Hiruma can see him, when he's not even bothered to hide. Outside the school wire fence, between two trees, Agon stands still, watching. The other boy can't see him and likely won't -- unless, abruptly, he pulls his face away from Hiruma's neck; but as it is, the other boy keeps his mouth pressed to Hiruma's skin, and his hand inside Hiruma's pants starts to rub faster.

Hiruma sinks back against the wall. He can feel his groin burn, his legs start to tremble. Over the other boy's shoulder, he can see the hard knot in Agon's jaw and the fists at his sides.

Agon stays with him until he gasps and wets the other boy's hand.

+

When he gets back to his hotel room for the night, he finds Agon sitting on the desk, leaned halfway out the window that he's smashed to break in. Hiruma slides his hand over the light switch. Against the dingy white light, he can see the scowl behind Agon's sunglasses, matching his own.

Agon says, immediately, without preamble, "He doesn't even like football."

This is hardly news to Hiruma, but he has to scoff at its many implications, not the least of which is how liking football is what ties it all together all of a sudden. He isn't even sure he knows what this is about. "Are we fucking seeing each other or something? What the fuck were you doing at Maou, anyway?"

"What the fuck were you doing getting all felt up like that?!" Agon leaps from the desk, the force of his outburst sending him right up in Hiruma's face. "Fucking piece of trash slut -- you're mine! Get that?!"

Hiruma has little time to spit out a retort, much less see what's coming, before he's stripped down from the waist and Agon has a hand pressed up his cock, stroking him to full hardness. "The fuck -- get away, you fucking dreads!"

But Agon has him tight in the assertive circle of his arm, and the elbows Hiruma keeps driving into his chest only serve to make plain his helplessness against such strength. Hiruma should know; he's yet to meet anyone who could take down this fucker.

Agon doesn't let go, unbending, and just when Hiruma, grown anxious for the burning rush, submits himself at last to the harshly caressive movements of Agon's hand, Agon drops everything and turns away.

Hiruma stares dumbstruck at Agon's back. He leans a hip against the wall and clutches at his thigh, screwing his eyes shut against the increasing frustration and the swollen ache in his crotch. "Fucking finish this, you fucking dreads!" he snarls.

"Oh I will, trash," Agon smirks at him over his shoulder, "just not that way." From the nightstand drawer, he takes the clear tube of hair gel and squirts out a lavish palmful.

Hiruma's fingers dig into his thigh. "Hah, you know how to do this shit now?" he snorts.

"Natch." Agon steps out of his pants and boxers and with his free hand yanks off his tank top, baring a build that's all tawny muscle and a cock that's all prominent arousal. "Just 'cause I was drunk that time doesn't mean I didn't know."

Agon places a hand on Hiruma's hip, tugging him to face the desk, then steadying, and then Hiruma jerks against the finger easing its way inside him. It's a cool, slick kind of sensation, but when Hiruma bends over the desk and pulls his legs apart for the second finger, it slides into an acute kind of heat, making him even harder and more ready than he can admit.

There's sweat gathering at the back of his neck, and his collar's starting to rub his throat raw, so Hiruma pulls off his uniform top and then his shirt. Agon runs a rough hand up the arch of his back.

The evening air from the broken window chills his nakedness for a moment, but it's just a swift moment, as before long Agon's breath is hot and heavy around him, against his ear, his nape, his hair, and when finally Agon is deep inside him, filling him to the point of severe pain, and then rocking themselves against the desk, hitting a spot that makes this more for him to enjoy, Hiruma can feel the heat under his skin, rushing like wildfire, and he has to blink away the sweat down his eyelashes.

"You're mine," Agon drawls into his ear, tongue flicking against his earrings. He reaches forward and slides the broken windowpane sideward, sending a million fragments of glass across the desk, just touching Hiruma's outstretched hands. And then, without pausing once in his vigorous movements, he yells out the open window, "Mine! You hear me, motherfuckers?!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Hiruma shrieks, vaguely scandalized.

"MIIINE!"

"What are you, fucking four years old?! -- aagh!"

Agon cracks up over the fresh mark of his bite along Hiruma's collarbone. Not hurt so much as miffed, Hiruma grabs a fistful of Agon's hair and tries to tear out as many dreadlocks as he can, but Agon, still laughing, is quick to wrench his head off Hiruma's grasp and he pins Hiruma's hands back to the desk.

And before Hiruma can fume and grapple any more with him, Agon pushes, drives his cock further and faster into him, and then bends a hand around Hiruma's cock. Hiruma hears himself make a host of sounds he just can't keep down in any way, while his hips sway in time to Agon's movements.

Before him, across the street, Hiruma can see the shut windows of the other hotel. One of them, though, straight ahead, has its curtains drawn back. Between the heavy, printed cloth, there's a pair of unblinking eyes nailed fast to Hiruma's window. Hiruma scratches his fingernails on the wooden top, shoving back against Agon's furious thrusts, never taking his narrowed eyes off the other window.

Agon moans, loud enough to be heard across the street. He slides his mouth down the moist length of Hiruma's back, leaving a trail of little nips and damp kisses, and then he goes up again, smothering his noises in Hiruma's hair. The desk rocks against the wall, its legs nearly forced loose from their bolts. Over the solid pounding of wood against stone Hiruma moans, loud enough to be heard across the street, and the curtains in the other window appear to shake.

