Katekyo Hitman Reborn! [Hibari/Gokudera] under the same roof
If these hellish soaked-socks-and-impending-influenza conditions could have been made any worse, it would have been to be stuck rooming with that idiot cow. Lady Luck seemed to at least have thrown him an interested glance, though, as Gokudera found himself rooming with the Cloud Guardian.
Whatever; at least he'd be left the hell alone.
Another night, another rain storm, but Gokudera still hangs by the windows to let the smoke from his cigarette filter out of their non-smoking hotel room. Last fucking time he lets Hibari check-in for them. Gokudera takes a long drag that isn't quite enough to finish it off and carefully moves his hand out the window to tip the ashes off into the street.
"What are you doing?"
Startled, Gokudera nearly drops his cigarette, and turns around to glare at his partner. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"
"This room is non-smoking."
"That was your brilliant move." Still glowering, Gokudera brings the cigarette back to his lips to find it soaked through. He swears under his breath and tosses the butt out, moving away from the rain-spattered sill to pull the window shut and the curtains closed.
"You were not my first choice either."
"I don't care." Loosening his tie as he stalks, Gokudera heads to the bathroom to shower, all but slamming the door behind him.
He runs the water maybe a little hotter than needed, judging by the way his skin reddens almost instantly beneath it. However, the heat is comforting; the humidity brought on by the steam reminds him of places he would rather be, the warmth transports him there, and once his eyes are closed he can see it all clearly as if he truly were there.
He lathers his skin with the tiny hotel soap, dwarfed even further by large, callused, burn-scarred hands. He tries to lose himself in the graceful gliding, tries to slow his breathing to match that grace, feeling his heartbeat gradually falling into sync.
A shoulder leans into a surprisingly cold shower wall while a hand finds a half-erect cock and starts pumping. He tells himself it is stress relief. His imagination says otherwise.
"Oh, Dio..."
The words tumble from his tongue, the antithesis of any grace he may have had earlier. Pronouns hurdle over adjectives to slam into verbs, articles and prepositions scattering out of their way. Gokudera pays little heed to any of it, wanting only to get them out as quickly as possible, the movements of his wrist reflecting his eagerness. And though his mouth soon begins to fumble even more than it did in the beginning, his hand, thankfully, never does.
Perhaps that is because it is not his hand that still pumps along his length. Fingers stuff themselves into his mouth — he doesn't care whose — and he coats them lewdly with saliva before they are torn away again, probing blindly and urgently behind him. Gokudera gives a wanton groan, arching his back, pushing into and onto those fingers though he fears moving too far from the first hand. It holds fast, though, giving a firm squeeze and one achingly slow jerk before moving back up to speed.
He presses his too-hot forehead to the cool tile of the shower wall, panting and trembling as fingers and palms work over and inside of him. He is holding back, but it is getting more and more difficult to keep up appearances. Finally, he starts begging, just a little, for even a moment's rest so that he might regain a bit of his composure.
Then there is a voice.
"As disgusted as I am to discover your idle fantasies are apparently of me and not the weakling you fawn over, I am still trying to sleep, so, if you would, keep your foolish hobbies to yourself."