It was easier, Hayato decided, when Yamamoto was actually driving the motorcycle. And it was easier because Yamamoto was an idiot, and liked to do silly, flashy moves, and it was easy to roll his eyes at someone popping a wheelie and laughing like a kid.

The hard part was when Yamamoto was holding still on the damn thing. And the hardest part was keeping his eyes away from long, long legs spread casually over a sleek machine and not, not, looking at the way worn denim pulled taut over Yamamoto’s thighs.

When he couldn’t keep from doing that was when his mouth went dry and his pulse sped up and, if he was unlucky enough to not look away in time, Yamamoto’s eyes turned dark and considering.

Of course trying not to look also had its drawbacks, like not seeing the arm snaking out to pull him in close.

“What are you doing?” It came out a lot huskier than he’d meant for it to, but hell, he was pulled up tight against Yamamoto, who was still straddling the damn motorcycle and grinning, only not in his usual idiotic way. No, this time there was something hot around the edges of it.

“Testing a theory?” Yamamoto offered. His arm tightened, pulling Hayato closer, and Hayato took in a quick breath as he found one of those long legs between his. “Mm, yeah, looks like it was right.”

“Idiot,” Hayato managed, hands closing on Yamamoto’s shoulders. And it was ridiculous that it should make any difference, but the sleekness and speed promised by the motorcycle’s lines made a person pay attention to the lines of Yamamoto’s body, the sleekness and power they promised. Those lines drew him in, made him forget why he’d ever tried not to look.

At least they were alone in here, today.

He leaned down to kiss Yamamoto, which at least covered the damn grin, and let himself rock against Yamamoto’s thigh. A shudder of heat ran right up his spine.

“Mmm.” He could still hear the grin as Yamamoto’s other hand worked open their pants. “Here.”

Gokudera flushed as Yamamoto pulled him onto the bike too, settling back in behind him, and it only deepened when Yamamoto murmured in his ear, “It’s a good ride, you know?”

“Yamamoto!”

The idiot only laughed, and Gokudera’s breath hitched as Yamamoto tugged his pants down and Yamamoto’s cock rubbed against his bare ass. The brush of Yamamoto’s fingers made him look back and he blinked at the slick glisten on them and on Yamamoto’s cock and the foil packet being tucked back into Yamamoto’s jeans. The grin turned just a bit insufferable. “I noticed you watching.”

“Complete and total idiot,” Gokudera grumbled, still rather red, and broke off with a gasp as slick fingers reached around to fondle him too.

“Whatever you say,” Yamamoto murmured.

Gokudera stopped trying to string words together and leaned over the motorcycle, panting, as Yamamoto took his hips and pressed into him, slowly, slowly, stretching him open fierce and hard. When Yamamoto drew back and pushed in again, he moaned out loud. They were supposed to be training, he thought distractedly, but here he was instead, spread out over a fast, powerful machine, getting fucked slow and hard, and God it was hot. He could feel Yamamoto’s jeans rubbing against his ass with every thrust, feel the hardness of Yamamoto’s thighs against the back of his as they tensed, feel the tight slide as Yamamoto’s cock worked in and out of him, and it all set him panting, gasping with the heat, moaning with the surge of pleasure as Yamamoto lifted his hips and drove in deeper.

By the time he finally came undone he’d forgotten the very possibility of other people being around and his voice rang off the walls.

The motorcycle did, he decided distantly, make a nice support. He didn’t have to try to move at all as Yamamoto gasped and his thrusts turned short and hard.

They were quiet for a moment and then Yamamoto murmured against his shoulder. “So? Was it a good ride?”

Gokudera swatted at him, growling when he laughed.

Okay, maybe he did like it better when Yamamoto and his motorcycle were holding still.

End