Work Text:
When Gokudera wakes up, he’s already irritated.
This, in itself, is not unusual.
What is unusual is the weight on top of his blanket.
He blinks blearily at the ceiling, brain still fogged with sleep, and registers a pair of rabbit ears in his peripheral vision.
Tall black bunny ears, dramatically oversized and slightly curved.
“…What,” he says to the room, voice rough, “the hell.”
Attached to the ears is—
There is no universe in which this sentence should be real.
Attached to the ears is Yamamoto Takeshi.
Yamamoto Takeshi—baseball idiot, smiling like the morning sun—wearing a strapless, jet-black leotard with a sweetheart neckline, a red bow tie snug at his throat, and a pair of ridiculous bunny ears perched on a headband. When Gokudera’s eyes travel down, the bodice cuts high on the hips, exaggerating the length of his legs, which are covered in opaque blue tights.
“Wha—wha—wha—” he tries to say, but his brain gets stuck on the first syllable.
“Morning, Gokudera!” Yamamoto beams. “You’re up early.”
Brain not computing, Gokudera springs upright in bed, knocking Yamamoto slightly off balance from where he’d been sitting and leaning over him. He gapes. “You literally woke me up?! Why are you in my room. Why are you—” He gestures violently at the ears.
They flop.
Yamamoto tilts his head. The ears tilt with it.
“Oh! These?” he says. “Cute, right?”
“No! Take them off,” Gokudera demands.
Now that he’s sitting upright in bed, Gokudera can make out more details of the costume, like the corseted waist that cinches Yamamoto’s middle into an accentuated, indecently feminine curve, and, with mounting horror, the white cuffs at his wrists, mimicking tuxedo shirt cuffs.
Vongola Headquarters are many things, most often a place where common sense goes to die, and where far too many freaks congregate around the Tenth. But it has never, until this exact moment, been a place where Yamamoto shows up dressed like a Playboy bunnygirl.
“Can’t.”
“…What do you mean, can’t.”
Smiling sheepishly, Yamamoto scratches the back of his head.
“Well… I kinda lost a bet.”
Staring, Gokduera asks flatly, “With who.”
“Squalo.”
“What bet”
“I said I could balance my baseball bat on my forehead while spinning in place fifty times blindfolded,” Yamamoto says. “Squalo said I couldn’t. I missed the last one.”
“You missed one.”
“Yeah!”
“And your punishment is—this?”
“Gotta wear it all day,” Yamamoto says, nodding. “It’s got a tail, too.”
Yamamoto turns around helpfully to show it off, and Gokudera indeed gets the opportunity to confirm the round cotton tail clipped to the back of the leotard, positioned right over the swell of Yamamoto’s ass.
Gokudera closes his eyes, and considers several options.
Option one: open the window and hurl himself out of it.
Option two: commit murder.
Option three: commit murder first, then throw himself out the window. (Option three has merit, Gokudera admits.)
“You broke into my room—”
“Actually, the door was unlocked—”
“—dressed like a bunnygirl.”
“Well,” Yamamoto says, grinning, “I figured you’d wanna see first.”
“Why would I want—”
Yamamoto looks at him like this is obvious.
“Because you’re my best friend?”
Oh. Oh, for—
Gokudera looks away violently, face heating. “That’s not—you don’t—I. Thanks but no thanks, now get the hell out.”
Ignoring Gokudera, Yamamoto laughs, and the ears bounce with the motion.
It’s infuriating, and stupid, and it’s—
—dangerously distracting.
Gokudera throws his pillow at Yamamoto, who catches it easily. Damn baseball-player-turned-swordsman reflexes.
“C’mon,” Yamamoto says. “Breakfast?”
“I’m not walking around with you like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you look like some tacky pin-up who got kicked out of the Playboy Mansion!”
“Aw, that’s kinda harsh, Gokudera.”
Yamamoto sounds genuinely wounded. The ears droop; they literally droop.
Gokudera stares.
“… Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That. The—the drooping ears.”
