It wasn't like Hiruma was seeing either of them, though he'd made it hard for both to think otherwise.

It was the random way he'd blurt out to Musashi, "The fucking dreads snores like a bitch." And since Musashi could never ask, 'Do you sleep with him, like...?' he'd be mulling over the funny way Hiruma seemed to sit on his buttocks some days. It wouldn't have caught his eye, much less perturbed him like this, before.

Agon was far less reserved about asking, but he made sure not to back the trash against the wall or sound anything like he was probing. "Hah, was that you helping an ugly old man cross the street today?" In stray, flippant remark, Hiruma'd tell him, "Fucking fatty calls him Musashi. His fucking stubble itches!" And Agon would nearly wreck himself for noticing the littlest scratches on Hiruma's neck.

So Hiruma had funny marks on his skin and sat funny sometimes, and even if that was all there was to that, technically, Agon and Musashi had no sooner leapt to conclusions than a vague sort of triangle formed under their noses. And then, unclear, unresolved, things somehow came to a head when Agon bumped Kurita off his spot in Shinryuuji, and even then Kurita was just the excuse.

But still afterwards, Agon would hear about Hiruma and the geezer-face playing football together, for which he'd snarl at his tattling date a little too viciously, and Musashi would find Hiruma in the clubhouse watching Naga #2 on tape, that he'd kick pebbles on his way home a little too forcefully.

It'd seem, just the same, that this hadn't nearly been over.

It doesn't help as well that two and a half years later, in a crucial game against Shinryuuji, Deimon comes out the superior team -- in Agon's face, no less.

So with the match over, the first thing Agon does, long after everybody's left and he's done brooding over the whole affair, is stalk into the Devilbats locker room.

And he does so unnoticed, until Musashi looks up from his shoelaces and sees a bristling figure in the center of the room. This close, in this small space, Agon looms against the white light with his thick shoulders and long twisted locks and dark glasses -- none of them more baleful, though, than the glower he aims at Hiruma.

Agon mutters something, calling Hiruma a piece of "trash." And Musashi realizes, for all his genius and flair, that this guy is really nothing more than a fool.

Under the circumstances, Hiruma remains half-slouched on the bench, the thoughtless way he sits there with his legs pulled apart and his arms bent over his head, pressed against the lockers. It's clear he isn't cowed, since he never is, anyway -- or, he's likely assured somehow that despite the promise of assault with his fists Agon has no intention of throwing them around here. So Musashi doesn't clench his own fist just yet.

What Agon does ultimately is scowl and stare even more down at Hiruma, who gives but a straight face in return.

For this slow, heavy minute where something black or hateful or derisive seems ought to be exchanged, no one says anything, and the longer Hiruma stares back at Agon the more Musashi feels as if he's intruding on something, as if he's ages late for hauling himself out the door

-- but he can't trust things enough to leave Hiruma alone with that guy, so the least he does is look away, down to the floor.

He picks up his half-empty bottle of water, but decides in the end against drenching his head. He screws its cap back on and sets it down between his feet. His right ankle smarts if he turns it a certain way. This is sure to worsen come morning. And the same probably goes for Hiruma's shoulder.

Because fact is, they just played a long, hard-fought game, and they're spent and bruised in several places, and by now they really should be getting out of here and getting home. As it is, Hiruma doesn't need this.

Musashi stuffs the bottle into his sports bag. And as the least likely to break the silence, "You lost," he says to Agon, finally.

It is this, finally, that jerks Agon's attention away from Hiruma. He darts a look at Musashi, and then he scowls and sneers all at once at the many things about him, from his nasty mohawk hair to the weary angle of his back to whatever it is that gave him the idea that he could say shit to Agon.

Comeback is easy. "I'm still better than you," he sneers at Musashi.

"Look." Hiruma draws his hands down to grip the edge of the bench seat, shifting his legs so the grubby soles of his shoes are towards Agon. "He's fucking telling you to get lost. Fine by me if you don't wanna." He shrugs. "You can just stay and watch."

"Watch what?" Agon frowns.

"Hah, didja forget? Got a victory to celebrate here. Me and fucking old man are gonna fuck!"

"Aah --"

-- and it's immediate, almost instinct yet for Agon to refuse to believe Hiruma, to find no reason at all to believe him. But seeing as the trash was alone with the geezer-face when he got here, it's not a real cinch to figure whether Hiruma's just fucking with him...

or something's actually going on here.

