his head.

"You'll get it someday," she says reassuringly, and then glances meaningfully at Lambo.

"Once upon a time," he recites, "there was a boy named Yamamoto Takeshi…"

It never fails to amaze Lambo, how neither of the children ever tired of the same story, even when it is retold multiple times. He has lost count of the numerous requests he had gotten to reiterate the tale of long ago. The probability that they have memorized every word by now is more than likely.

Akihito dozes off in his arms and Lambo rocks back and forth in order to assist in his slumber, rubbing his back lightly.

Meilin's attentive gaze is a total turnaround from her sidetracked attitude before.

"And then?" she presses eagerly.

"Yeah, and then?" asks an enraptured voice, and Meilin whips around.

"Papa!!" she shrieks, rousing Akihito from his sleep.

For a brief moment, all anyone can see is a streak of chocolate zooming towards the room's entryway before Meilin leaps into Yamamoto's arms in a practiced tackle.

Akihito stands up on drowsy legs and totters precariously to his parents, his hands outstretched.

Lambo watches with relief and something akin to fondness as Gokudera picks the child up and loftily carries him to Yamamoto.

The mismatched family is a sight for sore eyes.

Yamamoto is showered with affection, Meilin's spindly arms latched about him in a death grip as he plants a happy kiss on her head and then one on Akihito's cheek. Gokudera negligently straightens Meilin's ponytail, balancing Akihito on his hip while the group chatters incessantly to each other.

Lambo will never admit it, but sometimes he thinks Gokudera really does act like a housewife.

"How was England? Did they have any good baseball teams there? Will you take me next time?" Meilin fires off one inquiry after the other and Yamamoto doesn't miss a beat.

"It was exciting, not as appealing as Namimori District, though; from what I could tell, our team could have creamed theirs; and not unless you're old enough."

"Papa!" Akihito says out loud, suddenly, and everyone stares at him in surprise.

"That's me!" Yamamoto chuckles, jubilant.

"You did it!" Meilin cheers. "Way to go, Aki!"

Akihito seems pleased with himself. "Papa!" Then he buries his head in the conjuncture of Gokudera's neck and shoulder.

"Mommy," he states blissfully.

Gokudera sighs while Yamamoto bites down on his lip to keep from laughing.

"We've got to work on that," he mutters, but he tucks a blond curl behind Akihito's ear and doesn't look too bothered.

"Hey, thanks for taking care of these troublemakers while we were gone," Yamamoto calls to Lambo, and Lambo gives him a lazy salute, glad that his burden is lifted. With that accomplished, the slim youth falls back on the floor with a comical thud, a small, well-earned groan escaping his lips.

God forbid he ever have kids of his own.

"Everything's so expensive," Yamamoto marvels, staring at the menu printed in fancy, flowing script. "Why is everything so expensive?"

"It's a four star restaurant, what do you expect? Besides, the food's supposed to be good." Gokudera takes a precise sip of his wine, watched conscientiously by Yamamoto. He gazes at him over the rim of his glass. "What."

"You're sexy."

It is a sentimental statement, spoken with such nonchalant confidence that it seems like a proven fact.

Gokudera snorts, but Yamamoto can tell he is pleased. "Just pick what you want to eat, baseball idiot." The last term is uttered affectionately, no longer a degrading name for Yamamoto's love of sports. Yamamoto wonders when that happened as he flips through the menu, trying to pinpoint a plate that looks tasty. The listed food is foreign to him, and the only thing he wants at the moment is Gokudera.

He nudges his lover with his foot under the table.

Gokudera glances at him quizzically. "What is it?"

Yamamoto pretends not to hear him, feigning concentration and frowning professionally at the bill of fare. Gokudera returns to his indolent inspection of the silverware, but not without a skeptical look at the man before him.

After a moment of stillness, Yamamoto treads on Gokudera's shoe.

"What."

Yamamoto acts like he can't hear a thing.

"Takeshi. What."

He raises his eyes, perplexed. "Hmm?"

Gokudera stares at him with exaggerated patience. "Is there something you need?"

Yamamoto shrugs innocently. "No."

"Then keep to your side of the table."

The quiet is short-lived.

Yamamoto latches onto Gokudera's leg with both his feet this time, trapping him between his ankles. He drags the limb closer and Gokudera shoots him a warning look.

