"Fucking get lost," Hiruma scowls, when he's engaged in his laptop and Agon can't keep his hands to himself. Again.

"Not 'til I fuck you," Agon scowls back, unflinching. He's winding an arm around Hiruma, pulling him decidedly closer, but then there's this scraggy little guy stepping into the alley all of a sudden.

"Hey blondie punk! And you, uglyass with the dreadlocks!"

"The hell you call me?!" Agon blows up.

Hiruma snickers, then snickers harder when the guy strides forward and Hiruma catches a black eye out of the shadow. "Heh, it's that fucking sissy from yesterday. Probably back for revenge."

Agon snorts. "Piece o'shit."

Only it's pieces of shit the next moment -- guys taller and bulkier than the first one, tattooed and glowering and scarred, they sweep into the narrow stretch of lane to get to where Hiruma and Agon sit calmly against the wall.

Blowing his gum, Hiruma folds his laptop and does a swift head count. "Forty-two idiots out to get your fucking ass," he smirks at Agon. "That's forty-two more into my fucking notebook! Now get cracking and get this shit done with."

"Goddammit I told you to stop bossing me around," Agon glares. "You wanna know how it feels like to lose an arm, trash?"

"Bet it hurts less than getting called uglyass -- by some retard midget, too."

"Let's hear you mock me after I smash that limb."

A swift pull from his rear pocket and Hiruma's got his trusty little gun in his hand, barrel tucked under Agon's chin. "You do that," he snaps his gum, "I'll mock you and blow your fucking brains right out. And then mock you again."

But neither one gets to do any smashing of limbs or mocking and blowing of brains out as a second legion of thugs marches in from the blind end of the alley. An added forty-six, by Hiruma's count.

"Holy -- this' a fuckin' record staring you in the face, fucking dreads!" Hiruma smirks, prodding. "Eighty-eight fucking dudes in what, ten? five? three minutes?"

"Stupid trash," and Agon's smirking himself now. He bats the gun away and pushes himself smoothly up to his feet. "Watch me take these scum down in one minute."

Hiruma gives a cackle. "Hah! Do the bragging after."

"No." Over his shoulder, Agon's face is mostly obscured in the shadow. "I'm fucking you after."

A snort is all Hiruma has to say to that, but it's trounced anyway by the shrill cry from the attacking pack.

The second Agon throws a fist, Hiruma starts counting up to sixty and glances up at the camcorder fixed to the eaves. He doesn't budge from his ass on the floor, from his back to the wall. Before him, Agon stands his ground and takes them on in teams of twos or threes, his stance tall, solid, cocksure. He's crushing bones, messing up faces, putting dents in guts, looking thoroughly unstoppable, like a tangible representation of some war god or something, and this is the last thing Hiruma commits to memory before he feels a yank at his hair...

...

...and wakes up a little dazed, unsure of the world, in a strange little room.

"The fuck?" he cries, when he tries to lift his shoulders and feels a nasty flare of ache somewhere.

"Don't," he hears someone say.

"What, move?" Hiruma scoffs, despite himself. "Fucking too late."

He looks at himself, lying on someone's warm bed, then he looks at his bare chest and he frowns, but then he sees that he's still got his pants on, at least.

When he turns his head he sees there sitting across the room, on the floor reading some book over his crossed ankles, a perfect physical duplication of Agon -- just without the dreadlocks and the sunglasses and the hard athlete's build.

Unsui glances up from his book and says dryly, "I suppose we meet at last, Hiruma."

And Hiruma just has to laugh.

-- but laughing's suddenly a pain in the ass, and he's hissing like a threatened cat instead. "How the fuck did I get my fucking ribs bruised?!"

"You don't know?" Unsui scratches the back of his neck. "Agon didn't tell me anything. I was guessing he did that, but he wouldn't bring you here if he --"

"This your fucking house?"

Unsui nods. "This is his room."

"Hah. I don't see posters of chicks to jack off to."

"... I wouldn't know about that."

"So where the hell's the fucking dreads?"

"He's downstairs. Told me to make sure you don't leave the bed. I said I doubt you could get up, anyway."

"What the fuck d'you think I am, a fucking wimpface?" And again Hiruma tries to lift his shoulders, because it's not like he hasn't been hurt like this before -- hell, even worse.