Before him, Hiruma sits still and impassive, waiting for his next move -- and Agon can't even go ballistic like he wants to because fuck if he gives the game away. Instead he gives a snort, looking Hiruma up and down as if he's sickened by him, except he's got to be sickened by himself. This isn't the kind of shit he came here for.

Hiruma slides his hands to between his legs, tucking his fingers under his knees. Musashi thinks for a moment that Agon's going to flare up, but the fury somehow disappears from his eyes, and on top of this he does the last thing Musashi expects him to do: take the first step out the door.

And so with Agon gone, Musashi frowns and turns to Hiruma. "Why'd you tell him that?"

That being what Hiruma said about them 'celebrating,' because much as Musashi would like to think it's true there's always the odds that Hiruma was lying, just to aggravate and stir up some shit, again.

Hiruma sighs loudly, like he's miffed. Then he stands up. He's changed into a t-shirt earlier, this thin black cotton top with red edging around the collar and the sleeves --

and this shirt is the only thing left on him after he kicks off his sneakers...

and then peels off his pants.

Musashi feels, in a heartbeat, something wild and heavy hammering in his chest --

and just as he does so Agon bursts into the room, charging straight into Hiruma.

"You fucking slut!" he howls.

Frozen stunned in his seat, Musashi can barely grasp just what is happening as Agon slams Hiruma to the lockers, a hand tight around his throat. Musashi recovers momentarily, but by now Hiruma's cackling so hard, laughing like anyone else would find this amusing, that Musashi can almost find no purpose in getting mad.

But then, the more Hiruma cackles, the more Agon grows livid. There's something about the way he laughs like this, how his eyes seem to glint with craft apart from mirth, that says Hiruma knew all along Agon was just skulking out by the door and wouldn't resist the indecent provocation.

"Still too fucking easy," Hiruma tells him, grinning over the chokehold, standing there with his legs and his hips and his groin all bare to the fucking world...

and making Agon smirk. With just a slight move, a little push, yeah, he can be exactly where he wants to be.

But for the second time in a day, Hiruma outplays him, and it takes him even a second too long to process how his sunglasses are pushed over his eyes all of a sudden and Hiruma's mouth is right on his mouth, pressing, moving, kissing.

In a snap, Agon's kissing him back, heavily, his anxious tongue in Hiruma's mouth, the hand he has on Hiruma's throat sliding upward to clutch at thick blond hair.

And quick to look away, Musashi supposes: that's it. So he starts to get up and get out, frowning at how Hiruma always does this, his stupid knack of making things uncomfortable for everybody.

He's barely out of his chair when he hears Hiruma bark, "You want a fucking bullet in the head, you fucking old man? Sit the fuck back down."

This doesn't change Musashi's mind one bit. "I'm not going to watch this," he comes back, if a bit stiffly.

"'Course you're not. Scram, jerkass."

Ears stung, if only because it's Agon telling him to be gone, Musashi whips around. Clenched hand at the ready.

At the same instant, Agon turns to Musashi until they're breathing and seething in each other's faces, and while Agon's capable of releasing a destructive hook before the next second is over, for now he keeps his fist in check, daring Musashi to strike first. He even flicks his shades back down to his eyes.

Funnily enough, it's like they're in middle school again, where Musashi could've decked Agon for being an asshole to Hiruma and Agon could've gone and crippled Musashi for being anywhere near Hiruma. If anything, a face-off is two and a half years overdue. Because the one thing they can agree on: Hiruma can't be split two-ways.

Still, neither one gets around to dueling as Hiruma takes this moment to scoff, "Ugly hair-wise, you cancel each other the fuck out, anyway."

This breaks off whatever glaring contest they've started, and in heated silence Musashi and Agon turn away from each other to rest their eyes on Hiruma, on the hard set of his mouth, on every shift of muscle in his calves as he walks toward the wide bench near the back of the room.

Though his t-shirt hangs long enough over most of his thighs, when he plops himself down to straddle the bench, the hem gets hiked up just enough to bare the sharp bone of his hips and give them a peek of his crotch -- if they should choose to glance aright.

Agon presses a hand down on his fly, the bulge underneath it getting bigger and more damp. Musashi grits his teeth, unable to shift his gaze away and fight arousal.

From the sports bag beneath the bench, Hiruma fishes out a small white plastic tube, bent and half-squeezed. He flicks its cap up, squirts a glob of something jelly-like on two of his fingers, and then tosses it toward the gawking pair. Since neither one thinks to catch it, the tube drops to the floor, smack in the space between Agon's left foot and Musashi's right foot.

