Title: Pleasant Associations
In which Yamamoto is sneaky, and Gokudera falls for it. Just like he always does.
Future-fic; adult smut with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. 1751 words.

Pleasant Associations

"God," Hayato said, "aren't you done yet?"

Takeshi didn't look up from the folder he was perusing. "What, are you in a hurry or something?"

"I want to be done for the day." Hayato came away from the door, kicking it shut behind him. "You know, like the everybody else is, even the Tenth." That was saying something; most nights, he had to pry the Tenth out of his office and promise him that the Vongola wasn't going to fall apart overnight before he'd consent to knocking off for the day. But Tsuna had finally called it a night and headed for his rooms and Kyouko-san, tucking the parts of him that were the Vongola Decimo away with every step, and everyone else had long since left for the day.

But here was Takeshi, tie hanging undone around his neck and his jacket tossed over the back of his chair, still poring over folders. Idiot. "Come on, it's quitting time. No one is still around but us."

"Mm," Takeshi said, and flipped a page over to continue reading.

Curiosity got the better of Hayato then; he went around Takeshi's desk to see what the hell it was that had him so engrossed—it was probably the Barassi file. They were up to something again, though no one had quite figured out what it was yet. "Okay, what are you still—" As he set a hand on the desk and leaned over Takeshi's shoulder to look at the file, Takeshi snaked out an arm and coiled it around his waist. He reeled Hayato in, and Hayato realized, looking down at his grin, that he had been had. "You idiot."

Takeshi nuzzled Hayato's stomach, rubbing his cheek against it like some kind of cat. Only that was doing cats an injustice; Takeshi was clearly a dog, probably one of the big, dumb ones that slobbered a lot. "Hi," he said, smiling up at Hayato. He sounded perfectly content and showed no signs of being inclined to let Hayato go.

"Unhand me, you oaf," Hayato told him, sparing a moment to be grateful that he'd shut the door after himself.

He smacked Takeshi's shoulder, for all the good that did him—Takeshi just ignored it, leaning his cheek against Hayato's stomach and grinning at him. "No."

God, he'd gotten it into his head to be stubborn. Hayato rolled his eyes. "You're impossible when you get like this."

That just made Takeshi's smile tick a few notches wider. "Mm, thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment." Since Takeshi clearly wasn't going to be letting him go, Hayato dropped his hand into Takeshi's hair—not that he'd be able to do any more damage to it than Takeshi had already done himself. It was perpetually tousled; Takeshi couldn't seem to stop himself from raking his fingers through it whenever he was deep in thought, and it always seemed to be standing on end. It was soft under Hayato's fingers; Takeshi leaned into them.

If he'd had one, his tail would have been thumping, Hayato thought. All dog, definitely. Golden retriever, or maybe just a mutt.

"So I was thinking," Takeshi announced, interrupting Hayato's train of thought.

"God help us all."

Takeshi pulled away from Hayato's fingers, laughing, and the pressure of his arm changed. "You know, you should really have more faith in me." His tone was earnest enough, but Hayato wasn't sure he trusted the way Takeshi's eyes were laughing. "I have great ideas."

"Uh-huh. You know, the Cizeta thing was your idea," Hayato reminded him, as Takeshi pushed his chair back and maneuvered Hayato around, using his completely unfair physical advantages to do it, until he had Hayato actually sitting on his desk and looking down at him.

"The Cizeta thing was brilliant," Takeshi told him. "If they had just reacted like normal people, it would have been perfect."

"They're not normal people, they're mafia, you idiot," Hayato reminded him, and then added, "What the hell are you doing?" when Takeshi began unbuttoning his jacket.

"So I was thinking," Takeshi said, pushing Hayato's jacket open and then starting in on his belt, what the fuck. "Wouldn't it be really hot if I sucked your cock like this?"

Holy shit, the whole thing had been a trap, right from the beginning, Hayato realized, shocked by that and the stab of visceral heat that the suggestion provoked. "You sneaky asshole," he said, voice gone suddenly hoarse.

Takeshi grinned, complacent, and carried on with undoing Hayato's fly. "I have my moments, don't I?"

Hayato hissed in lieu of a coherent answer as Takeshi got his fingers around his cock and began stroking him. The calluses on his fingers dragged against Hayato's skin and the roughness of them pulled a groan out of his throat as the sudden rush of blood to his cock left him light-headed and dizzy. He leaned back on his hands, pushing a folder off the desk and sending it slithering to the floor, and groaned again as Takeshi kept on playing with his cock. "The door," he managed, drawing on the last shreds of rational thought he had. "It's not locked."

"Everybody else is done for the day." Takeshi smirked at him, the bastard. "No one else is around but us, remember?"

"Fuck," Hayato said, dismayed that Takeshi had learned to use logic against him, and then groaned when Takeshi took that for assent and leaned forward to fit his mouth over the head of his cock. He watched Takeshi in helpless fascination as pleasure surged through him—the way Takeshi's eyes went heavy-lidded and intent and the shape his lips made as Hayato's cock slid between them, and the way Takeshi's fingers fanned against his thighs, kneading them as his head bobbed over Hayato's lap. Hayato panted for breath, bracing himself against his hands as the slow pressure of Takeshi's mouth and tongue swept all the thoughts out of his head, until all he could do was groan and strain against the hands that held his hips still as his orgasm shuddered through him. Takeshi didn't let him go even then, mouth moving relentlessly over Hayato's cock until he finally stilled.

