Yamamoto wakes up slowly. It's winter and he instinctively knows that it's cold outside of his blanket cocoon, but he doesn't have to get up any time soon. The curtains are drawn and the sun is just barely peaking past them, keeping the room in a perpetual state of soft, shadowy twilight. He yawns and stretches and the bedclothes shift. He shudders when the cool morning air hits his bare shoulder and tries to burrow back down into the bed. His Akita, Jirou, notices that he's awake and immediately perks up, launching himself onto the bed, ready to start the day. The bed is a California King, the biggest mattress that Yamamoto could fit into the master bedroom, and Jirou still dominates the space. Yamamoto doesn't even realize that the cat had been curled up on the pillow next to his head until she's screeching and practically ripping the sheets with her desire to get away. Yamamoto chuckles and then wheezes when he gets a sharp elbow in the ribs.

"f'ckin amim'ls." The bedclothes get even more twisted up as the body next to him tries to reclaim the semblance of peace that had existed only moments before.

When the sheets get ripped from over his hips with a vengeance, exposing the entirety of him to the cold air, Yamamoto gives it up for ghost and hauls himself out of the bed, hopping when his bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. He chances a glance back at the bed as he's pulling on his robe and pats his hip. Jirou pants at him for a second before jumping off the bed after him and landing with a resounding thud. What's left is a prominent pile of blankets tucked around a sort of human shaped lump in the center of the mattress and just the hint of a tuft of silver hair peeking out from the top of it.

He lets Jirou out, makes coffee, and thinks about what to make for breakfast before climbing back up the stairs to his room. He isn't really expecting much in the setting to have changed, and he isn't proven wrong, except that now there's almost all of a human face peeking out from the top of the blanket burrito on his bead, blinking at him groggily.

"Good morning," he says, far too cheerily it would seem by the way the face draws up tight in a scowl.

"F'ck 'ff," he hears as the face disappears back under the blankets, but they flop out a bit, an invitation for him to slide back under.

Yamamoto presses his entire side against Gokudera's warm, bare skin with surprising agility even underneath a mountain of bedclothes, just to hear the other man squeal at the sudden cold. He is richly rewarded when Gokudera shrieks and tries to scramble away only to be tied up in a trap of blankets of his own making and forced to either endure or fall off the bed. Yamamoto laughs and throws both arms around Gokudera's shoulders, pulling him tight to his broad chest.

"Bastardo! You're freezing!" Gokudera makes an obviously half-hearted attempt to wriggle free, actually burrowing himself closer in to Yamamoto's body if he's succeeding at doing anything at all.

"Won't you warm me up, then, Gokudera?" He asks the question innocently , even batting his eyelashes at the Italian for emphasis, then he laughs at the horrified scowl that crosses Gokudera's features.

"Oh God, you're so sappy. I am embarrassed to be in love with you. Do you hear me? Mortified." But there's a smile playing at the corners of Gokudera's lips and Yamamoto just pulls him in and buries his face in the crook of Gokudera's bony shoulder.

"I love you too, Hayato," he murmurs against Gokudera's neck.

He strokes a hand down the other man's back, curving softly to cup the other man's ass, naked beneath his palm. Gokudera shivers against him and pushes his hips forward, pressing his prominent morning wood into Yamamoto's hip. It's probably more than that at this point, Gokudera's been up here, awake and alone, long enough he could have comfortably done something about it on his own but he chose to wait for Yamamoto, even after two years of waking up together. It brings a flush of warmth over Yamamoto's body, making him want to curl up against Gokudera, around him so he's protected, and never move from this spot, ever. He's still every bit in love with this man as he said he was two years ago in his childhood bedroom after Gokudera announced he'd be moving to Los Angeles.