Just before he comes, Hiruma snatches the pistol from the desk and trains its muzzle on the eyes between the curtains. He squeezes the trigger, except the pistol hasn't been loaded; all the same, the light from the other window disappears. Hiruma drops the pistol and smirks.

As Hiruma slides his hand down the stickiness along his chest, Agon grunts and shudders against him, and in moments Hiruma's filled with the wet rush of Agon's heat that trails down his thigh when Agon stills himself finally.

Something catches Hiruma's eye. Across the back of his right hand, there's a thin, red streak, left by a shattered bit of the windowpane that's skidded on him. Unlike the last time they fucked, which was their first time, just three nights before, it's the only bleeding there is from this. He lifts the hand to his mouth, but Agon grabs it to his own mouth and licks slowly, almost attentively, at the slight gash.

Hiruma darts a glance over his shoulder, and there's a flash of tenacity he catches behind Agon's shades, before he finds himself off the floor and hauled down to the unmade bed. He feels Agon pull out of him for a moment, but it's a very quick moment, for as soon as Hiruma's back hits the rumpled covers he feels Agon inside him once again, thick, hard, and insistent.

"What," Hiruma frowns, "this your idea of making me yours? Not taking your dick out my ass ever?"

"Yeah, actually," Agon smirks, holding Hiruma's legs to coil around his waist. He lifts himself slightly from his heels, pushing inside Hiruma in a way that's almost unhurried, like he had all the restraint in the world.

After a while, not bothering to resist the beginnings of a new arousal, Hiruma moves back against him. Agon looks down at him, opens his mouth but says nothing. And then Hiruma remembers what he has to tell him. "You don't even like football," he says. It's ages late, this comeback, but even so Hiruma just can't let this shit pass. "I mean, hell, you loathe playing the goddamn sport. When you're out there on the field? -- you're just a thug in a helmet. Fucking waste of a genius."

If he's riled up, somehow, Agon doesn't let it show apart from a quick gnash of his teeth. "Bullshit. You'd sell your own mother to play with me, anyway. You want me so bad."

"Ch'. Not as bad as you want me."

"Don't twist it around, trash."

"Like, lurking around at my school -- spying on me?" Hiruma grimaces. "What the fuck was up with that, anyway?"

"I don't know what you mean," Agon growls, leaning forward.

With Agon's face a couple of inches away from his, Hiruma's able to tug off his sunglasses and toss it to the carpet. "I know what you mean towards me, fucking dreads," he smirks, partly messing around.

Without the dark lens of his glasses, Agon's eyes seem to hold Hiruma in place, and the look he shoots him is both feral and tame, stunning Hiruma for a moment, and in that same moment Hiruma feels a bold flicker of heat before Agon takes his head between his strong, rugged hands and captures his mouth in a heavy kiss.

Agon's kissed him before, that time three nights back, when they were both drunk enough to do something crazy but still partly sober to retain vivid pieces of the memory. That time Agon's pressed his mouth against his so hard, so fiercely, just like he's kissing him now, and even though he's on his back and not on his feet, Hiruma feels like he's going to buckle under the force of the kiss, with Agon's tongue twisting and Agon's lips crushing his own, and Hiruma has to try and kiss him back just as hard, curving his neck, because it's either that or Agon sends him into a spinning, dizzying fall on his head.

Even then, when Agon breaks the kiss, half-panting, Hiruma pulls his head back down and kisses him harder. Hiruma uncurls his legs from Agon's waist and brings them up, sliding his ankles below the stern line of Agon's shoulders. He presses up against Agon, pulls him closer, and Agon moans into the kiss and pounds into him faster. The bed creaks harshly over the low squeaks of the mattress.

They stop kissing after a bit, but Agon keeps his brow pressed to Hiruma's even as he fucks him harder and Hiruma takes him deeper, their hips swinging together, the heat of their gasps and moans slipping between their mouths. Hiruma tightens his grip on his cock, rubbing himself harder, harder, straining against the tangle of pleasure and pain, until he feels Agon's hand around his and he comes, still coming as Agon comes right after.

Agon opens his mouth as if to say something, and Hiruma shuts him up preemptively with another kiss.

But later, much later in the night, Agon shifts on their shared pillow and jabs a finger in Hiruma's throat. "Seriously. What the hell were you doing with some jerkass."

With the lights off, Hiruma's suddenly unsure who's in his bed with him. Agon sounds nothing like himself that it's almost... unpleasant. Finally, "I was just using the idiot," Hiruma says, because he's blunt like that, and it's easier in the dark.

There's an oddly silent pause, before, "You're mine. Alright?"

In spite of himself, Hiruma smirks. "You're fucking retarded, you know that?"

With what little light drifting in through the smashed window, Hiruma can see the rigid line of Agon's body next to him, the fall of dreadlocks down Agon's jaw, and the fix of Agon's gaze upon him, unusually open and smacking of crazy intimacy. Hiruma shifts and tucks himself cackling in Agon's chest.

END