Title: Sleepless

Words: 1,384

Summary: Poor Gokudera can't sleep and Yamamoto can't stop himself from doing something to help. 8059 PWP

He stared at the back of his lids attempting to count sheep. Every time he got around six he would start to get pissed, let out an irritated grunt, and shuffle around trying to get somewhere near comfortable. Why couldn't they have a private jet? Without fat snoring executives? Why?

He cracked open an eye when he heard Yamamoto whisper to him. "Hey Hayato, you okay?"

"Shut up, I'm fine. Just gotta piss." Getting up from his aisle seat, Gokudera stretched his arms overhead before leaning back down to add, "And stop fuckin' calling me that." Yamamoto just grinned as he turned back to look out at the night sky.

Gokudera shuffled from the back of first class to the overly stuffy confinments of the toilet. Once he shut the door and looked around he realized he really did have to piss. Shutting the lid and flushing after the deed was done, he turned to wash his hands. Just as his hand reached out for the tiny papertowl dispenser the door creaked open. "Someone's in here, asshole." Whatever, I'm done anyway, Gokudera thought with a huff. He took a tiny step, ready to exit, when the door fully opened and then quickly closed as a familiar hand shoving him back. His legs banging against the toilet, hand darting out for the handrail but missing as he landed hard on the toliet lid. "Fuck!"

"Heading back so soon?"

"Yamamoto! What the fuck!" He tried his hardest not to yell, the words coming out is a angry whisper as his eyes flickered around, somehow thinking that people could see them together in the small room. The last thing he wanted, besides cramming into an airplane bathroom with Yamamoto, was the Tenth—or even worse Mukuro or Hibari—waking up to find him crammed into an airplane bathroom with Yamamoto.

"I know you're having trouble sleeping. I thought I could help." Yamamoto said leaning back against the now locked door, a grin stuck on his face. Gokudera looked up and seriously couldn't believe what the idiot was proposing. He will admit that the ass has convinced him to do some pretty nasty things in some pretty fucked up places, but seriously?

"Seriously? I mean… seriously?" He couldn't help but crinkle his face when the fucker actually nodded his head.

"Come on Haya—"

"Stop it." Gokudera put a hand up for emphasis. When Yamamoto didn't make a move, he got up from the toilet and eyed the tall man cautiously. "Are you going to move so I can leave or keep staring and smirking like the fucking pervert you are?"

"You can't sleep and you know what helps." Yamamoto cooed as he wrapped his left hand around his lover's thin, delicate wrist.

"No. I'm going to pretend I'm not hearing your absurd shit and go sit and try to count some more goddamn sheep." Gokudera snapped out, yanking his wrist away with a glare and reaching to unlock the door. Yamamoto just sighed as he recaptured the wrist while grabbing the other and none too gently shoving Gokudera against the counter, the back of his head bouncing once against the mirror. The edge of counter bit into the base of his spine, forcing him to arch his back. "Ow! That hurt you asshole!"

"Shhh. You're going to have to watch that mouth. You don't want be to caught, right?" Yamamoto whispered right before capturing the smaller man's lips. Only to have his bottom one instantly bitten. He pulled back, still pinning Gokudera. "You should know by now that, that only turns me on, Hayato." Yamamoto smirked, looking down at his lover with that look. That look that Gokudera hates to love. That half lidded look that always makes his blood pulse, regardless of where they are or what they're doing. He's lost this fight, just like all those others in the past.

"Yeah, I know," Gokudera says, the left corner of his lips twiching down slightly before reconnecting the kiss a little forcefully. He pushes hard against his captor, fighting back as a tounge enters his roving mouth. Yamamoto grinds against the bomber, pressing Gokudera so hard against the edge of the sink that it makes the hitman turn his head and grit his teeth.

"Sorry," Yamamoto mummbles quickly against Gokudera's cheak before licking up to his ear and sucking.

"No you're not," comes the breathy reply.

Yamamoto lets out a dry laugh against Gokudera's wet lobe, releasing the captive wrists. His hands move to grope Gokudera's tightly covered ass. Grunting, he lifts the other up onto what little counter top there is. With one hand still cupping a cheek, the other snakes under Gokudera's thin heather V-neck. Yamamoto has always been pleased that just because his companion was Italian didn't mean he had to be hairy and burly. He lets the tips of his fingers soak in the soft skin and smooth chest. When he reaches a nipple he roughly rakes across it before taking it between his two fingers.

Gokudera can't help but react verbally, letting out heavy encouraging whispers in between their lips. The bomber's hands move from the counter's edge to slide up and fumble with the buttons running down Yamamoto's crumpled blue dress shirt. He manages to clumsily undo a few before getting frustrated and pulling back.

"Leave it. It's not necessary." And with that Yamamoto lets his nails slide down Gokudera's sides, slipping his hands down to his lover's hips and then over to unbutton and unzip the slight man's fitted jeans. Gokudera lets out a hiss as the swordman's calloused hands reach in to forcefully expose his hard member.

"Hey, jerk, be a little more ca—," the words die on his lips as they are once again devoured by Yamamoto's. Their tongues entwine roughly, pushing and pulling against each other as the dominant partner works his grip on the submissive member. It wasn't long before Gokudera was panting heavily into his lover's mouth, his tongue weakly licking out at Yamamoto's lips.

The swordman dropped down to his knees, startling Gokudera. "Get up," he hissed, "that's gro—" He couldn't help but note somewhere in the back of his head, as Yamamoto mouthed his hardness, that this was wrong, and that he should really force the guy to stop. But "Ugn…ah, ah," was all that he could get out and decided that it was really too late to turn back anyway. The bomber returned one hand back to the edge of the sink counter and moved the other one to grip a mass of dark hair bobbing up and down over his lap.

Gokudera's panting was getting heavier and he couldn't help his grip on the counter or the idiot's hair from clenching, knuckles white, as he struggled to keep his usually moans in check. Yamamoto knew he was having a hard time keeping quite, the fuckhead knew that, and yet he hummed along his lovers length, gripping his thighs, and looking up with those goddamn eyes again. He was practically doing everything he could to pull a cry out of the bomber.

But the bomber was fighting and fighting hard. The coil of heat was pressing, spreading, burning his veins. His blood was pounding in his ears. The sound of the plane drowned by the beating. He closed his eyes, beads of sweat collecting and slipping down from his temple. It was too much. The bastard's tongue, god, that tongue. It was too wet. Too warm. Too much.

Gokudera jerks suddenly, clutching Yamamoto's hair so hard the swordman winces and groans, the vibrations from the movement shove his lover even deeper off the edge. The swordman swallows and pulls back, cleaning up his little Italian. Gokudera on the other hand, just sits, breaths coming in deep. He hates to admit it, but his body feels like jello. He feels like he could sleep right there in the cramped bathroom. Then the bomber remembers that he is, in fact, in an airplane bathroom.

"You fucking jerk." Gokudera lets out.

"Well, you look a little more relaxed. Hey, does this mean we've joined the mile-high club?" Yamamoto laughs in return.

"Ugh, you're so gross some times." And with that, Gokudera hops off the counter, slips out the bathroom, flops back in his seat, and instantly difts to sleep.