“They’re costume ears. How could I possibly drop them on purpose?”
“I don’t know! You’re a manipulative bastard, so I wouldn’t put it past you!!”
Bursting out laughing, Yamamoto grabs Gokudera’s wrist and drags him off the bed. Gokudera lands barefoot on the cold floor with a startled hiss, stumbling before catching himself. He pushes upright, ready to yell before he realizes that, on top of everything else, Yamamoto is wearing bright red, glittery stiletto heels. At least ten centimeters.
Which makes their height difference, already not negligible, even worse, and the whole scene so ridiculous that Gokudera briefly feels like he’s watching himself from outside his own body, from sheer, overwhelming embarrassment. Absurdly, since he’s not the one wearing a bunnygirl suit.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Gokudera mutters.
This should be illegal. There should be state laws against this kind of obscene display.
Gokudera tries very hard not to look.
Fails immediately.
At breakfast, it’s ten times worse, because everyone stares.
Tsuna chokes on his toast when Yamamoto walks in, somehow managing to keep his balance atop the stilettos he’s wearing, with Gokudera trailing behind him.
“Y-Yamamoto why are you a rabbit—”
“Lost a bet!” Yamamoto says, brightly.
At Tsuna’s side, Reborn sips his coffee like this is perfectly normal.
For her part, Haru squeals, “KYAA! Yamamoto-kun, you look so cute!”
Kyoko, sitting at the table beside Tsuna, claps her hands. “It suits you!”
“It does not suit him,” Gokudera snaps.
Lambo makes a grab for the bunny’s ponpon. “FLUFFY!”
“Lambo, don’t! That’s rude!” I-Pin chimes in, though she seems oddly fascinated by the sight of Yamamoto.
“Don’t pull it, you stupid cow!” Gokudera snaps, batting Lambo’s hands away. Lambo immediately starts pouting and whining at him, stamping his feet, while Yamamoto watches with a placid expression.
How is Yamamoto so calm?! How is he not dying of shame…
Gokudera would have detonated himself by now.
“Hayato,” Reborn says casually from his seat at the table. “Why are you red?”
“I’M NOT RED.”
“Actually, you are a bit red!” It’s Tsuna, sounding concerned. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe you’ve got a fever? We can call Shamal to check on—”
“I’m feeling fine, Tenth! No need, thanks!”
Gokudera flashes his Boss his best carefree smile. Internally, he’s screaming.
Yamamoto slings an arm around Gokudera’s shoulders, as unbothered as if this were a perfectly normal breakfast conversation. His body heat bleeds through the thin fabric of Gokudera’s hoodie, and the cursed bunny ears bend and brush softly against Gokudera’s temple.
“Get off me,” Gokudera spits out through gritted teeth.
“Relax,” Yamamoto says. “You’re acting like it’s contagious.”
“It might be!”
“Oh no,” Yamamoto gasps dramatically. “What if you grow ears too?”
“I will set myself on fire.”
“Aw, that’d be a waste.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but why?”
Yamamoto grins down at him from his natural height advantage, plus the extra leverage of the heels. He leans in enough that Gokudera can feel the hot brush of his breath ghosting against the shell of his ear as he lowers his tone to a whisper: “Cause I bet you’d look cute with ears too.”
Gokudera stops functioning. System crash, blue screen, the works.
Gokudera shoves Yamamoto away on pure reflex. Yamamoto windmills for a second, arms flailing as the stilettos skid against the marble, ears wobbling wildly, and barely manages to catch his balance with a startled laugh.
“I’m—okay! Totally fine!” Yamamoto says in reply to everyone shouting in alarm when they think he’s about to fall.
“I’m leaving,” Gokudera blurts out, bowing a couple of times in quick succession to his Boss. While Tsuna is still staring in horror at Yamamoto’s near-brush with the polished marble floors of the Vongola mansion, Gokudera makes his escape out of the room.
Then the echoing click of stilettos follows Gokudera down the hall.
I’m supposed to be immune to this, Gokudera tries to tell himself.
