Title: Constant Like the Flow of Time

Pairing: 8059

Warnings: mild violence, adult content, sexual situations

AN: This is an old work previously posted on LJ

"What did you say?"

"Go to hell. I hope you die in a fucking hole, along with that retard of a father of yours."

"What the hell is your problem, Gokudera!?"

He'd never seen Yamamoto so angry.

"As always, you are my fucking problem!"

Never seen him so tense, practically vibrating with fury and restrained violence.

"I didn't do anything! This is not my fault!"

Never seen those big golden eyes squinted so fiercely, dark brows drawn low and dangerous. Then again, Gokudera didn't think he'd ever been this cruel to the guy.

"IT'S ALWAYS YOUR GODDAMN FAULT, YOU FUCKING SUICIDAL LOSER!"

A wordless growl from the trembling boy was his only warning.

"Gah!" Gokudera bowed over the fist lodged in his abdomen and fought past the burning in his lungs to retrieve vital air. He straightened just in time to dodge a swipe at his jaw and retaliated with a kick to the back of Yamamoto's knee. Sand and limbs flew haphazardly as they scrabbled on the shore, gaining a melee of scrapes and bruises all over their tired bodies.

Whose fault it really was, no one could possibly know. Gokudera just did the typical Gokudera thing and blamed Yamamoto, taking his frustration out on the boy who would always forgive him. The very fact that he would was what made it all so much worse.

Minutes later, chests heaved and fists slowed, the sharp edge of anger dulled by a lack of energy and true conviction. One final surge of strength and Yamamoto flung Gokudera from him, knocking him temporarily breathless. Taking the opportunity to pin his arms on either side of his head, he straddled his friend and glared into his bared-teeth grimace.

"Why are you always like this?" his expression was suddenly remorseful and desperate. "What's the point of blaming anyone? Why can't you just work together with me to solve the problem, Gokudera? Why do you have to be such an asshole!?"

Hands tightened on Gokudera's wrists and he winced. "Because you're so fucking annoying! With your, 'We'll get out of this, Gokudera, it's no problem,' and, 'We just have to wait for them to find us, it'll be fine,' even though they have no fucking clue where we are! You know very well it's all lies and condescending bullshit but you say it anyway. I can't fucking stand you!"

Gokudera struggled a bit and thumped his head back into the sand when there was no give. "And you're always so fucking optimistic, as if having a good attitude will fix anything! You sound like a useless twit!" He twisted and wrenched until he was gasping again, but Yamamoto held fast. "There is no way being optimistic on a desert-fucking-island is going to get us rescued!"

"You're wrong!" Gokudera stilled in his grip, surprised at the strain in his voice. "Being calm and collected about any situation is always the best way to go, even when it seems hopeless. You don't need to blame and hurt people to hide your own damn guilt!"

He gaped up at the boy, who had aimed straight for the heart, once again. It almost felt like he was speaking from experience.

"Why can't you just be normal?" Why can't you just let me in?

"Che." Gokudera broke their gaze to glare at the line of jungle to his left. He let his body go limp and Yamamoto released him, plopping tiredly onto the ground beside him, but Gokudera stayed right where he was.

"Normal's fucking overrated," he muttered.

"Fine. I won't ask you to be who you aren't. Go ahead and hate me if that helps, I don't mind. But at least work with me so we can both survive here until they find us?" Don't make me so frustrated that I want to make you suffer too.

The silence dragged on and Yamamoto sighed. Gokudera watched him wrap his arms around his legs and lay his head on his knees from the corner of his eye. His chest felt tight, his stomach churned, hot blood dripped from his split lip, and his bruises ached, but most of all it hurt to lose the faith, the wordless trust, Yamamoto had in him.

Shit. "Whatever."

Yamamoto glanced up and saw that grudgingly sheepish look on his face. Like a little kid's pout. He almost smiled.

"I'm sorry," Yamamoto murmured. "I'm sorry I hit you. You didn't deserve it."

"…Whatever," he repeated.