Gokudera had made it seem like he was making the move for his career, always so proud and reluctant to admit his true feelings, but when, shortly after the move, there had been talks of trading Yamamoto to Arizona, he'd caught Gokudera secretly looking up listings in Phoenix. There was no way he could claim that living in the middle of the Arizona desert would help his career and he'd gotten frustrated and red in the face and stormed about for a bit, but, in the end, he'd quietly admitted that he'd moved to the United States for no other reason than to be with Yamamoto and he'd go anywhere to do that. Yamamoto was beginning to notice a pattern to how all of the best moments of his adult life seemed to revolve around Gokudera.

He smiles against Gokudera's skin, pulling the smaller man further on top of his body, feeling Gokudera's erection pressing insistently against his own now. He licks a tentative stripe up Gokudera's neck, just to feel him shiver with arousal, then bites the skin lightly, sinking his teeth in just enough to get Gokudera moaning, but not enough to leave a mark later. He doesn't want this to be rough and tumble like the late nights when Gokudera had been up working or when they were celebrating a good game or when Yamamoto had been out of the area for too long, traveling, and Gokudera couldn't get his hands on every part of his body that he'd missed fast enough. Right now he wants lazy morning sex, the kind that half of the time doesn't make it past intense frottage because they're too slow and warm with it to worry about the mechanics of penetration.

This is the kind of sex that reminds Yamamoto how happy he is, reminds him that he has the love of his life wrapped close in his arms and that he never has to let go again. He'll never have to stand in a dark hotel room and watch Gokudera walk away from him ever again. Gokudera left everything he had in Italy to move halfway across the world to be here, with him, and Yamamoto isn't ever going to let him go.

He illustrates this feeling of possessiveness by squeezing the arm still wrapped around Gokudera's shoulders until the other man 'oomphs' in protest and glares down at the top of his head, all he can see since Yamamoto's face is still buried deep in the crook of his neck.

"Lemme go, you oaf," he mutters half-heartedly, squirming in the hold until all he's managed to do is ensconce his ass even more firmly in Yamamoto's grip and elicit a gasp of pleasure from himself when his cock drags against Yamamoto's. "God, at least kiss me if you're gonna keep me trapped here."

Yamamoto lifts his head, beaming, and his unadulterated pleasure manages to pull a look of fond exasperation across Gokudera's features. Yamamoto will take it, because he has become wise in all things related to Gokudera and he knows that Gokudera is every bit as happy at the moment as he is. He releases his grip on Gokudera's shoulders to instead place his hand at the back of Gokudera's neck and pull his head down, tilting his own chin up to meet Gokudera's lips in a soft, but passionate kiss that isn't rushed but is far from chaste. Gokudera slides his tongue between Yamamoto's teeth with ease and wrestles back some bit of control with it, but Yamamoto refuses to allow him to pick up the pace, indulging in the slow undulation of their bodies together beneath the cocoon of blankets, the soft light of morning spilling over the room from the crack between the curtains.

He can hear the kitten purring softly somewhere above their heads, but it's soon overpowered by the sound of Gokudera gasping against his mouth and the bedclothes rustling as they slowly get pushed down around their hips. Gokudera braces himself with one hand on the bed and wedges the other between them to wrap around their cocks. His fingers are long but they don't quite wrap around fully, leaving Gokudera with a better grip on Yamamoto's dick than his own. He begins to pump, pushing his hips up into his hand, but focusing more on the slow drag of his calloused palms against the silky flesh of Yamamoto's erection, pulling the orgasm from him with slow and sure strokes. Yamamoto digs his fingers into the fleshy curve of Gokudera's ass cheek, inching his fingertips closer and closer to the crease as his vision begins to blur from lack of oxygen and impending orgasm. He rocks his hips up into Gokudera's, finally breaking the kiss to turn his head and moan Gokudera's name.