But then he learns, with the increasing discomfort in his gut, that it's a fucking hell of a task just to move.

Quietly, from his spot by the door, Unsui watches him.

By the time Hiruma sits himself up finally, he's practically fighting for his breath and has half-drenched himself in sweat. There's significant throbbing on the back of his skull, and he lifts his hand to touch the pad of cotton near the base of his head.

"I patched you up," Unsui tells him, "put ice on your belly. It's not that bad, but I really don't recommend getting up and moving yet."

"You're fucking kidding me." Hiruma frowns, panting. "I'd have to be in my right fucking mind to listen to you." He swings his legs over to the edge of the bed, grips the mattress, and starts to shove himself off to stand up, and it's not until he leans over that he feels this crazy stab of pain in his middle. So he ends up a writhing mess on the floor. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

Unsui closes his book, gives a sigh. "You really should get back up there. He's probably on his way up now."

Hiruma flips himself onto his back and attempts to breathe without hurting himself. He tucks his bent arms between his head and the floor and stretches his legs out. In the process, his knee grazes Unsui's shin, and when Hiruma turns back to him and makes out the spine of the book in his grasp, he grins, "Been reading up on football, huh?"

"Uh." Shrugging, Unsui puts the book aside.

"Ya know."

"... What."

"When I get to quarterback the Shinryuuji Naga, there won't be any fucking room for you."

What follows is a stretch of silence where Unsui's studying every slat of the floor and Hiruma's smirking, waiting for Unsui's response -- which doesn't come, and instead Unsui gets up and declares, "I'm putting you back in bed."

"Fuck no," Hiruma spits out, but is unable to do anything as Unsui picks him up from the floor anyway and lays him back down over the covers. Easily.

"What," Unsui says, because Hiruma's smirking again.

"Been fucking working out too, huh."

"You're light as a feather. Stay in bed, please."

"What, 'cause you said so?"

"Because my brother said so."

"You think I give a fuck?"

"Then what're you doing with him if you don't?"

"What?" Instinctively Hiruma reaches around for his back pocket. "Where the fuck's my gun?! And my fucking laptop!"

"If you don't stop struggling, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to hit you."

"Fucking stupid twin." Hiruma scowls at the fist Unsui's raised before him and once again shoves himself up onto his elbows. But this is the last thing he remembers doing...

....

...before he wakes up to the blare of aimless rock music.

"About time, trash!"

Hiruma looks up to find Agon twisting out of his shirt, the serious kind of smirk on his face -- besides the plain bump in the crotch of his pants -- telling him what exactly Agon's brought him here for in the first place. Bruised ribs and all. He tries to move and the discomfort's still only a tad less.

Over the crunch of guitar distortion, Hiruma yells, "You tell me how the fuck those fucking chumps got to me when you were supposed to be fucking decking 'em!"

"Who gives a shit! I took 'em all down in one minute like I said I would!"

There's a sudden smart in his right temple, and Hiruma's reminded of Unsui -- Unsui's fist, in particular. "Get your fucko twin back in here! I'm gonna rip his fucking balls off!"

"Whazat?"

"Shut off the fucking noise!"

"Uh-uh! Can't have 'em downstairs hearing me fucking you!"

A shift in the mattress is the only warning Hiruma gets before Agon drags Hiruma's jeans off and starts to slip a pair of cool, slick fingers into him. The intrusion makes him jerk his hips up a little, and this in turn makes him wince, "Shit."

Agon snickers. "Pussy can't take it?"

This makes Hiruma see red, but he's got his faulty breathing to deal with at the moment -- and more than this, more than anything that can aggravate him, Agon has a warm hand squeezing and stroking the inside of his thigh and the heat of Agon's breath against his throat is enough to make him hard, to make him want this sort of desperately, too.

He sinks his nails into the mattress, damning himself. "Fucking dreads! Just get those fucking fingers out and get your fucking dick in right now!"

"Whazat?"

"Fuck me already, goddamn you!"

Now this one Agon has no trouble hearing. "Don't see why I shouldn't," he grins. And because this is Agon, unduly quick and horny, there's very little time wasted before he's got his pants off to the floor, his hands gripped to the backs of Hiruma's knees, and his arousal thick and sheathed between Hiruma's legs, thrusting, thrusting, making Hiruma rock as well.