It had been a week and still no sign of rescue. Gokudera sighed. Sitting on the beach with the hood of his gray sweatshirt up, sulking at the sunrise or sunset, had quickly become a routine. Stuck on an island, alone with the smiling idiot, and Gokudera was sure he was losing his sanity by the hour.

Glancing back at their makeshift shelter, he could see the silhouette of said idiot in the long, deep shadow of a tree cluster, doing what looked like fiddling with something in his lap. He couldn't be sure because his back was turned and he was some ways away. Probably carving miniaturized baseball players to pass the time, he snorted. Well, at least it was keeping him away from Gokudera.

"Hey. Do you think we should make weapons or something?"

"Why? We have your katana, and I still have more than two-thirds of my dynamite stash."

"I don't know. I just read this book about these kids getting stranded like this and they made weapons."

"Idiot. That's fiction. This is real life."

"Haha, yeah, I guess you're right."

They sat watching their little campfire, having eaten cooked fish and some herbs Gokudera had scrounged from the jungle. Maybe making something wasn't a bad idea. At least it would help keep them from getting 'cabin fever' out here. Gokudera couldn't really tell if he already had it. Whether he'd like to admit it or not, he was restless and irritable most of the time anyway. He'd have to make sure he noticed if he was overly forgetful or slept too much.

While wrapped in these thoughts, he failed to notice his island-mate moving closer until they were a mere handbreadth away.

"Hey, what the hell?"

"Um, it's kind of cold, so I thought—"

"Che. You thought wrong. Get the hell away from me. In fact, don't even talk to me. Just pretend I'm not even here, okay? That would be great."

Yamamoto gave him that look that was half-reproachful and half-miserable and Gokudera glared right back, face full of resolve. Then, with a sigh, Yamamoto got up to disappear into their little grass-and-leaves hut.

That had been three days ago and they hadn't really spoken until their little brawl this morning. But who cared, right? Not Gokudera, that's for sure. Or so he told himself. The fact that he couldn't stop looking over at Yamamoto all the time didn't help with his self-reassurances, though.

Gokudera's head snapped up when he heard a vague echo of that voice make an odd muffled sound. Did he cut himself? Stupid idiot probably cut his whole hand off. He told himself he didn't care, but he listened for another sound just the same. It came again, slightly louder this time, and it didn't fit his hypothetical situation. You didn't make a sound like that when you got cut…

His eyes went wide, hearing it for the third time. He'd never heard this particular noise from Yamamoto, but he knew what it meant nonetheless. That crazy bastard!

Resolving to stay rooted to the spot, he grit his teeth and glared at the ground before him. Hearing those groans was really sparking his curiosity, morbidly enough. But every guy wonders what methods other guys use, right? Surely this wasn't a weird inclination. Was it? It wasn't like there was any other form of entertainment on this god-forsaken island.

"Ah, to hell with it," he grumbled. Swift, quiet movements and following along the path of Yamamoto's blind spot, he crept closer. Smacking a palm to his forehead, he silently berated himself for being a Creeper. Couldn't be helped.

Yamamoto's eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the palm tree trunk he sat against, small beads of sweat sliding slowly down his neck and into his open shirt, down his chest and stomach. His knees were partly pulled up, so Gokudera couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but from the expressions and the gasps, he could figure it out for himself.

And, god he looked beautiful like this, skin golden in the light of the island sunset.

Oh…oh, no I did not just think that. Oh hell no.

Yet he continued to watch in helpless captivation. The steady motion of Yamamoto's hand on himself, the swell of his chest as he panted, the furrow of his brows as he got closer. The wind tickled over his skin and feathered his hair around his face; Yamamoto sighed and arched his back a bit, speeding up his pace. Gokudera swallowed and bit his lip to stay silent. This was just too much.

Little shivers and shards of heat taunted Gokudera, his mouth salivating even if he didn't know why. It didn't take much longer before Yamamoto choked on a long, low groan and stilled. A few deep breaths and he cracked his eyes open, peering out over the red-violet horizon.