"Takeshi--"

Hooking his legs around Gokudera's unlucky appendage, Yamamoto grins as he almost succeeds in heaving the young man off his chair. Gokudera pulls back, pushing at Yamamoto's knee as he tries to wriggle his way out of the snare. He coughs a furtive laugh as the heel of his other shoe scrapes against skin and Yamamoto makes a face. Sticking his tongue out at the Italian, Yamamoto twists his feet, forcing Gokudera's thighs apart.

"You little cheat," Gokudera chuckles breathlessly. He clamps his legs back together, squeezing Yamamoto's calves tightly and digging his toes into the carpet to confine him to the floor.

"How's this for cheating?" Yamamoto whispers, and ducks under the table.

"What are you--get out of there!" Gokudera hisses in surprise. He releases Yamamoto, which turns out to be a big mistake when the man crawls between his legs and nuzzles into his crotch. He jumps in shock at the unexpected contact and fights to control his shudder.

He aims a kick at him but Yamamoto pins his ankles down, laughing.

"Damn you!" he growls as Yamamoto feels around for his pants zipper.

"Pardon?"

The forthcoming waiter looks at him in puzzlement.

"Oh--nothing. That's… never mind."

"Have you decided on your meal or would you like more time?" the man asks politely, aware of Gokudera's apparent discomfort.

"More time," Gokudera says hastily, struggling to contain his blush. "Please."

"Very good, sir." The waiter bows and leaves.

"This is a public place," Gokudera barks under his breath as soon as he is out of hearing range. "We are not doing this in a public--"

"Trust me, you won't have to do anything," mumbles Yamamoto's smug, disembodied voice.

Gokudera shivers, stiffening when suddenly he is exposed and growing hard underneath Yamamoto's teasing lips.

"Oh God."

And then a hot mouth is on him fully, probing, licking, sucking.

"Nn--shit, oh, a-ahh, no…"

Gokudera is receiving strange, curious looks from the few people around him; he battles to lower his voice and steady his breathing. His hands bury themselves in Yamamoto's hair with the intent to push him away but end up pulling him forward instead. His legs are trembling with exertion, the instinctive need to hide himself compelling but useless because Yamamoto is restraining him.

"S-s-stop," he pants weakly, "not here, not…" The ability to finish a sentence completely evades him as he flushes at the prying glances of other diners. His unseen fingers dig into Yamamoto's scalp as the man works with teeth and tongue, clever lips pursed around him, his throat convulsing and burning and oh--

Gokudera comes in Yamamoto's mouth and fiercely bites back a gasp, his knuckles whitening as he tenses, indistinctly aware of Yamamoto swallowing him, lapping him up, and withdrawing with a lingering kiss. His shaking subsides fractionally as his lover zips his pants and retreats to his side of the table. He climbs back into his chair, grinning, swiping a tongue across his lips, raven mane disheveled beyond repair.

Gokudera's eyes are still glazed, his movements uneven as he plummets from his recent orgasmic high. He stares unseeingly at Yamamoto for a long, long time.

"You suck."

"On the contrary," Yamamoto laughs gaily. "I blow."

"I hate you," Gokudera mutters softly, but his searing eyes say otherwise.

The waiter comes back then, smiling courteously.

"Are you ready to order?"

There is a fleeting, mystifying moment of silence.

"Actually," Yamamoto speaks, fixating his satisfied gaze on Gokudera, "I'm really not that hungry anymore."

"Did you have a nice dinner?" is the first thing Meilin says upon their appearance.

Yamamoto cracks up laughing and Gokudera pinches his ear.

"Aha--ow, Hayato, that hurts--"

Akihito is building a battleship out of legos, his deft fingers clicking the pieces into place one by one. He soon abandons his creation to run and cling to his papa's leg, beaming up at him. Gokudera smiles tenderly, leans down to ruffle his silken hair, and takes Yamamoto's jacket to hang on the coat rack.

"Walk, Papa," Akihito giggles.

"Ooh, me too, me too!" Meilin cries, latching onto his other leg.

"Hold on tight, now," Yamamoto chuckles, and starts clomping down the immense hallway with the children dangling from his legs like two koala babies. Akihito's small arms tire easily, and so he slides down to sit on his father's shoe, hugging his limb securely. Their laughter echoes down the spacious corridor, heartwarming and lively.