"I don't have to fucking tell you to slap some on, do I?" Hiruma frowns, visibly irritated. With one hand he pulls his shirt over his head, and finally quite stripped he lies back against the bench, spreads his legs wide, and proceeds to ease his two slick fingers inside him. "Fuck," he says, without a sound.

And suddenly it's all just a little too hot for Musashi, the air, his pants, every sensitive inch of him. This is the sort of thing that has crossed his mind, plenty of times if he couldn't help it -- but now he can feel a burning rush to his face and his body stiffening in the wrong places, because they're just too crowded in here right now for him to fully appreciate the moment.

As it turns out, he isn't the only one scandalized.

"You're doing that with this geezer-face around?!" Agon cries, biting down on his lip as he watches Hiruma roll a little on his side, lift his leg and expose himself further. "You think I'm going to fuck you this way, you goddamn trash?!"

"Did I fucking ask you to?" Hiruma snaps back.

"What?!" Agon blows out an exasperated breath. Hiruma has got to be shitting him again.

Musashi runs a trembling hand through his hair. Against the dark blue hue of the bench Hiruma's an awfully stunning pale sight, and with the things he's doing to himself, the way his mouth opens a bit and then opens wide, his knee pressed to his shoulder and his toes bent in the air, there's really too much Musashi cannot ignore that propriety seems almost inappropriate to him at this point.

He hasn't a solid clue what Hiruma's thinking, but there's later to figure it all out. At the moment he just has to pick up the white tube.

Just as Musashi goes to bend down for the tube, Agon snatches it clean from the floor. "The hell you're fucking him," he snarls, and glares, which is the last thing he really bothers to do with Musashi since he's got to get his pants open right goddamned now and his hard, hot cock is just about half-bursting through the twine of laces.

Hiruma snickers watching him fumble a bit with the lube. "Fucking virgin," he taunts. "Knew I had to prep my hole myself."

In a huff, he counters, "I'm not a virgin!" -- or at least not when it comes to pretty girls. Between them, he doubts Hiruma's done this before, anyway, and all this he seems to know about preparation and seduction has got to be textbook shit at best.

Agon casts his eyes over Hiruma, spread open on that bench, arching under his gaze already. Arranged just so for him. The only reason Agon's probably going to remember this for a disgustingly long while is... Shit. Why does he goddamn think so much, anyway?

So, dropping to a knee on the bench, he finally pushes inside Hiruma, slides until he's sunk fully in where Hiruma feels exceedingly tight and exceedingly hot around his cock.

"You trash," he huffs, "I'm going to fuck you like...like...oh...fuck."

"Don't fucking drool on me!"

"I'm not!"

Outside the room, just out of the light spilling through the doorway, Musashi leans a shoulder to the wall and squeezes his eyes shut, even though he can only hear them anyhow. One moment there's Agon muttering profanities, the next moment there's Hiruma crying out and then whimpering and then wailing almost, like he can't make up his mind, and the moment after that it's all wet noises and groaning and moaning from both.

Over the slick, hard sounds of Hiruma getting laid, Musashi palms his cock, swollen and aching through the fabric of his pants.

It only gets worse when he hears Hiruma utter some coherent words, something like, "Musashi... come back... here... fuck me too..."

"The hell?!" Agon howls.

And then it's the scraping, grinding sound of bench wood against concrete floor, and not very long after it's Hiruma screaming while laughing, then moaning, and gasping, soft, strangled little noises, and although he's never heard it before Musashi knows, and is certain, that Hiruma's coming hard now all over his chest, his fingers wound around his cock.

Heart racing, Musashi unfastens his pants. He rips it almost.

Agon's yet to finish entirely when Hiruma lifts his head and, without separating, pushes him a little away so he can sit up and sit on Agon's cock. Hiruma rolls his hips down, slow yet hard enough to make Agon instantaneously ready again to fuck.

He makes this low, hungry sound and thrusts his mouth into Hiruma's throat, curling his tongue against the moist, heated skin there and licking, nipping --

Out of the goddamned blue --

there's a powerful burst of pressure against his shoulder, sending him backward and off of Hiruma, and before things can fall into focus he finds himself tossed off the bench, away to the wall and down to the floor.

"The hell --?!"