"God," Hayato said, when he could manage it, and looked at Takeshi, who had his elbows planted on either side of Hayato's hips and his chin propped in one palm. He was grinning, but Hayato couldn't muster more than a faint sense of irritation at the sight.

"So I was thinking," Takeshi said, apparently under the assumption that Hayato would be willing to entertain whatever harebrained scheme he'd come up with now. He carried on in spite of the way Hayato rolled his eyes, apparently undeterred. "Wouldn't it be really hot if I turned you over and fucked you?"

Hayato groaned, partly in disbelief—he'd only just come, for chrissakes!—and partly because his cock still managed to twitch in response to the suggestion, like it was seriously giving thought to another round. He was pretty sure that Takeshi hadn't missed that, either. "You must be joking."

"Why would I joke about a thing like that?" Takeshi set one of his hands on Hayato's inseam and stroked it up, cupping him and rubbing his thumb over the head of Hayato's cock; the touch was delicate, but Hayato's skin was still hypersensitive. He swore as sensation jolted up his spine, hips jerking, and Takeshi's grin stretched wider. "So, what do you say?"

Hayato groaned as Takeshi kept teasing his thumb over his cock. "You are going to be the death of me, I swear."

"There are worse ways to go," Takeshi reminded him, which Hayato supposed was true enough.

"Oh, fine, if you must," he said, and watched Takeshi's eyes flare hot.

He would rather have died than admit how hot it was when Takeshi just manhandled him, draping him over the desk and sliding his slacks and underwear down as he spread Hayato's thighs wide. The surface of the desk was cool and smooth against his cock, and Hayato pillowed his cheek against his folded arms, a little appalled with himself for how quickly he was getting hard again—fuck, he wasn't fifteen any more, though his cock sure seemed to think otherwise, especially when Takeshi slid his hands up to close on his ass, spreading him open and it throbbed in response.

Hayato sucked in deep breaths as Takeshi pressed long fingers into him, opening him up and practically fucking him on them, until arousal was burning through him and he was rocking between them and the slick surface of the desk. "Come on," he said, eventually. "What are you waiting on?"

"Nothing, I guess," Takeshi told him, just as breathless as he was.

Hayato closed his eyes when Takeshi leaned over him, bracing one hand on the desk and holding Hayato's hips steady with the other, and pushed into him, the pressure of it one long slow burn that ran up Hayato's spine and made him groan. Takeshi groaned, too, his weight solid against Hayato's back and his breath warm on Hayato's nape. Then he began to move and Hayato found he had to grip the far side of the desk to brace himself against the way Takeshi's slow, powerful thrusts worked his cock in and out of Hayato's ass. The carved molding around the edge of the desk dug into Hayato's palms as each long stroke drove the breath out of him and pleasure wound through him, tightening on him inexorably.

Then Takeshi slid a hand under Hayato to wrap around his cock and he lost it, crying out as pleasure raked through him again and his body seized around Takeshi's cock. When it finally let him go, Hayato sprawled against the desk, limp and gasping. Takeshi's thrusts turned shorter and sharper, wringing aftershocks of heat out of him until he finally went taut, groaning breathlessly, before he sagged against Hayato's back.

Takeshi's weight pinned him against the desk, but Hayato couldn't bring himself to care about that. He rested his cheek against the smooth grain of the wood until Takeshi finally stirred and made a contented noise against his shoulder. "That was the best idea ever," he announced, voice only a little muffled.

It was probably the only thing he could have said that could have roused Hayato out of his satiated torpor. "Oh my God." Hayato reached back, flailing a hand at him with what little outrage he could manage. "Get off me, you jerk."

Takeshi took his time about complying, pausing to nuzzle the side of Hayato's throat before letting him up and digging into a drawer for the tissues to clean up with. Hayato moved more slowly, wrung out and still riding high on the endorphins as he pushed himself up and started to put himself back into some semblance of order.

It wasn't until he surveyed the wreck of the file folders that had gotten flung across the floor that what they'd just done really sank in. "Oh my God," Hayato said again, looking at the mess they'd made, horrified by his realization. "Do you realize that I'm never going to be able to look at your desk again without thinking about this?" Or, what was more, without getting at least a little hard at the same time—oh, holy fuck, he was in and out of Takeshi's office half a dozen times a day, at least. He was screwed.

"Yeah." Takeshi's voice was rich with self-satisfaction. "I know." He beamed at Hayato. "Am I a genius, or what?"

"I hate you so much," Hayato told him, pouring all the sincerity he could manage into it.

Takeshi just grinned and reached up to hook a hand around Hayato's nape. "No, you don't," he said as he drew Hayato down and kissed him.

Fortunately for Hayato's peace of mind, he was too busy returning the kiss to be expected to dispute that, so he didn't bother.


This fic was brought to you by the fact that it is finals week and my instinctive response to stress is to write porn, as well as the fact that my current major writing project is about 30k words long and shows no sign of being finished any time soon—I really needed to write and finish something or I was going to lose my ever-loving mind. But mostly, I wanted to write porn. Yeah.

Comments, as always, are a thing of delight and joy forever.