It stings a bit to bend, to arch, and Hiruma's hand on himself isn't helping all that much, too. Agon's pounding into him, not slowing down, not putting less force, but it still is barely enough.

"What the fuck're you doing, fucking dreads?!" Hiruma fumes. "You're not hitting the fucking spot! Harder, dammit!"

"For the last time -- stop bossing me around, trash, or you're walking with a nasty limp all through summer!"

"Not from you fucking me, that's fer sure! Come the fuck on! I've been fucked harder!"

"What the shit did you say?!" Agon leans over, his thick, stringy hair swinging wildly over Hiruma's face. "Who's fucked you harder?! Give me the scumbag's name!"

Hiruma answers him with a smirk, and this does the trick alright. Harder now, and deeper, Agon rams into Hiruma, his movements grown angered and assertive, and he's fucking Hiruma until he's taken Hiruma's mind entirely off any pain and the only thing that holds any sort of meaning to Hiruma at the moment is Agon, not pissing him off, inside him.

...

It's close now, and Hiruma's scarcely aware of the sounds they're making, until he hears a startling knock at the door and Agon yells, "What?!"

Unsui's voice bellows through the wood. "Mom wants to know why you're howling like bitches!"

"Little shit! Get the fuck out!"

Hiruma snickers, and it isn't too bothersome to do so at this point. He grabs on to Agon's hair as he comes, making Agon scowl, but that's all he does in objection because he's coming as well, and before he finishes he drags his tongue up Hiruma's jaw and then swirls it in Hiruma's mouth.

Gradually, though, the annoying sensation returns, and Hiruma feels it in this sore strip of muscle under the press of Agon's groin.

"Get me a dozen aspirin, fucking dreads!" he yells into Agon's ear.

Agon yells back, "I just fucked you shitless, I'm going to sleep!"

It's all Hiruma can do not to bite Agon's nose off.

+

When he gets to the part that matters, Hiruma draws a bare knee to his chest and leans back in his chair, eyes fixed to the video on his laptop.

It goes down just like he remembers it. All eighty-eight thugs sound off a harsh cry before charging from left and right of the alleyway. Watching intently, Hiruma slides his thumb over the timer's button and presses it the moment Agon releases his first punch. While everything's precisely as he's witnessed it the day before, Hiruma watches it all -- still, silent, knuckles to his lips -- as if he's committing to memory, again, every swing and cock of Agon's arms and the unshakeable hold of his defense.

Then, thirty seconds into the attack, one of the thugs skulking through the side grabs for Hiruma's hair, and so Hiruma watches himself get bashed in the head with a pipe and kicked twice in the ribs while out cold.

"Fucking dick," Hiruma mutters.

That's when Agon turns to the fucking dick and folds his hand backward, making him scream.

"No one hurts my bitch but me!" Agon roars, this big, petrifying roar.

If Agon was invincible the first twenty-two seconds, in the next thirty-eight, he's almost not human. He's flinging bodies into bodies, making them keel over and hit the ground in threes or tens, fucking everyone right up, all without budging an inch where he stands before Hiruma's unconscious form.

Hiruma stops his timer. Sixty-seconds up. All eighty-eight pieces of shit thrashed. Just like Agon said.

Hiruma chews his gum harder, working his jaw, and takes his hand off the swell between his legs. Wordlessly he watches Agon survey his flawless work, even dust off his shoulder. Somehow, Hiruma finds his thoughts drifting into the future, into high school. Christmas Day. He wonders if snow might gather on the field that day, because he can already see himself throwing a wet, heavy ball right in Agon's face.

When his thoughts drift their way back to the present, and he turns his gaze back to the video, he's just in time to watch Agon do something freaky. Agon kneels down and pulls Hiruma's inert body into himself, crushing him in his arms, fingers twisted into the blond strands of Hiruma's hair. Then he lifts him off the ground, throwing him on his shoulder to carry him.

Hitting stop, Hiruma breaks into a fit of laughter. He's laughing so hard he can feel his wonky ribs knifing through his flesh, but he doesn't really give a fuck anymore.

From under the covers, on the bed across from him, Hiruma listens quietly to Agon's loose, hoarse snoring. Then, he snatches the football from his desk and sends it darting right into Agon's face.

END