Sometimes, when Agon can admit no one else is good enough and Hiruma just wants it, plain as that, they have sex. And they linger afterwards, in Agon's tiny box of an apartment. Naked, their backs to the wall, they sit before the TV and watch whatever is on. Or at least Agon does, while Hiruma taps away on his laptop filing data he can use someday.

Sometimes, they're hours into their time together and they hardly talk -- about school, about the rain, about football least of all. It's just Agon always has useless things to say, and Hiruma has an extensive list of better things to do than encourage him.

Maybe they don't have to talk, anyway. Sometimes, Hiruma just has to listen to Agon move. Agon yawns brashly when he's heavy-eyed; splays out when he wants space; rips into the tatami when he's annoyed; rolls the balls of his feet when he's satisfied. He's easy to stand that way.

And when Agon's on top of him, inside him, sunk deep, Hiruma just has to listen to the rasp in Agon's throat, and when the wood starts to grate under the tatami and the urgent friction of skin mixes with their violent breathing, Agon says whatever he has to say with his one hand pressed down on Hiruma's hip, his other hand caught in Hiruma's hair, his mouth on Hiruma's skin. And Hiruma can stand Agon like that, when Agon is all planes and angles and bulk moving just fast enough, just hard enough, enough for Hiruma to decide they still want each other around, after all.

+

There's a drama on and Agon's unable to shut up. He raises a stink about the "ugly" actresses every two minutes that finally Hiruma slams his notebook shut.

"Last I checked," Hiruma grunts, "you can shoot the fucking TV if you don't like the show."

"Who says I don't like this show?!" Agon cries. "I'm totally hooked and shit! Just the women are butt ugly!"

"Then more beer oughtta help," Hiruma scoffs. Not to get beer, he stands up and opens the cupboard over the sink. "And who sits around their house wearing their sunglasses, anyway."

"Man, that skinny one in the pigtails? I've seen prettier cat turd."

Hiruma grabs the single pack of bubblegum on the shelf, "I told you to stock up on these!" and tears the wrap irritably.

"You think I'm your damn minimart?! What. Will you quit bugging me, trash, I'm trying to enjoy this!" Agon tucks his hands behind his head and pulls his elbows to his eyes.

"You're like a fucking little girl," Hiruma snorts, gum between his teeth.

Agon ignores the bait, but he's sulking nonetheless.

There's a space of a few minutes where they say nothing and just stare, before Hiruma's back is against the wall and all his weight on Agon's thighs. Hiruma bites down on his gum the moment Agon starts pushing in.

They leave the TV on, the drama forgotten.

+

There's a noisy new show on. Kids singing-dancing and shit. Hiruma curves his back against the tatami and digs his heels into Agon's back, and Agon splays his hands on either side of Hiruma's head and utters profanities. They're trembling and soaked when they finish.

Agon brings his head down to Hiruma's, but his dreadlocks are right in his face that Hiruma can catch only a fraction of a sly grin before something hot and sticky gets smeared across his lips.

"How's your come taste?" Agon slurs.

Annoyed, Hiruma sinks his fangs in Agon's fingers. And then Agon's hand is closing around Hiruma's throat, but Hiruma is just as quick with his gun by the wall. He presses the trigger without aiming.

"Shit!" Agon yelps, turning. Behind him, over his shoulder, the TV sits busted, its smoky glass screen shattered. When Agon turns to Hiruma again, he's wide-eyed, open-mouthed. "You're seriously crazy," he pronounces, voice oddly, oddly soft.

Coming from Agon, of all bastards, it sounds irrationally funny, and Hiruma's in stitches even as Agon finally pulls out of him, grabs a new can of beer, and sits on his toes by Hiruma's head, staring quietly at his bleached hair.

+

Sometimes, when Agon's a little heady from the alcohol and Hiruma can admit they're still in middle school after all, they kiss. It's sloppy and awful, but they learn bit by bit and sometimes it's better when their mouths do all the work instead.

The room's densely quiet now with the TV broken. Hiruma can hear the scrape of his thigh over the straw and the swipe of Agon's tongue in his mouth. And when Agon drags him closer to sit on his thighs Hiruma can hear the flex of Agon's muscles, in his arms, in his legs, in the thick line of his shoulders, and Hiruma pictures Agon running the full length of the football field, Hiruma running with him, and Kurita, and Musashi, and against the low moans out of Agon Hiruma can hear the very most constant of his thoughts, the one thing he thinks intensely about most of every day.

He unsticks his mouth from Agon's and leans his shoulders back against the wall. "I haven't told you my plan, have I," he says, grinning.

Agon bends his knees around Hiruma. He looks somewhat intrigued. "Hm? What plan."

"My plan to go to the Christmas Bowl."

"The...Christmas Bowl?" And then Agon erupts into laughter, head thrown back, body shaking.

Hiruma tucks his hands behind his head. "Keep laughing, fucking dreads," he tells him, grinning wider. "You haven't heard anything yet."

END