They’ve known each other for years. They’ve fought side by side, nearly died together more times than Gokudera cares to count. Shared food, secrets, stupid jokes. Seeing Yamamoto in a costume, whatever costume, shouldn’t affect Gokudera. shouldn’t affect him.
And yet, every time those stupid ears bob into view, Gokudera’s brain snaps like an overcooked noodle.
It’s not even attractive! It’s ridiculous, actually.
The problem is that it’s Yamamoto. If it were anyone else, Gokudera would mock them mercilessly and move on.
“Gokudera—wait!” comes Yamamoto’s voice from behind Gokudera, the sharp clack-clack of heels gaining on him.
“STOP FOLLOWING ME.” Gokudera doesn’t slow or turn around.
“C’mon, I just—whoa—!”
The words cut off with a sudden, rising pitch and the scrape of stilettos, accompanied by the rush of air as a body loses balance.
Gokudera swears, spins, and lunges. “Shit—!”
Somehow, Gokudera manages to catch Yamamoto before he hits the floor, the momentum slamming them together. His hands grab whatever they can find, elastic fabric, the corseted waist, a bare thigh, his wrist brushing something fluffy as he searches for a place to hold on, before one of his hands finally lands on Yamamoto’s ass and squeezes to hold him upright. Yamamoto does the same, looping his arms around Gokudera to steady himself.
There is a horrible, frozen moment where they remain tangled like this, Gokudera’s hands very much in places they absolutely do not belong.
“Nice save,” Yamamoto says breathlessly, steady now, blinking down at Gokudera.
“YOU IDIOT!” Gokudera cries out, then lowers his voice, suddenly self-conscious. “Are you okay? You need to watch your step walking in those death traps. If something happened to you, I’m billing the Varia for a new Rain Guardian!”
“I-I’m fine. I think.”
Neither of them are letting go.
Yamamoto turns his head and gives Gokudera’s ear a playful little nip. “Thanks for catching me,” he says quietly, one of his arms tightening where it’s sprawled across Gokudera’s back.
“Stop that!” Gokudera hisses, trying to disentangle himself. Yamamoto refuses to let go, keeping them pressed together in the empty hallway. He shifts back slightly to look Gokudera in the eyes.
Yamamoto’s gaze is sharp and intent, narrowed beneath furrowed brows that frame warm brown irises.
Gokudera’s heart stutters.
Stupid. This is stupid. Gokudera absolutely hates this.
Sunlight spills through the windows, and Yamamoto’s bunny ears glow like a halo, backlit by it.
“…You look ridiculous,” Gokudera says.
“Yeah?”
“…Yeah.”
A smile. “…Good.”
“Good?!”
“Yeah,” Yamamoto says. “If you’re looking at me this hard, it must be working.”
“I’M NOT—”
“You’ve been staring all morning.”
“I HAVE NOT—”
“You even touched the tail earlier.”
“I WAS MOVING LAMBO—”
Yamamoto laughs again. Speaking softly, he adds:
“I kinda like that you’re the only one who looks this mad about it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means you care the most, right?”
Gokudera opens his mouth for a snarky response, but nothing comes out.
The ears bounce.
Then Gokudera finds himself backed against the wall, Yamamoto crowding him in with a thunk of hands against the plaster, both tanned arms braced on either side of his head, caging him in, high-heeled legs planted close enough that there’s nowhere to slip past. He can hardly decide where to look, at Yamamoto’s bare collarbones and shoulders above the sweetheart neckline of the bodice, the long column of his neck framed by the bow tie and white collar, or those large brown eyes as they drift closer and closer, until Yamamoto’s breath brushes his lips and long fingers tangle gently in his hair.
When Yamamoto kisses him, his mouth and tongue move in a warm, coaxing slide, pulling Gokudera into an orbit he can’t break free from. It goes on for who knows how long, and Gokudera’s glad he’s braced against the wall because his legs feel like putty and they might’ve buckled otherwise. Eventually, Yamamoto does break the kiss and pulls back to stare down at Gokudera.