Chrome pokes her head out from an entryway to examine the spirited scene. She turns to smile shyly at Gokudera.

"Welcome back," she says.

"It's more Yamamoto who's back," he points out ironically, but his stance is companionable.

Chrome nods in the direction of the kitchen. "Care for some tea?"

Gokudera shrugs. "Why not."

He sits at the roomy table while Chrome pours them tea and pulls up a chair.

"So," she sighs contentedly.

"Mmm." Gokudera blows on his drink to cool it down. "How's life?"

"Worth living."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow, smiling. "That's good to hear."

"Yes," Chrome agrees. She inclines her head towards the faint commotion erupting in the hall. "Is it safe to assume your reason for existence coincides with Yamamoto's welfare?"

"Not just Takeshi," Gokudera says, thinking fondly of Akihito, Meilin, and Tsuna.

"Children," Chrome muses, sipping her tea. "They grow so fast. Akihito-kun's birthday is next week, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Gokudera's gaze becomes distant. "He's been through so much after the Seoul fiasco. Nobody ever thought he'd make it this far."

"It's because he's had you and Yamamoto to lean on," Chrome tells him.

"Still," he murmurs idly, "sometimes I wonder if involving him with the Vongola was really the best choice for his survival."

Chrome pats his hand with a sisterly liking he had never honestly felt from Bianchi. "It was. Believe me."

A dulcet smile graces Gokudera's lips. "I expect… under these circumstances… that's the only thing we can be sure of." He turns his head when Meilin comes barreling into the room, nearly tripping over the tiles. The Storm Guardian is accustomed to her tendency to fall over invisible obstacles when she runs particularly quickly, and he notes with regretful amusement that her knees are already swathed in band-aids.

"Save me, Daddy!" she screams, sprinting behind his chair.

"Grr!" Yamamoto lopes in after her, Akihito hitching a ride on his back.

Gokudera feigns mock horror, Chrome covering her smile with a refined hand.

"It's Yama-bear!" Akihito giggles happily from behind Yamamoto's shoulder. "Grr!"

"Yama-bear? Oh no! There's only one way out of this…" Gokudera begins dramatically, pausing for added effect. He picks up Meilin, her feet dangling a good three feet off the floor as he holds her in front of him. "Take her and don't eat me!"

Meilin gasps theatrically in righteous indignation. "Traitor!"

Yamamoto inches closer, grinning.

"This calls for back-up!" Meilin declares.

On cue, Chrome snatches her out of Gokudera's hands from over the table and flees the kitchen, her musical laughter disappearing as quickly as it comes.

"After them!" Yamamoto shouts, and the three boys dash into the hallway in pursuit.

"Hayato?" The inquiry was hesitant; fawning, almost. Yamamoto gazed thoughtfully at his lover from the sofa, his lean body sprawled over worn seat cushions.

"Mmm?"

"How… how would you feel about having a kid?"

Gokudera stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face. "…Men can't get pregnant, Takeshi, and there is no way in hell I'm getting a sex change."

"Well--no, I know, but… We could always adopt."

Gokudera flipped a page in his book and scanned through it indifferently, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"To tell you the truth, I don't really like kids. Too hyper. They remind me of you."

"Oh, okay."

After a minute or two, Gokudera's voice coolly slipped through subtle cracks of the curtained silence.

"Why? Do you want children?"

Yamamoto considered for a second, and then beamed at him.

"I just thought a mini Hayato would look really cute."

"Come on, now. Time for bed."

"Okay." Yamamoto hooks an arm around Gokudera's neck and hauls him down onto the mattress.

"Not me!" he protests as Akihito bounces on his legs and tries to pull the blankets over his head, though he doesn't have the heart to resist. He is surrounded by the people he loves, and he is pensively reminded of Tsuna, whose presence would complete his gratification.

Gokudera unleashes a playful snarl when Yamamoto tousles his hair.

"How cute!" Meilin gushes, climbing onto Gokudera and curling up into a little ball, tucking her knees under her chin.

"I'm not cute," he reprimands her teasingly.

"You're in no position to say otherwise," Yamamoto disagrees, laughing.