"Come on, Takeshi, come on," Gokudera whispers in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Yamamoto gasps and arches, quickly flipping them over so that his cum shoots over Gokudera's chest and belly instead of his own. Gokudera looks confused for a moment and then perturbed as he glares down at the sticky mess coating his body. Yamamoto takes a moment to look too, kicking the now hopelessly twisted blankets out of the way. Gokudera's skin glistens in the light, pale and wet, his cock still hard and flushed red, straining upwards. Yamamoto smiles widely and ducks down, ignoring Gokudera's annoyed grumbles about being left unfulfilled and covered in Yamamoto's release. They are cut off mid-complaint when Yamamoto presses the flat of his tongue against Gokudera's navel, licking a long stripe up to his chest, lapping up his own cum like frosting off a cupcake.

Gokudera's stomach tenses beneath Yamamoto's ministrations, the smaller man watching with bated breath as Yamamoto licks him clean, focusing on every inch of skin but resolutely avoiding his cock, letting it bump against his chin and cheek as he licks around Gokudera's groin but never putting his mouth on it. Gokudera lets his head fall back against the pillows with a soft thud, groaning out his frustration, one hand curling in the sheets, the other finding a white-knuckled grip on Yamamoto's shoulder.

"Come on, asshole!"

"Shhh, Gokudera," Yamamoto whispers against his hipbone, using his hands to hold Gokudera's hips down when they try to buck up, find something for Gokudera to sink his cock into.

Seeing the flush creeping up Gokudera's chest and down his thighs, Yamamoto decides to take pity on him and tentatively licks around the head of Gokudera's cock, dipping the tip of his tongue into the slit to taste the pre-cum beading there. Gokudera moans and arches backwards against the mattress, digging half-moons into Yamamoto's skin with his fingernails. Yamamoto chuckles lightly to himself as he fits his lips over the head and lets the vibration travel down the shaft. He keeps one hand flat on Gokudera's hip, holding him down, and lets the other drift down, tracing the crease of Gokudera's ass with his fingertips, before fitting between his ass cheeks and trailing dry around his hole.

Gokudera bends his knees, digging his heels into the mattress and spreading his legs as wide as he can, giving Yamamoto better access. With the way he's writhing against the sheets, eyes squeezed shut like he's either in pain or ecstasy, Yamamoto can't tell if he's aware he's even doing it. Yamamoto pulls his fingers away, brushing them against the base of Gokudera's shaft where his lips haven't reached, just to see Gokudera squirm, before sucking three of them into his mouth alongside the head of Gokudera's dick. He swirls his tongue around them, getting them as wet as he can without dividing his attention too much from Gokudera's cock. He doesn't want Gokudera to lose that sheen of delirium because he's not focusing all of his attention in the right places.

He loves making Gokudera lose it like this, loves making him incoherent in his pleasure. There's none of the desperation that plagued them in Italy, when they didn't know how they felt about each other, how long it would last, when they just couldn't get enough. There are still times like that but right now it's about making Gokudera forget how to think. He pulls his spit slicked fingers free with a pop, returning his tongue to the slit in the swollen head of Gokudera's cock, digging in with the tip just to hear Gokudera squeal. If he were coherent now, even the slightest bit, he'd be mortified at the noises he's making but Yamamoto loves them, can feel himself getting hard again just because of them.

He slides his fingers back down Gokudera's crease, circling his hole once before pushing his index finger in to the second knuckle with little pretense. Gokudera's hot inside, like a furnace, and soft, clutching at Yamamoto's finger. He's too far gone to tense up at the intrusion, so Yamamoto pulls the first finger out and then slips a second one in, sliding in just as easily as before, stretching Gokudera's inner walls, stroking them with his fingertips, crooking his fingers and stroking against Gokudera's prostate. Gokudera's cock jumps in his mouth at the first pass and Gokudera lets out a resounding 'FUCK' that sounds more like a drunken slur than an actual word. Gokudera can't even muster the energy to swear properly anymore, which means Yamamoto is doing his job better than usual.