“Next time,” Yamamoto murmurs against Gokudera’s lips, “I’ll lose a bet on purpose.”
“The hell for?” Gokudera replies. A beat; his eyes narrow. “Wait. You didn’t already lose this one on purpose, did you?”
“No comment,” Yamamoto smirks, dipping his head to steal another quick kiss, followed bya a light, playful nip to Gokudera’s lower lip in a blatantly outrageous attempt to distract him, which, infuriatingly, works. “Maybe Squalo will ask for another costume, like a maid outfit. I wonder how that’ll make you react.”
Come to think of it, this is all that loudmouth shark’s fault, isn’t it? Gokudera was going to murder him, but now he’s starting to consider sending him a thank-you note instead.
“Hey, Gokudera?”
Gokudera blinks up at him, heart thudding too loud in his ears. Yamamoto’s smile is soft and unfairly fond.
“Yeah?”
Yamamoto leans in closer, nose brushing his.
“Wanna go upstairs to your room?” Amber eyes lock onto Gokudera’s, dark and intent. “I can keep the ears on a little longer… just for you.”
“I—”
“OH LOOK! THE BUNNYGIRL IS KISSING GOKUDERA AHAHAHA!”
Exploding into the scene like one of Gokduera dynaminets, Lambo barrels into view, pointing dramatically as if he’s just uncovered a national scandal.
Gokudera jerks back so fast he nearly headbutts Yamamoto. “WHAT—?!”
Yamamoto freezes. Gokudera freezes. They stare at each other for one horrified second.
Oh shit.
Yamamoto moves first. Without a word, he grabs Gokudera’s hand and bolts.
“Hey—! Yamamoto—!” Gokudera sputters, stumbling after him as Lambo’s cackling echoes down the hall.
They don’t stop.
Up the stairs. Through the turn in the landing, Yamamoto’s stilettos clanking against the marble and wooden floors. Somehow, he doesn’t even stumble. Where the hell did this idiot learn to run in heels? It’s… impressive.
Only when they’re halfway to Gokudera’s room does it hit him: they’re going to his room.
They stop in front of Gokudera's door.
Gokudera’s day suddenly improves dramatically, because Yamamoto doesn’t let go of his hand. Before he can say a word, Yamamoto turns to him, one hand sliding up to cup his jaw, and kisses him again. Then he opens the door and gently pushes Gokudera inside.
And if that dark look in his eyes is anything to go by…
…the baseball idiot is absolutely planning to keep his promise about the bunny ears.
When Gokudera wakes up, his irritation is conspicuously absent.
The angled sunlight cutting through the curtains tells Gokudera it’s already afternoon, and his whole body feels heavy in a boneless way that makes him want to sink right back under. Thank God they don’t have any Vongola work scheduled today, though the Tenth and the others are probably wondering where they’ve gone.
A solid weight presses close behind Gokudera.
Yamamoto. Awake, apparently, judging by the thumb tracing idle circles against Gokudera’s bare hip and the brush of lips against the back of his shoulder.
Gokudera grumbles, but doesn’t move, too tired to fight it, letting himself drift while Yamamoto shifts closer, nosing into the hair at the back of his neck. There’s a faint rustle of fabric, then something brushes Gokudera’s temple; his brain refuses to process it.
“Wha’re you doin’,” Gokudera slurs into the pillow.
Chuckling, Yamamoto presses a kiss behind his ear. “Told you,” he murmurs, “you look cute as a bunny, too.”
The words finally register.
Lifting a hand to his head, Gokudera discovers a pair of velvety bunny ears that flop into his field of vision with the motion.
“You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you,” Gokudera sighs, resigned to his fate.
“Nope!” comes the sunny reply.
Still, Gokudera can feel Yamamoto smiling into his shoulder like he’s just won the lottery. And so… he leaves them on.
"Five more minutes,” Gokudera mutters. “After that, I’m taking these off and getting up,” he adds, closing his eyes again and basking in the warmth of the body behind him.
~ The End ~