Snapping his gaze up, he sees Hiruma on all fours on the length of the bench, and the geezer-face is standing behind him, hands clamped on his hips, driving his cock inside Hiruma.

Agon scowls at the splotch of dirt on his shoulder, bits of grass and soil. But it's not until he glances at Musashi's shoe that it registers: the son of a bitch did just kick him. He grumbles, vowing to exact brutal revenge later.

"This what you want, huh, Hiruma?" Musashi says, a hissing edge in his voice, stabbing forward, rocking into Hiruma with sharp, fast thrusts. He slides his hand down to cup and fondle Hiruma's cock.

"Yesss," Hiruma moans, head flicked back so Agon can see the light caught on his wet throat.

"God damn you," Agon growls -- irked, at the very least, that he has to stroke his throbbing dick while Hiruma gets fucked in front of him.

And right then Hiruma's laughing, snickering at Agon. "You can have my mouth," he says to him, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder like a goddamned tease, "if you can trust me not to bite, hah."

Agon smirks, regardless of Hiruma's mockery. He can tell Hiruma's just goading him on to --

Aah. Fuck it. As shitty as this setup is, Agon just cannot take an inactive part in this, sitting in a corner like some sorry dog. So he leaps to his feet, slides his thumb underneath Hiruma's jaw, and slips his cock inside Hiruma's mouth..."Hiru -- shit..." all while Musashi continues with his thrusting.

"God damn you, Hiruma," Musashi grunts, echoing Agon's earlier sentiment. Being inside Hiruma, it's far unlike anything he remembers from his wet dreams, this silky, quivering heat, Hiruma tightening even as Musashi keeps stretching him, each pull and push he makes sucking the breath out of him.

There's a single moment in all this where, randomly, Musashi meets Agon's eyes and Agon meets Musashi's eyes. It's their first real acknowledgment of each other, in which Agon tells Musashi, "He's mine," and Musashi tells Agon, "Up yours."

And in the same moment, with Musashi in his ass and Agon in his mouth, Hiruma reaches his second orgasm.

After everything's over and Musashi's down heaving against the wall and Agon has his hands braced on his knees, Hiruma lays himself back against the other bench, holding a little white towel over his crotch. Like he's decent.

Musashi shakes his head, simpering.

"Goddamn slut," Agon spits out, his fly still open, hovering over Hiruma's head.

Hiruma tilts his head up, grinning, just before he raises a hand to Agon and yanks at his twitching cock.

Shortly thereafter, Musashi joins them.

+

Hiruma's foremost thought when he finds them waiting for him together -- or, at least, at the same time, within a couple-yard radius -- is that this has got to be some dopey kind of conspiracy, except it's always been clear to him how one would rather head-butt the other.

It surprises him nonetheless.

He continues to walk, remains cool, until he's a few feet from the entranceway to the hotel. "What're you fools up to?" he demands, from Musashi mostly, just because he's closer to him there by the building wall.

By the curb, Agon pushes himself against the parked vehicle and advances toward Hiruma. There's a weird sort of spryness in his steps, like he's walking into a bit of situation that requires a bit of urgency.

It gets only weirder the moment Agon stops before him, for Hiruma finds more somberness behind his sunglasses than in the dusking sky. Agon's jaw pulls tight, almost locks in place for a moment. Then, "You have to choose," he says. "Now."

Suddenly, for some reason, the gum between his teeth feels a lot like tough meat. Chewing it hurts somehow.

Hiruma snickers, though he's chiefly not amused. "Give me a fucking break."

When he tries to brush past Agon, there's Musashi to block him and grab his arm. Even more peculiar, Hiruma looks up to find Musashi's dark eyes boring into his own, their utter lack of humor bugging him senseless. Musashi speaks, quietly. "That's enough of your bullshit, Hiruma. Is it me, or him?"

And then it's Agon's turn to grab the other arm. "Me or him. And no goddamn tricks this time."

In the face of indecisiveness, Hiruma doesn't fail to note how he's been grabbed twice, by two people, in the space of an instant, and how those two are still holding on to him, fast and unyielding, like a mad running back hellbent on protecting his ball. He starts to blow his gum again, musing that things couldn't get any more serious than this, really, that this probably has to have its culmination at some point, too. His gum snaps, like a thwack against his face.

"Okay, fuckers," Hiruma says, leading them into the hotel. "Let's settle this shit in my room."

+

Later in the night, smirking up at the ceiling, Hiruma learns just how wide enough his bed is for three.

END