Not that he isn't regularly able to pleasure Gokudera to within an inch of his sanity but certain times are even better than others. Starting when Gokudera is still half asleep doesn't hurt his chances of leaving Gokudera worthless for anything for the next few hours after his orgasm. He sneaks the third finger in while Gokudera is mumbling incoherently with his face turned into the mattress, fingers working the sheets, clenching and unclenching, bloodless and white but still darker than the cloth. Gokudera subconsciously tries to spread his legs even wider, straining his thighs and pushing his hips up against Yamamoto's hand where he's still holding him down. He strokes over Gokudera's prostate again, slow and moves his other hand off of Gokudera's hip and onto his belly. Mouth still working Gokudera's cock, he presses against Gokudera's lower belly with the heel of his hand at the same time he presses his fingertip against Gokudera's gland and Gokudera gasps and arches his back, spitting out Yamamoto's name on a breath.

Yamamoto smiles around Gokudera's pulsing cock, trying to swallow every drop of come and failing as Gokudera's release floods his mouth and drips down his chin from the corner of his lips. He pulls his fingers out of Gokudera slowly, not wanting to leave the man feeling empty and continues rubbing Gokudera's belly as his dick slowly softens and eventually is allowed to slip out of his mouth. Gokudera is left panting and flushed, skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat and saliva and semen.

"Oh my God. Oh my God, what… what?" Gokudera's an incoherent mess and it leaves a warm glow in Yamamoto's chest.

Yamamoto is half-hard again but he's not desperate to do anything about it. It's weird but he gets almost as much pleasure from turning Gokudera into a limp noodle as he does when Gokudera returns the favor. It's something about constantly reminding the other man that's he's treasured, making sure that he never regrets his decision to drop his old life and start a new one with Yamamoto. It's been two years of bliss mixed. They've had their fights because Gokudera's a stubborn and insensitive bastard sometimes and Yamamoto can't always keep up with him when he's ranting or explaining something. But it would be weirder if they didn't fight and the make-up sex is explosive and the regular sex is pretty explosive too. Hell, the lazy morning blowjobs are explosive.

They're happy living together, coming home to each other at night and waking up to each other in the mornings. Yamamoto likes to sprawl out and Gokudera likes to curl around him like a barnarcle. Yamamoto had already had Jirou, who had immediately taken to Gokudera with a slobbery attraction that had not been immediately returned. Jirou had eventually grown on Gokudera but he'd insisted the dog not sleep on the bed, claiming there wasn't enough room for them and a small bear. Yamamoto had relented solely based on the fact that it was true. Uri had come later, a gift from Yamamoto for their two year anniversary. They'd yet to completely warm up to each other and Gokudera had the scratches to prove it, but she purred like a tiny motor around Yamamoto, so he had hope she'd fall in love with Gokudera soon enough, just like he had. Kojirou rounded their little family out, and Yamamoto thinks Gokudera might like him best because he's a bird and therefore aloof and naturally musical.

Gokudera looks down at him, managing to drag a shaky, sweaty hand through his short, spiky hair. He curls his fingers and tugs, lips turning up at the corners in a lazy smirk a normal person probably wouldn't even notice. Yamamoto grins and crawls up onto the bed, hovering over Gokudera's body. He lays soft kisses along Gokudera's sternum and then his collar bone before laying down along Gokudera's side, pillowing his cheek on Gokudera's bony shoulder. Gokudera shivers dramatically and bumps Yamamoto's head off his shoulder.

"Blankets, Idiot," he growls but it's soft and fond. Yamamoto laughs and rolls over, reaching over the side of the bed to grab the edge of the blankets and haul them up and over the lower half of their bodies. He curls back into Gokudera, throwing an arm over Gokudera's chest and pulling him close. Gokudera grunts but he likes to cuddle, as long Yamamoto doesn't comment on it, which he more often than not does.

Yamamoto kisses the top of his head, eyes already falling closed with orgasm related fatigue.

"I love you, Hayato," he whispers, but Gokudera's already fallen back asleep.