Terrified to move, Gokudera stayed stone-still where he kneeled in the high brush by the trees. He was confused to say the least…and he was damn turned on to say the most. His face was even hotter than the fire in his groin, if that was possible. Plus, he was pretty sure he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Gokudera…"

The shock of hearing his name actually made him jerk so hard he lost his balance and face-planted into the sandy dirt and right into plain view.

"Shit," he muttered into the ground. His face was positively aflame now.

In his hesitance to raise his head and face his demise, however, he missed Yamamoto's shocked expression and assumed the other had already known he was there.

"Look, I just happened to be going by and saw you…but I didn't see anything! I mean, I saw…but I didn't see it so it's…" all right? He couldn't meet Yamamoto's eyes. Couldn't even look at him. He brushed the dirt from his face and his front as he stood, gazing somewhere off to the left. "Sorry. I mean, I didn't mean to…interrupt…" He was definitely beginning to panic.

"Gokudera, it's all right," Yamamoto half-laughed. That was so utterly unexpected that Gokudera did look at him. They were both blushing and it made him feel somewhat less vulnerable and awkward.

"Sorry."

One long moment later, they both began at the same time.

"Look, I—"

"So do you—"

Yamamoto chuckled and Gokudera raised an eyebrow.

"You first."

"I just…wanted to apologize for being an ass the other night. I don't mind if you want to talk to me…or not." Gokudera shuffled his feet and put his hands in his pockets.

"Okay."

"What did you wanna say?"

"Ah, um…" Yamamoto blushed again, "Nothing. It's not important."

Gokudera stared at him for a moment. "Tell me."

"Ahaha, well you see…"

"What is it, Yamamoto?" Annoyed now.

"I was just going to ask if you'rehardbecauseofme?"

"What?" He couldn't have heard that right…but his flushed face said otherwise. He had forgotten his pants weren't made of the stiffest of materials. "I-I…uh…"

"Ah, forget it, it's not important! Haha!" He was really making this worse, forcing his laughter like that.

Damn it. "So what if I am?" he challenged, even though his blush was probably permanent now.

"Um."

"Shit. Forget I said that. I was just joking, anyway. Who'd get hard by watching an idiot like you—"

Yamamoto cut him off with wide, warm palms pressing against his back, pulling him close, and an even warmer mouth claiming his in a hungry kiss. It was wet and sloppy and it took his breath away. Gokudera kissed back without even thinking about it, but when coherency returned—thanks to the pain of his freshly split lip—he promptly pushed Yamamoto away.

"What the fuck, Yamamoto!?"

"Hah…" he breathed out, "I couldn't help it. You just looked so cute…"

"Na—?" his eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell open, "I am not cute, you damned freak! More importantly, where is this even coming from? Since when are you gay!?"

"Ahaha, I don't know."

Urk. Just leave it to Yamamoto to give such a stupid answer. "The hell d'you mean you 'don't know'?"

"Well, I've liked you for a while now, but it's not like I really like looking at guys or anything. Just you."

"Just—?" Just me!?

He'd rather die than think he was the cause of Yamamoto being confused about his own sexuality. Not that the weirdo seemed to mind, but that was beside the point. How long had this been going on, exactly?

"You like me, too, right? I mean, you were over there, watching, for a while, right? And you kissed me back—"

"Don't get confused, Baseball Idiot! Just because I didn't bother to deck you this time doesn't mean…" It sounded lame even to himself. He had no real argument for this. He had liked watching Yamamoto, liked kissing him, and even now he wanted to try it again. "God damn it!"

Yamamoto smiled, seeing the conflict and thus his victory. Reaching a hand up to hold the side of his face, he leaned in for a slower kiss that Gokudera fought for all of three seconds before giving in.

It was faster than he would have liked, of course, but he was already so hard, and Yamamoto's palm was warm and he seemed to know exactly what to do…

Gokudera held onto his shoulders and bit into his tortured bottom lip as he came.

"Fuck," he panted, "You got my only pair of pants dirty, you asshole."

Yamamoto's eyes shone in the last of dusk's scarlet glow as he smiled down at Gokudera. "Haha, my bad."