"I beg to differ!" Gokudera breaks free from his imaginary shackles and squishes Meilin to his chest, her delighted squeal muffled in his shirt.

"Alright, I've got a hostage! Surrender and no one gets hurt!"

"I don't think so!" laughs Yamamoto. "Tickle fight!!"

Gokudera is ambushed as he pounces and Akihito joins in eagerly, everyone rolling on the bed in a jumble of arms and legs. They form a dog pile on top of Gokudera's laughing, helpless body.

"Okay--okay, stop, I-I surrender!"

"It's about time," Yamamoto crows, poking Gokudera in the ribs. Meilin whoops, signaling victory, and falls back on her rear in exultant exhaustion.

"Alright, alright. Go to sleep! You too," Gokudera adds, nodding at Yamamoto as he ushers the children into their beds.

"But, Mommy…" Yamamoto whines jokingly, and Gokudera throws a pillow at him.

"Sleep well."

"I love you."

"Love you, too."

"See you in the morning."

"M'kay."

The two fathers kiss their children good night. Gokudera flips off the light switch and they both linger at the doorway for a moment, gazing over the small, dozing figures before quietly retiring to their own room.

"You must be tired," Gokudera comments as he changes into loose-fitting sweatpants and a black shirt of Yamamoto's. Yamamoto watches him dress, blinking candidly.

"Not really," he lies.

Gokudera crawls onto the bed and curls up next to him. "Don't lie," he says, resting his cheek on Yamamoto's chest with a compliancy only shown when they are alone. Yamamoto pulls him closer with an arm around his shoulders, offering warmth and security. They are still for a while, breathing in synch and drifting off into a hazy meditation that is simply made of ardent devotion.

"Mmph," Yamamoto mumbles, his eyes closed, as Gokudera shifts on the bed.

"What do you want to do now?" the Italian asks. His soft tone is not suggestive, but wholly inquisitive.

"I don't know," Yamamoto confesses, tilting his head to the side to fix blind kisses on Gokudera's face.

"We could watch a movie," Gokudera proposes, catching a mouth on his lips as he speaks.

"Sure."

"Hmm."

"What are we going to watch?"

"You'll see."

When Gokudera pops the DVD in and pushes play, Yamamoto is sure this must be a joke.

"Really?" he asks incredulously as Gokudera sits beside him. "For real?"

Because it is the same movie he remembers never finishing all those years ago, the day he took Gokudera out on their first official date. He watches the opening credits with trifling intrigue, Gokudera nestled close to his side. The lithe body radiating heat is unbelievably endearing. Gokudera pulls Yamamoto's arm around his shoulders, intertwining their fingers.

"I thought you said this was a lame-ass movie," murmurs Yamamoto.

"It was. Still is. We're watching it anyway."

Yamamoto nods off sometime during the film and when he wakes back up, the room is dark, the television is off, and Gokudera is sleeping dutifully in his arms. He feels well-rested, and after a moment's internal struggle between leaving his partner alone and loving him all night, he kisses those unforgettable lips.

"Mnnh…?"

Gokudera looses a small groan and stretches as Yamamoto rolls over on top of him. Shadows clothe his pristine face, lighting the rolling curves and hills of his voluptuous features. "Hey," he whispers, the exhaustion fading from his voice.

"Let's do it," Yamamoto says.

Gokudera stifles a yawn and tugs authoritatively at the hem of his shirt. "Alright."

…Ring.

…Ring.

…Ri--

Gokudera's hand automatically moves to the phone of its own accord, before he is even half awake. He has the receiver to his mouth and a husky voice that he can't recognize as his own says,

"Hello?"

Yamamoto sleeps soundly next to him, hair tousled, one warm arm draped around his bare waist.

"Oh…" Gokudera is alert at once. "Oh, I see." He forces himself to slide stealthily from the Rain Guardian's embrace and gets dressed in the dark, moving on silent feet as he speaks softly into the phone.

"No, I'll be there. Yes. Thanks."

He hangs up and stares off into space for a while. His gaze finally lands on Yamamoto and he feels torn, like he has been handed an ultimatum and the choice is not his. He checks his suit with restive fingers, leaving the top buttons of his shirt undone. The form in the bed slumbers on, hushed breathing cadenced and undisturbed. Gokudera selects a tie that belongs to Yamamoto because it has his scent, and the Italian briefly breathes in the familiar, homely smell before looping the tie around his neck and straightening it below his collar.

He packs his suitcase quickly and efficiently, taking periodic glances at his watch to ensure he does not miss his flight. A sense of loneliness envelopes him when there is nothing more to be done and he is left standing at the bedside, looking at the man he is destined to spend the rest of his life with or without. The man who is a living reminder of his mortality.

Gokudera takes a step towards the door with a last, lingering caress to Yamamoto's sleeping profile and suddenly it feels like a one night stand and he finds he can't leave like this.

He sits on the edge of the mattress and gently shakes Yamamoto's shoulder.

"Takeshi."

Yamamoto blinks his flawless eyes open, twisting his head to see Gokudera. The fatigue flees from his vision when he notices his lover is dressed for business, his Vongola ring glimmering in the dark.

"Hayato?" he asks quietly, simplistically.

"There was a call. Tsuna needs me over in America."

Yamamoto looks tired then. "…Tsuna." He sits up, muscles defined under the stretch of faultless skin, and gazes at Gokudera. "When are you coming back?"

"Within the next few days. I just need to settle a contract and then I can book another flight as soon as possib--"

His lips are arrested by a soft, moving mouth, and Gokudera stops trying and savors the moment.

"It's like," he whispers against plush skin, "it's like I have to choose between you and Tsuna. All the time. If I wasn't in the Vongola…" And he stops there because he knows there's no point.

Yamamoto twists a lock of moonstruck hair around his finger. "There are always 'if's in life," he whispers back, and there is no time for a second kiss because Gokudera is going, going, gone.

Three days later, there is a report of a plane crash on the news. An unfortunate attendant had discovered the pilot knocked unconscious during the flight due to blood loss from large puncture holes embedded in both of his hands. They had ostensibly been self-inflicted using a pin from his jacket. Upon regaining consciousness in the hospital, the man clearly seems to have lost his sanity. An ongoing trial is to decide what is to be done in this situation. Twenty-five people are dead. Only twenty-four have been listed in the account.

Two days later, there is a new, temporary grave added to a small, local cemetery in Namimori District. It is nameless and faceless, but the cause of much grief. When approached, there seems to be a violent, turbulent aura reverberating from the earth below, where the body of a man lies cold and world-weary. There are fewer gang fights in the streets. The atmosphere is somber and unpredictable.

One day later, Yamamoto Takeshi visits the unknown grave. He is unaccompanied. With a heavy heart and red eyes, he stands before the smooth stone for a long, long time. The sky is fair, the sun blushing behind the canopy of clouds, but he wishes more than ever that a storm would come and take him away. A second adornment on his ring finger glitters dully, melancholy remnants of its former owner. He murmurs an unheard prayer to the wind and, after a few more prolonged minutes, he slowly, painstakingly turns to leave.

Suddenly, there is a shocking upheaval of the earth, and a huge crack of splintering wood emits from the ground as a precise explosion of smoke and flames blasts the grave open. Stunned beyond speech, Yamamoto can do nothing but watch as a short, slim figure climbs out of the destruction, coughing and smeared with a slight layer of dirt. The silver-haired teen stumbles to him, breathless and breathtaking and so, so real. A hand roughly grabs the collar of his shirt.

"Why the hell," demands Gokudera from ten years earlier, "am I dead?"

Hope.

"There are always 'if's in life."

Faith.

"He's beautiful."

Trust.

"You're going to be the death of me."

Love.

"I don't mind
I don't care
As long as you're here
Go ahead, tell me you'll leave again
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand
It's all the same
And I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything
We'll do it all over again
It's always the same…"

All the Same
Sick Puppies

-x-

Fin

A/N: I didn't expect that twist at the end… Sounds like the beginning of another story. (Which, coincidentally, I'm actually in the middle of typing. Right now. OTL;;) Of course, if I made Gokudera die I'd be a horrible, horrible person so I gave readers a kind of lifeline by throwing in TYE!Gokudera. I can't believe I actually stuck in two kids. Two kids! Haha… I'm lame.

Anyways, thanks so much for the support.

I love reviews, and I love you all even more~ ^.^